#'greetings mother i know i just had a shivering fit so violent i almost bit my tongue off but id like dominos hawaiin pizza pls'

[sophiethewitch1]

Get yourself some soup and blankets girl!

a) any soap thats got a thick consistency actually hates me personally and b) i have another fever lmfaooooo

[slythraco]

Hiii, I was wondering if you could do a draco x reader where their parents are very close and they’ve been best friends and inseparable since they were born. And like their parents and anyone around them always teases them about when they’ll get together. And so I was hoping you could write something where it’s just kind of a development through their childhood years and their time at hogwarts of them going from friends to getting together. If you want to do time jumps in it as well that would be cool too! Thanks!!

Author's note: Finally a Draco request !! And a really good one ! It took me a little while to write it so excuse me for the wait but I really wanted it to be perfect for you so I hope you'll like it ! Also, for the sake of this imagine, the whole voldemort/second war doesn't happen for more fluff. Also, this is pure fluffy Draco because i don't think he would be mean or toxic to the reader knowing they grew up together ? Anyways have a good read !

Warnings: swears (?), allusion to sex, big dose of fluff

Words count: 8,8K (Yes you read it well)

Legend: - Y/L/N -> Your last name - M/N -> Your mother's name - F/N -> Your father's name

Masterlist

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Year 7 - 13rd October 1997

The Malfoys and the Y/L/N, a big love story. These two families have been friends for decades now. Two powerful families of pure bloods, with the same way of thinking. It was unavoidable.

So when the spouse Malfoy and Y/L/N got pregnant at almost the same time, it was immediately promesses of a beautiful friendship, if not more.

A year later, the two magnificent babies were born. Y/N Y/L/N being slightly more young then the little Draco, only from a few month. This is when the fantasise of the two families started. Narcissa and M/N couldn't help but imagining their beautiful kids married one day. But who could blame them ? Any best friends in the world imagined a perfect world where their children would be as close to each other as they were to each other in the past.

That's why almost 18 years later, M/N was still annoying her daughter about the Malfoy's son. "So...you're inviting Draco over this summer ?" she asked curiously. It doesn't surprise Y/N at this point, her family were always there to push her into Draco's arms. "Hmmmm...yes, but Blaise, Pansy will be there too !" She answered, totally lying, Draco was the only one to come but Y/N didn't want her mom to tease her even more and since her parents won't be here during his visit, they won't be there to verify her lies. "Oh, I hope your friends know how to keep their hand to themselves, especially under my roof."

"Mom !" Y/N shouted as her cheeks starts to blush. "That's disgusting !" She continued. "Oh come on darling, It's normal at your age ! Aren't Pansy and Blaise supposed to be together ?" Y/N's tilt her head slightly, as Y/N rolls her eyes under her mother's gaze. "Yes they are...and don't worry they can totally keep their hands for themselves." Y/N repeat her mom phrase with a little annoyed voice. "Speaking of keeping hand to yourself..." M/N starts as she looks at her daughter face in the mirror that was facing them two. "You would tell me if you..." She didn't have the time to finish her sentences that Y/N gets up from her chair. "Oh my god, stop, I'm leaving !"

"No, no, no, come back here, I haven't finished your hair dead young woman." Her mom said in an authoritative way by pointing at the chair facing the dressing table. "Okay, but can we don't talk about my sexual life ?" Y/N asks desperately. "So you did it !"

"No !" Another lie. M/N takes a deep breath as she sees her lovely daughter completely uncomfortable. She then reach her and takes her hands in hers. "I'm sorry...I'm just worried because you're growing into this beautiful woman, I remember when you could still fit into my arms." Y/N's face relaxes gently as she listens to her mother's words. "Come, let's finish those hair before I start to cry." M/N finished after crashing a loving kiss on Y/N's forehead before leaning her again to the chair she was sitting on a few minutes earlier.

M/N grabs the brush again and pass it trough YN's H/C hairs. "You have to be beautiful for your future in laws." YN sighs, getting her hair done is probably gonna feel like ages.

•••

Three distinctive knocks resonates in the mansion, the Malfoys were there. "Y/N, go open the door please !" Her father shouted from upstairs, Y/N obeyed and walks to the door that she quickly opens. Her eyes meets Lucius Malfoy's who smile gently to her. "Y/N !" He cheers. "Mister Malfoy..." She nervously bite her lip. As long as she knew Lucius, he always scared her. The Malfoy father makes his way into the Y/L/N's mansion before being greeted by F/N. "Aaaaah you arrived !" Her father cheered.

Y/N looks at her father discussing with Lucius but another voice brings her attention. "Y/N !" The teenager turns her head to the door again and catch Narcissa's eyes. The blacked haired woman hastens to take Y/N in her arms before pulling away to look at her. "You look beautiful !" Draco's mother cheers. "Thank you Narcissa !" She shyly responded. "Where's your mother ?" Narcissa tilt her head. "In the kitchen, as always." Y/N answered politely, as soon as Narcissa has her information she runs into the kitchen, probably to gossip with her best-friend like they loved to do.

Y/N turns to the door again and smiles when she sees Draco, still outside. "What are you waiting for exactly ? Catching a cold ?" She teased which made Draco coming out of his freeze and finally enter. Y/N close the door behind him while he looks around him like a lost puppy. Until his eyes meets Y/N again who was standing at his right. He discreetly puts his hand on her lower back, declaring a rush of shivers into Y/N's spine. He then leans to approach her ear and whisper a few words. "You look amazing love..."

Draco straightened right after saying those words as Y/N starts to violently blush. She was about to respond but her mother appears causing them to quickly put some distance between there bodies.

"Wow Draco ! You're really handsome !" Y/N's mother cheers when she sees the blond guy. It's Draco's turn to blush under the compliment of M/N. "Come on M/N, he's a Malfoy, of course he's handsome !" M/N's rolled as she hears Lucius's remark. "I'll never be used to your arrogance Lucius !"

The adults laugh all together while Draco and Y/N look in each other's eyes, a discreet smile on their face. "Alright everyone, we shouldn't lost another minute, let's go eat !" Y/N's mother cheers while she quickly walks towards the dining room.

The two teenagers stay in the corridor just to exchange a few words. Draco takes a deep breath as he hears their parents laugh at their own terrible snobby jokes. "It's gonna be a long night huh ?" He complains. Y/N giggle when she listen to him. "Long and painful !" She answers as she grabs his hand to pull him towards the next room. "Wait !" He whispers as he pulls her back to him to slide his arms around her waist, he then look behind her and make sure nobody sees them. "What are you doing ?" Y/N whispers at her turn, as a response he grabs her chin between his fingers and gently crash his lips on hers to kiss her chastely.

As soon as their lips are apart, Y/N looks behind her, in slight panic. "Are you crazy ! What if they see us !" She rumbles, making Draco chuckles. "Don't worry, they didn't see anything and sorry but it was stronger than me" He teasingly says as Y/N rolls her eyes. "You're gonna get us killed one day !" She says as she slowly pulls away. "Come on, let's join them before they get suspicions"

•••

"Oh my lord, do you remember when Draco and Y/N were playing in the garden when they were like 7 ?" Narcissa cheers as she remembers this memory of their kids. "Yes ! They were so cute together !"

Y/N frowns as she turn her head to look at Draco who seemed as confused as her.

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26th March 1988

"Mom..." Y/N complains as she touches gently her mother's arm to have her intention. "Yes sweetheart ?" M/N lean slightly to look at her daughter at her feet. "Draco is being mean to me again..." She pount while she explains herself. "Draco ! Come here son." Narcissa who was with them the whole time, screams to bring her son close to them. "Yes mother ?" He said with his little kid voice. "Apparently you've been mean to Y/N ?"

Draco blue eyes widen as he hears his mother. "It's not true !" the blond haired boy shouted. "Okay, what happened exactly ?" M/N asked, willing to resolve the problem. "He threw branches at me !" Y/N shouted. "No ! I didn't do it on purpose !" Draco quickly say to clear oneself. The two mother nods their head as they understand the situation. Narcissa puts gently her hand on her son's shoulders. "Draco my dear, I know you didn't meant to hurt Y/N but you have to apologise to her...One, to be polite and two, because she's friend and I'm sure you're not proud of yourself for hurting her so...I'll leave it up to you." The spouse Malfoy push in Draco's shoulder to push him to turn and face Y/N. "I-I'm sorry Y/N..."

The little girl smiles as she listens to her friend. "It's alright, I forgive you !" She tells him in her little voice. The two mothers smile to each other when they took each other hands and get back to the garden to play like nothing happened.

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Year 7 - 13rd October 1997

"Ooooh now I remember !" Y/N shouted before turning to Draco. "You totally did it on purpose tough !" Draco giggle a little bit as he puts his glass of whine back on the big table. "I don't know what you're talking about." He said, looking at her. "You actually threw that branche in my face Draco !" She almost screams as her eyes widen in the face of his bad faith. "I did that to protect myself !"

"Oh ! Why ?" She giggles. "You were always running after me, I was scared ! You were already evil back in the days." A shocked look appears on Y/N's face before she strongly hits Draco's arm. He directly puts his hand directly on the spot that his secret girlfriend had just hit and grimaces as he looks at her. "See, you're dangerous !" He shout under the amused looks of their parents. "Oh...i'm gonna Avada Kedrava your face you'll see if i'm dangerous !" She spits out of her mouth before they start laughing together. When they get calm again, Draco gently rubs his arm to cover the little pain he was feeling. "That really hurts" He complains, making Y/N giggle. "Oh it's killed meh, it's killed meh" she imitates him has she rubs her arm like he does. Draco lose his teasing smile when he sees her imitates him in his third year. A gaze battle begin between to two teenagers before Draco repeats the same gesture Y/N did to him and hit her in the arm. "Ouch !" She shout. "There you go, now you have a real reason to imitate me !"

"Okay okay lovebirds, stop fighting !" Draco and Y/N faces quickly turns to the origin of the voice, Narcissa. "How did you just called us ?"

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Year 1 - 1 September 1991

"Alright kids." Said F/N to capture the attention of Draco and Y/N before they enter the Hogwarts Express. "From now on, everything is going to change, you're gonna meet new people, make new friends, meet some ennemies maybe. But I want to ask you something before you leave, never forget each other, if you ever get into a fight or that you move away from one and other. I want you to be there for each other no matter what happen, be each other pillar. Nobody should have enough power to separate you two okay ?"  Said F/N, pretty stressed by the situation, looks at his little daughter, 'they're growing too fast' he thought to himself.

"Y/N my sweetheart." F/N crouch down to put his hands on his daughter's shoulder and face her little innocent face. "I'm really proud of you okay ? I'm sure you're gonna become an incredible witch !" The father kiss the cheek of his daughter before getting up again.

A few meters away, Lucius was also exchanging his last words to her son. "I'm counting on you to behave well and not to sully our name." The father said dryly to the little Malfoy. "Don't disappoint me Draco." The little blond hair boy was looking at the floor as he mumbles his response. "Yes father."

"Good, I have to leave now, join Y/N before the train leaves without you" Draco nods his head before running to Y/N and her parents. "Ah Draco ! Ready to go to Hogwarts !" M/N asked the boy. "More than ready !" He said happily. "Awesome ! Hum...can I have a quick word with you son ?" Draco nods and M/N puts gently her hand on his back to trail him a little further from her daughter and husband.

"First of all, good luck for your first day at Hogwarts ! I'm sure you're gonna become a good wizard" M/N smile slightly to the blondie. "But, can I ask you a favour ?" She slightly tilts her head as Draco slowly nods his head as a response. "Could you, protect my lovely daughter for me there ? Make sure she's always okay...she's fragile, and I already know that you would do an amazing guardian for her."

"Of course Ms Y/L/N, I'll make Y/N's happiness, my priority !" M/N smiles softly at his response. "Can you promise me that ?" She asked. "I promise you !"

Promises, in such a young age...you would probably expect for it to be just words for a child. Little did she knew that at this exact moment, Draco would now do everything he can to protect Y/N.

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Year 7 - 13rd October 1997

"I can't believe you two are turning eighteen this year." Narcissa said in a whisper. "Oh don't talk to me about it Narcissa...I still remember Y/N's first day at Hogwarts !" M/N complains, nostalgic of the innocence of her daughter. "But...you weren't there ?" Y/N frowns. "No, but you're 7 pages long letter made me feel like I was !" Everyone around the table started laughing.

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Year 1 - 1st September 1991

"Look Y/N, it's Harry Potter !" Said Draco as he point to a little brown haired boy. "Harry Potter ? The boy who survived you-know-who ?" Draco nods to his friend before walk in front of her. "It's true then, what they saying on the train, Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts !" All the students around starts to whispers in excitement. "This is Grabb, Goyle and Y/L/N, and I'm Malfoy." The boy walks to confront Harry Potter. "Draco Malfoy."

•••

"Before you can take your seats, you must be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffondor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin." The two kids look at each other, a little smile on their faces when the professor pronounce the name of the last house before following her into the great hall.

"When I call your name, you will come forth, I shall place the sorting hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses." Professor McGonagall explains to the first years. After Hermione Granger has been called, it's Draco's turn to be sorted. "Slytherin !" resonates in the Great Hall before Draco joins his housemate after giving Y/N a proud smile.

"Y/N Y/L/N !" The professor calls as she looks at her piece of parchment. The little girl walks to the stool, she sits on it and the sorting hat rest now on her head. "Mmmmmh...I see...a lot of courage !" Y/N's body tense when she hears the character trait, knowing well what house it belonged to. "Not Gryffondor...please..." She whispers. "Not Gryffondor mmh...are you sure ? You could be great there ! And you'll definitely make good friends too." Y/N grimaces at what she's hearing, the last she wanted is to be in another house then Draco and her parents wouldn't accept it either. So do Draco, who was watching the whole scene from his seat. "Noooo...please." She whispers again. "Okay...it'll be...Slytherin !" Y/N feels a sense of relief all over her body as she rushes to get up to join the students with whom she will spend her next 7 years.

"God I was scared for a second ! I thought this thing was going to put you in Gryffondor !" Draco complains as Y/N sits right next to him. "We would've stayed friends anyway right ?" She asks curiously. "Maybe, not if you would've become friends with Potter there." He answers while looking at the boy who lived, making his friend giggle. "You're really not going to forgive him for rejecting you aren't you ?" She teases. "Never." He said harshly. Y/N rolls her eyes before putting her hand on Draco's forearm. "It's fine Draco, you don't need another friend when you have me !" The Malfoy child finally turns his head to look at her, she smiles gently at him. "Yes...you're right !"

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Year 7 - 13rd October 1997

"I almost got into Gryffondor that day !" Y/N said making everyone gasp in shook. "My daughter as a Gryffondor, what a nightmare !" F/N complains while Y/N giggle. "I'm sure you would've killed Dumbledore if it actually happened !" M/N tease her husband. "Totally !" The Y/L/N father said as a joke.

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Year 3 - 25th October 1993

"Intriguing isn't it ?" Professor Lupin asks as the boggart make the wardrobe move vigorously. "Would anyone like to venture a guess as to what's inside ?" Lupin asked. "That's a boggart, that is." Dean responded. "Very good, Mr Thomas."

"Now, can anyone tell me what a boggart looks like ?" The professor of defence against the dark arts asked to his students. "No one knows, boggarts are shapeshifters, they take the shape of whatever particular person fear the most. That's what makes them so-" The professor cuts Hermione before she finishes her sentences. "So terrifying, yes. Luckily, a very simple charm exists to repel a boggart. Let's practice it now."

The students jump a little bit as the wardrobe move and produces muffled sounds behind the professor. "Without wands, please. After me- Riddikulus !"

"Riddikulus" the students repeat with no passion. "Very good, a little louder and very clear, listen- Riddikulus !" The students repeat again after listening to the instructions of their professor. "It's this class that's ridiculous." Says Draco in his beard. Y/N giggles when she hears her friend. "Says the one in plaster because of a big chicken." She teases as Draco now looks at her with an angry face but don't say anything because she's right.

"Wonderful Neville, wonderful, incredible ! Okay, to the back Neville, everyone form a line !" And with that, the students start to move all over the classroom to form a line like the professor asked. "I want everyone to picture the thing they fear the very most and turn it into something funny ! Next, Ron !" The redhead walks toward the boggart, a little hesitant.

After a few pupils, it was Y/N's turn. "Come on Y/L/N ! It's your turn !" Y/N takes a deep breath before walking toward to Boggart, this one suddenly change into what she fears the most, Lucius Malfoy. All Y/N's body tenses when she meets his blue accusing eyes, as well as Draco who is shocked to see Y/N fear his own father. The boggart slowly walks toward the young girl, leaving a little witch trembling under his gaze. "Y/L/N, Riddikulus remember ?" The professor tries to comfort her but she's petrified, how could she even have the courage to raise her wand towards him. She was petrified. The boggart under Lucius form let an slight smile on his face as he gets his wand out of his cane he quickly direct it towards Y/N. "Avada..." He starts to say but Lupin stop him before he gets to chance to finish his spell.

The boggart his quickly sent agin to the wardrobe as the professor turns to Y/N, still trembling because of what she just saw. "Y/L/N...are you okay ?" Lupin asks worried, he puts an hand on her shoulder but she jumps and runs to get out of the classroom as the other students look at the scene, murmuring about what just happened. Except for one pupil, Draco. He doesn't loose a second and start to follow her in the corridors.

"Y/N !" He shout from behind her. "Y/N stop !" He shouted again, to make her stop but she didn't want to face Draco after what he saw. What if he was mad that she fears his dad ? Draco runs a little a bit faster to finally grip her wrist, making her stop suddenly. "Are you okay ?" Was the first thing he asked her, he wasn't mad at all, far from that, he was worried for her. She saw it in his eyes. "No...I didn't want you to know that..." Draco lower his hand who was still on her wrist to grab her hand. "What ? That you're scared of my dad ?" Y/N simply nods as she looks at the floor. "It's a surprise, i'm not gonna lie...but I understand, honestly, he even scares his own son, so..." Draco reveals, Y/N raise her head to look in his blue eyes, his eyes that reminded her of his dad but this thought his quickly brushed away, Draco wasn't his dad, the complete opposite. "But, I'll never let him touch one of your hair Y/N. I'll always protect you even if it means fighting my dad."

The young girl smiles at what she hears. "It's you and me against the rest of the world." She whispers. "It's us, against the rest of the world." Draco whispers at his turn before Y/N passes her arms around him to take him along a cuddle. The blondie takes a few seconds to realise what is going on before responding to her embrace.

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Year 7 - 13rd October 1997

"I remember the first boyfriend of M/N...he was so obsessed with her but she only dated him to make F/N jealous ! It was hilarious." Narcissa sheered as she remembers her memories in Hogwarts with her best-friend. "Oh lord...don't talk to me about it, and the worst is that F/N took ages to see it !" M/N shouted in desperation. "Oh come on ! How was I supposed to know ? I really thought you liked him !" F/N states, making everyone around the table to laugh gently. "Talking about first love..." M/N leans a little bit to look at the two teenagers sitting next to each other. "You guys must have been trough it aren't you ?" The kids Y/L/N and Malfoy gasp at this question, little did their parents know. They quickly look at each other, desperate to find a lie to tell them.

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Year 4 - 10 December 1994

"Do you know with who you're going to the Yule Ball ?" Pansy asked her friend as she close the window of their bedroom to keep the cold air from coming into the room. "Umm...no, not yet." Y/N responded quietly, looking at her potion book. "I mean...Adrian asked me, but i told him that I'll think about about it." She quickly raise her shoulders, Adrian Pucey wasn't really her first choice but it was better than going alone.

"You want to go with Malfoy." Pansy said, knowing her friend. "Yes...but I should give up this idea" Y/N complained sadly. "Why would you ?" Parkinson asked as she sits on the end of the other witch's bed. "you didn't see how Astoria was bragging that she was going to ask him to go with her ?" Pansy nods, yes, she did heard Astoria Greengrass this afternoon. "Y/N...can I be honest with you ?" The brown haired girl grimaces a little bit. "Yes of course Pansy !"

"Well...don't get me wrong but you can't really complain... You've been a long way away since the beginning of the year... He's gotten closer to Astoria and you to Adrian so..." Y/N gently nods, her friend was right. Her and Draco weren't as close as before but she still needed him in her life. And he still needed her in his. But Y/N didn't want to be a selfish girl so she quickly got up of her bed. "What are you doing ?" Her friend asked, a bit confused. "I send a owl to Adrian." Y/N run to her desk, takes a sheet of paper and her quill to write just one sentence. 'I'll go with you'. "Are you sure you're not going to regret this ?" Pansy asked worryingly. Y/N gets up again and gives to her owl who fly to Adrian's room.

"No, i'm sure Draco and Astoria will be really happy together !" Y/N shouted, any human being would've say she said this out of jealousy, and they would be right. But Y/N would probably have disputed, she herself didn't know what was happening to her. Draco was her friend, nothing more but why did it scare her so much to see him going to this stupid bal with this stupid girl ?

Year 4 - 11st December 1994

The group of friends were walking in the corridor, the only ones missing were Draco and Y/N until the Slytherin Prince appeared out of nowhere. "Draco ! Where were you ?" Blaise asked, an arm around Pansy's neck. "I had to do something, where's Y/N ?" The blondie asks as he looks around since she wasn't with the group. "Right behind you." Draco turn on his feet and meet Y/N's gaze. "You wanted to see me ?" She asks calmly. "Yes !" He gently places an arm in hers to bring her a little bit further from their friends. "Umm..I was wondering, if you would like to come to the Yule ball with me ?" The blondie asks shyly. Y/N's eyes widen, suddenly she felt incredibly guilty. "W-what ? Astoria didn't asked you ?"

Draco frowns at her question. "She did...but I refused." Y/N face collapse at what she hears, she bites her lip to hide how nervous she was to tell him she already was going with another guy. "Oh Draco...i'm so sorry..." The Slytherin Prince feels his heart racing, this debut of answer didn't bode well. "What ?" He asks even if he's scared of the answer. "I-i already said yes to Adrian..." It's his turn to feel his face collapse as he hears her. "But I can cancel if you want..." Y/N says to try to save herself. Draco shakes his head as he takes a few step back away from her. "No, go with him. It's not like you cared about spending much time with me anyway." He spats before running as far as possible from her.

Y/N stay still, looking at her friends disappear in the next hallway. What he said truly broke her heart, 'this is how he feel ?' She thought, it was true, since the beginning of the year Draco and her weren't as close as before. Ever since she started spending some time with Adrian. But that don't change how much she wanted to go to the bal with her childhood friend.

Year 4 - 25th December 1994

"Wow Y/N ! You-you look splendid !" Adrian shouted when Y/N finally reach the last stair. Indeed, she was by far one of the most beautiful witches tonight in her magnificent dress. All eyes were on her, especially Draco's ones. With Astoria at his arm, but all he could see is his friend standing there with another guy. The night is going to be long for him.

As a matter of fact, a few hours later, Draco was sitting at a table with his partner installed right besides him. "Are you going to ask me to dance ?" She asks somewhat annoyed. "No." Draco harshly respond as he play with a towel, making it slide between his fingers without ever looking at Astoria who sighs angrily and gets up to leave the party. Leaving Draco all alone like it wasn't bad enough.

He then raise his head, and his gaze meets Y/N, dancing and laughing with Adrian Pucey. A wave of anger takes hold of his body, but he stays here, without moving, not wanting to make a scandal for once in his life.

After a few minutes, a voice gets him out of his thoughts. "Wanna dance ?" Draco raises his head to the voice he already knows very well and his eyes meets Y/N's, the young girl was standing in front of him, her hand raise toward him. "No thanks..." He lied. Y/N sighs and rolls her eyes. "Did I mention you had a choice ?" She raise one of her eyebrows before grabbing Draco's hand and leaning him to the dance floor. As soon as they reach it, the rock music turn into a slow. "Of course..." Draco complains, but Y/N grabs quickly his hands to provide him from escaping and place one on her waist and she keeps the other one on her free hand, the other one resting in his neck.

Draco stays still for a second, not really realising how close they were. But they finally start to move they body together in the rhythm of the music. The two friends were looking deeply in each other eyes and for a second nothing around them seems to matter anymore. It's was just the both of them. "So...you and Adrian...are you a thing ?" Draco asked dangerously. Y/N nods, breaking Draco's heart. "Yes...actually he asked me a few hours ago." Draco nods before looking at the floor, he couldn't look at her anymore.

That's when Y/N stoppes their dance to grab Draco's face between her little hands. Forcing him to look her in the eye "Draco, listen to me before you start panicking" that's totally what was happening in his mind, panicking of loosing her. "You're not going to lose me, I know we haven't talked these last few weeks but that made me realise that I need you in my life Dray...You will always come before anyone else" Draco can't help but smile a little bit, he was a little more reassured now. "I can't lose you Draco." She said in a whisper. "You're not going to lose me Y/N, it's us against the world remember ?" A beautiful smile appears on both of their faces. "Exactly ! Us against the world." She murmurs before gluing her body against his. Draco quickly accept her embrace and hold her tightly against him, putting a gentle kiss on her scalp before putting his chin on it. "I  missed you Draco." She whispers, Draco was about to say something but he got cut up by someone.

"Y/N..." The witch jumps when she recognises her boyfriend's voice. She quickly pulls out of Draco's arms and faces Adrian. The older Slytherin looks angrily at Draco as he grabs possessively Y/N's hips. Then he finally plant his gaze to his girlfriend's. "You're coming ? Felix is doing an after in his dorm" Y/N nods as a response before Adrian leans to whisper something in her ear. "I hope I'll have the chance to remove that dress tonight." Y/N suddenly pulls away to look into his eyes, visibly uncomfortable by what he just said.

Draco didn't know what Adrian said but he clearly saw that it disturbed Y/N, which made him immediately angry. "Okay..." She shyly said to Adrian. "Good, let's go" He said, grabbing her hand and leaning her toward the outside of the great hall. This is at this exact moment that Draco understood. When Y/N left with her new boyfriend, he knew that he had to do every he can to have her back, and as more than just a friend. he finally became aware of his feelings for her.

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Year 7 - 13rd October 1997

"Adrian Pucey...I never liked this guy." Said Y/N's father. "Me too..." Draco said in his beard only for Y/N to hear it. "What did you two broke up again ?" M/N asked curiously.

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Year 5-6 - 12nd August 1996

Y/N was reading her romantic novel with Adrian in her bedroom. Her back glued to her boyfriend's, comfortably installed in her bed but Adrian had other plans. He made it understand to Y/N by sliding his hand on her thigh, gently rubbing it with the tip of his fingers before carefully making his way to her inner thigh as he starts putting wet kisses on her neck. "Adrian..." She whispered, annoyed. "I want you Y/N..." He murmurs hungrily in her ear. "Stop !" She shouted bad she threw the book on the bed and quickly gets out of his arms.

"What is wrong with you ?" He asks, staying still on the bed. "I-I'm not ready." Adrian sighs as he gets up too. "Oh come on ! You haven't been ready for a year and a half now." Adrian accuses, Y/N crosses her arms on her chest and looks away, out of shame. It wasn't the first time her and Adrian were arguing about that subject. "Y/N...can I ask you something ?" Y/N put finally her gaze on him, he takes it as a 'yes'. "Is there something between you and Draco ?" Y/N frowns at his question. "What ? Why do you put him in this conversation ?" She asked back. "It would explain why you don't want to have sex with me."

Y/N let a shocked face appears. "Are you accusing me of cheating on you..." she marks a little pause. "With my best-friend ? Are you crazy ?" Adrian rolls his eyes. "I'm not crazy Y/N ! You think I don't see the way you look at each other ? You can't make me believe there's nothing."

"But there's really nothing Adrian." Pucey takes a step further towards her, making her jumps slightly. "Stop lying !" He shouts loudly. "Y/N you don't look at me the way you do for him" Y/N pass nervously her hand in her hair, she didn't know what to say to his accusation. "Do you love me ?" Her boyfriend asked. "Yes ! Of course I do Adrian" She lied, not wanting to aggravate her case. She did like spending time with him, but something always felt off, in the back of her head she knew their relationship would come to an end sooner or later. She wasn't in love with him, it's was crystal clear for her. "I don't believe you..." Adrian said sadly. "How can I prove it to you then ?"

"Stop talking to Draco, erase him from your life." Y/N eyes widen, it was the point of no return, with this asks Adrian completely close his possibilities to keep Y/N in his life. 'You will always come before anyone else' was the first thing that came to her mind, that night when she told Draco that she would never leave him. "No. I'm not going to do that." She said hangrily. "Then that's it, you want us to be done ?" He shouted. "Yes. We're done Adrian, leave, I don't want to see you anymore." Adrian frowns as he hears her. "Are you serious ?"

"Yes, I've never been this serious in my life !" Adrian breath quicken, trying to keep himself from punching something. "So that's it you throw a relationship of a year and a half in the garbage ?" Y/N turns to don't confront his angry gaze. "Yes...excuse me but between a relationship of a year and a half and my friend that i grew up with, the choice is quickly made !" She said almost in a whisper, knowing well that it wouldn't make Adrian less angry. This one quickly walks towards her and obliged her to face him by gripping her shoulders harshly, making gasp in pain. She wouldn't be surprise of discovering bruises the next morning. "So I was right, you did fuck with him behind my back huh ?" His question make Y/N see red and the first thing she makes is suddenly crashing the palm of her hand on his cheek. His head turns at the violent slap he just received. "Get the fuck out of my house."

Adrian stays still for a second, processing what just happened but Y/N's voice bring him back to reality again. "Now !" She screamed. Adrian finally meet his girlfriend eyes, his heart broke when he realise she's crying, but he don't say anything and pick up his stuff before leaving in silence.

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷

Year 7 - 13rd October 1997

"Idiot." Her father simply said. "I'm glad you made the right choice sweetheart." Narcissa gently said to the young witch. As Y/N turns her head to look at Draco who smiles at her. He was glad too of course. His heart tightens for a moment, thinking of were he would be right now if she chose the second option, if she would've actually left him. It would've broken him for sure.

"Yes, we all know Draco is much better for her than this stupid Pucey." The father Y/L/N said in his beard. "Definitely ! I don't know what my daughter is waiting for !" Y/N giggles at her mom's remark. 'Only if she knew' she thought to herself. "You'll never leave us alone aren't you ?" She asked, falsely annoyed. "Not until you're married like Narcissa and I planned it !" All the families laugh together. Until Y/N meets Draco's gaze, it didn't sound like a bad idea after all.

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷

Year 5-6 - 12nd August 1996

"Y/N...are you okay ?" M/N asks to her daughter worryingly. "I just saw Adrian leaving, what happened." Y/N was sitting at her desk, writing a note before she gets up and give it to her owl, completely ignoring her mother. "To who are you sending your owl ?" M/N asked a bit confused. "Draco." Y/N's mother frowns slightly. "Mom...can I go to the Malfoy's tonight ? I really need to see Draco..." The worried mother nods in response. "Sure sweetheart !"

Knowing she won't get more informations, M/N simply steps back until she's on the doorstep while Y/N prepare a little bag to prepare the night. "Hey...you're going there by your broomstick ?" Y/N turns on her feet to face her. "Yes !" Her mother nods. "Okay, be careful on the road alright ?" Y/N chuckles slightly. "Mom...you know it only takes me like...a minute to get there right ?" She slowly walks towards her. "Yes, I know, but...I don't know, it's dark outside and you seem pretty upset so..." Y/N tilt her head and smile sadly as she sees how worried her mother looks. "Mom I'm fine don't worry !"

Her mother quickly nods before putting a gentle kiss on her daughter's forehead. "Okay, now fly to Draco before I change my mind !" Y/N giggles at what she hears as she goes back to prepare her bag. "On my way !"

•••

Y/N gently knocks on the big door of the Malfoy manor, she just have to wait a few seconds before they opens on a worried Draco. "Hey, I received your owl, what happ-" Y/N cuts him by jumping into his arms, letting salty tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Of course Ms Y/L/N, I'll make Y/N's happiness, my priority !" M/N smiles softly at his response. "Can you promise me that ?" She asked. "I promise you !"

Draco jumps as he remembers that promise he made to her mother 6 years ago. He never meant this promise more than at this exact moment, when Y/N is crying in his arms. 'I'll make Y/N's happiness, my priority' is the sentence that kept coming back in his head. "Come here Y/N..." he grabs her hand and pulls her towards a more private room. They get up the giant stairs to reach Draco's bedroom where they'll be sure to not be interrupted by his parents.

He slowly close the door behind her while she make her way into his bed, she lays her back against the headboard and presses her knees against her chest. Draco grimaces when she sees her, he hated seeing her this sad, she was so much more beautiful when she was smiling and even more when he was the reason for her to smile.

He joins the bed and sits besides her, he puts his hand on her right knee to comfort her. "I broke up with him." She reveals, without looking at him, she just bites her lips in nervousness. Draco's eyes widen, he takes all his energy to not scream in happiness. "Why ?" He simply asked. "He-he accused me of cheating." She marks a pause, closing her eyes to help a few tears to roll down her cheeks. "With you." She finished. "Wait...what ?" He nervous giggle comes out of his mouth. "He said there's is something different in the way we look at each other..." Draco's gaze was resting on her friend's face, of course, he could hide his feelings by his action but his eyes said it all. His heart skips a bit when she turns her heads to look directly in his blue eyes, searching for that thing Adrian was talking about.

And she saw it. "He's right." She simply continued, Draco tilts his head without stopping to look at her magnificent eyes. "What do you mean ?" The blondie asked, confused. "I-something always felt off in this relationship, something was missing." She starts as she slightly turns her body towards him, she bites her lips as one of her hand rests now on one of his cheeks. "And that thing was you, it always have been you...as much as I hate when our parents tease us about it but they're right too ! I love you Draco."

Draco doesn't need more words to make the first move, his hand who was already on her body, quickly pass from her knee to her face that he pull towards his to crash his lips on hers. The kiss was passionate and full of both of their love. Draco's other hand slips on her waist to make her climb on his lap. Their lips move together like it's was their last dance together even though it was the first of a long series. After a while, they finally pulls apart, but stay as close as possible by resting their forehead against each other. "If you knew for how much time a wanted to do this Y/N..." Draco whispered.

"I'm sorry for not realising earlier..." Draco smiles as he finally opens his eyes to look at her. "It's okay...but now we have to stop losing time. Fuck Y/N...I want to stop presenting you as my friend, I want you to be so much more." Y/N giggles at what he says before putting her hand on his who was still resting on her still wet cheek. "Me too Draco...me too." She whispers as she leans to quickly kiss his soft lips again. "We should probably go to sleep, it's late." Draco whispered against Y/N's lips as he gently rubs her cheek with his thumb.

"Yes, we should." Y/N says before getting up of the bed. "Where are you going ?" Draco asked, confused about what she does. "I-I'm going to the guest room ?" Draco starts laughing, I front of a confused Y/N, it made sense to her, ever since she was a child when she was sleeping in the Malfoy's manor she would always sleep in another room. "Come back here." Draco said as he lays on his bed and point his chest, the witch blushes when she gets back and puts her head comfortably on his chest, she could hear his heartbeat through it, which was really relaxing to her. "Are you sure this is a good idea ? What if your parents comes in and sees us like that ?"

"First of all, they are not going to catch us, and two, even if they do, they will be happy for us ! They've been trying to put us together for the past 17 years Y/N." Y/N nods after raising her head to look at his beautiful face. "Talking about it, don't you think we should keep it to ourselves ?" She grimaces, scared of hurting him or making him mad. "At least, until we really know if it works between us, not that I don't want this to work but...it's just that they would be so disappointed if it doesn't..." She bites her lips nervously while Draco brush a stray of her hair between her ear. "Okay, i understand, don't worry. Actually it'll be better, we both know they would get super excited and probably putting pressure on us before it even starts. And I really want us to work." He calmly respond, making Y/N smiles in relief that he understood. "It's us against the rest of the world..." She whispered. "It's us against the rest of the world." He repeated before grabbing her chin between his fingers to kiss her lips one last time.

He was already addicted to the feeling and the taste of them. He was ready to kiss them for the rest of his life. "I love you too by the way." He whispered against them, making Y/N smiles.

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷

Year 7 - 13rd October 1997

It didn't sound like a bad idea after all. Y/N looked in Draco's eyes. They both understood each other. It was the right time, after all, she was sure of being truly in love with the Malfoy son. And even more she could see her future with him, she didn't need more time to know if it worked between them. So what could stop them ?

"Talking about me and Draco..." Y/N started, making all the adults stop laughing and look at her. The young witch takes a deep breath before looking at Draco who gave her a supportive smile. "We're not friends anymore." She continued, Draco helped her by putting his hand over hers on the table. Making everyone gasp in the room. "I knew it !" Narcissa cheers happily, making the teenagers giggle. "So...you two are together ?" M/N asked, still In shook. "Yes mom" Y/N responded as she let a giant smile appeared on her face. "Bloody hell ! I don't think I can express how much I'm happy right now !" M/N says as she tries to keep her tears to herself.

"Alright, this is the moment I act like a protective father isn't it ?" The father Y/L/N starts before clearing his throat and take an authoritarian air. "So, Draco, you know I love you like my own son right ? But since you're now with my little daughter that means I might have to kick you ass if i ever learn you hurt her. Don't take it wrong Lucius, but I'll have to do it !"

"Don't worry I'll be the first one to help you !" The blond patriarch said to his friend, making everyone giggle except for Draco and Y/N. "Awesome, so you've annoyed us for the past 18 years for us to get together and now you're going to make him run away ?" Y/N complains. Her father was about to say something but Draco is quicker than him. "Don't worry, I don't plan on going anywhere." He says as his hand grabs hers before bringing it to his lips to gently kiss it. All of that under the gazes of everyone, making the adults and his girlfriend shivers.

•••

Later that night, Y/N was clearing the table when she felt two arms surrounding her waist. "You know you have house elves to do that right ?" Draco said in the back of her ear. "I'm sure won't mind a little help" She says as she takes a plate in her hands. "Put that back on the table, right now." The blondie said authoritatively. Y/N can't help but bite her lip, finding it overly sexy. "Why would I do that ?" She asks as she stays still. "Because I really want a hug from my lovely girlfriend" whisper in her ear, knowing damn well the effect he has on her. Y/N sigh as she puts the plate in the table under the satisfied gaze of her boyfriend. "You're so needy Draco..."

"Not my fault, I've been sitting next to you for a whole night without being able to touch you, it was torture Y/N !" Y/N laugh as she finally turns to face him, her arms slide around his neck while he squeezes her a little tighter against him "Needy and dramatic, it keeps getting better !" She teases. Draco rolls his eyes before leaning to approach her ear. "We'll see who's the most needy when we'll be in the sheets tonight darling." He whispers before putting a wet and hungry kiss on her neck. Y/N bites her lips as she feels her heart racing suddenly, making her breath a little bit faster.

The Slytherin Prince pulls away just enough to be able to look at her face, and a devilish smile appears on his when he sees how she reacted. Until his gaze meets their parents's though they were discreet behind the glass of a fire. "They're looking at us." He said in a giggle. "Oh lord..." Y/N complains as she puts her forehead on Draco's chest. "I'm sure they're already planning on our marriage." She said in her beard. "I wouldn't mind it." Draco responded, making Y/N her head in a quarter of second. Draco jumps at her sudden movement. "You-did you just said you wouldn't mind marry me ?"

Draco raises his shoulders, not realising what he just said. "Yes of course" he then gently takes Y/N faces between his large hands, her still in shock. "Listen Y/N...I love you, more than anything else so...yes, maybe one day, I might ask you to marry me." Y/N looks into his magnetic gaze as she smiles like a child. "Draco...I love you so much." She shout before crashing her lips against his.

•••

"You're tired ?" Draco asked softly to Y/N who was clearly fighting to not fall asleep on Draco's shoulder. The young couple were resting in the family living-room while the adults were still discussing in the kitchen and drinking one of there expensive alcohol. "Yes..." she said in a whisper. Draco puts a little kiss on her scalp before getting up. "Let's go to sleep then !" He said as he pulls his hand towards her. Y/N smiles as she grabs it and let him pull her strongly to help her getting up too.

The two walks towards the witch bedroom but her mother's voice stop them. "Where are you going kids ?" M/N asked curiously. "ummm we're going to sleep." Y/N responded to her mom. Her mother slightly gasp and blinks nervously. "Oh, okay...um...I'll ask the house elves to make your bed in the guest room Draco !" M/N nods while Y/N hesitate to tell her or not about this detail. "No need mom, see...Draco and me have been sleeping together for the past year...on we're not really looking forward to change that habit ?" Y/N grimaces the whole time, scared of her mom's reaction while Draco scratch the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. "Oh...okay." M/N simply said, keeping herself from asking more questions.

"Alright...good night mom !" Y/N cheers as she grabs Draco's hand. "Good night Ms Y/L/N !" The blondie said politely. "Kids wait !" The mother shouted, making Y/N sighs, of course it couldn't be that easy. "I'm sorry but I have to ask, do you two uses protection ?" It's too much to handle for Y/N, she gasps at her mother's questions. "Oh my god mom ! I'm not having this conversation with you right now !" She shouted before quickly pulling Draco into her bedroom. "Good night !" She screamed from her doorstep as she pushes Draco inside. She then quickly close the door while she nervously passes her hand trough her hair.

She turns on a Draco dying of laughter. "It's not funny !" She shouted as she crosses her arms on her chest. "Yes it is !" She rolls her eyes before jumping in her bed. "Stop laughing and come to bed with me." Draco obeyed after removing his black suit, his arms sliding around her half asleep body. "Good-night my love." He whispered. "Good night Dray." She said in a murmur before falling asleep in the arms of the boy she truly loves.

•••••••••••

[yuusa]

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝟏𝟓

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟑𝟏𝟓𝟐

𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐓𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝟏𝟓:

You slowly cracked the door open, seeing your mother and an unknown woman sitting by her side. They had an assortment of tea and snacks at the table, some of which looked very delicious but you were confined to your special room, unable to fulfill your stomach’s desire.

“I can’t do this anymore. . . “ your mother wept into her hands, the tears flowing out of her eyes like an endless waterfall, “I don’t know how long I can last.”

Her friend patted her back slowly, not able to fully cope with your mother’s mental decline. She doesn’t know exactly what is going on in (M/n)’s life, even though they were childhood friends and coworkers, she still wasn’t able to help her through her struggles. It was always being avoided as (M/n) would try to distance herself from actually talking about the reason.

“It’ll be okay, you can push through (M/n)! You’re a strong woman.” She brushed back your mother's hair as she brought her into a close embrace. The sound of her sobs echoed in the house as she continued to rub (M/n)’s back. From the corner of her eye, her gaze met yours.

You flinched at the sudden notice and closed the door shut, sealing you away from the outside world. (M/n)’s friend wondered when did (M/n) have another child? She was told that her daughter (Y/n) died at a young age and that they were still delaying the funeral time until (M/n)’s illness gets better.

She noticed the dull gaze in your eyes, the (e/c) color was faded and you didn’t look like you were related to (M/n) or (F/n). She could barely make out your figure, but it looks as if you were almost a middle schooler.

You buried your face in your hands as you pulled your knees to your chest, your back leaning against the Alter of God as it’s statue stared down at you from above. The wooden altar was heavily damaged with various scratch marks and smears of blood. Some of the broken pieces were fixed back into place with nails but there were some that looked as if they had been twisted or pulled out.

You scratched at the skin of your fingers, feeling the dried blood on it as your body tried to enclose and heal the wound. You noticed that everything felt painless to the touch, either this was simply an imaginative world or you have fully lost your sense of touch.

How long have you been trapped in here? You wonder if escape was even possible at this point. Were you destined to rot here, just like your mother said you would? Were you truly cursed? All these questions were left unanswered as they hung loosely over your head like paper and string. You didn’t know what you wanted or who you were supposed to be, you didn’t know if it was possible for you to be anything.

You stared up at the statue, the eyes which you always found creepy beginning to shed small tears at the edge of their eyes. You felt numb to this abnormality as you were unable to question the reality of your world.

“Tell me. . . Child. . .” Your eyes widened at the soft voice. You didn’t know if you were imagining this or if you were just going crazy, but the voice resonated in your heart.

“Are you. . . The one. . . ?”

The world around you began to chip away like paint and slowly crack, the walls coming down like broken walls as you become exposed to the bright light that was the outside world. You looked around, seeing the absence of your mother and home but the altar was still in the same spot.

As you reached out to the statue everything crashed down, your body free-falling into the dark void. 

“Your eyes. . . I hate them! I hate everything about you!” 

Your body began to feel sick as your environment twisted violently, the area becoming more scratched to reveal the blood underneath the fabric-like realm. You clutched your head as the world continued to peel away like the outside of an orange, the spindle fibers curling and waving around while you became swallowed up in a sea of red. 

“Die! Just die already! I hate you!” 

In the crimson room, you felt a pair of hands gripping the back of your neck tightly, your eyes trembled as you tilted your head back to see your mother. Her eyes were devoid of any color, the blackness of her pupil grew until it completely engulfed her irises.  

You let out a blood-curdling scream. 

You groaned before sitting up from your bed, clutching your head as you felt a painful migraine beginning to form. You breathed heavily as you tried to wrap your head around what you had dreamt about. It seems as if every single night it has becoming weirder and weirder, you couldn’t tell if these dreams were trying to warp your memories or not.

You felt around your bed and your fingers grasped onto your phone, seeing that it was already the afternoon. You rubbed at your eyes, realizing that you were supposed to visit the cemetery today, but you must have been too caught up in your dream to have gone early. You flopped back down onto your bed, your hair sprawled across the pillows as you held your phone above your head. There were a couple of messages sent by Tohru but your mind was still hazy. 

You really needed to go but the lack of motivation was still there.

You sighed, trying to enjoy the feeling of your bed a couple of more minutes before leaving for the bathroom. You grabbed your hairbrush on the way there and began to comb through your tangled locks.

It seemed like it would be good weather today. The weather forecast on your phone said it would be a nice sunny day, you wondered if the flower shop would notice your lateness to your usual pick up. You quickly brushed your teeth and spat out the toothpaste, wiping at your eyes with water to wash away your exhaustion before going back to your closet. You rummaged through the pile and stripped to get dressed.

As you pulled your pants to your waist you begin to think about the significance of your dream. It was a bit different from the others. You slipped into your shirt and picked up your wallet and phone. You stretched before making your way to the front door and towards the flower shop.

You decided to leave your journal at home for the day since you were only going to the cemetery for a bit. You noticed that you have been distancing yourself from writing, you couldn’t figure out if it was because you wanted to focus on others or if it was due to its inconvenience when it came to carrying it. As you opened the door to the flower shop, the woman smiled at you kindly.

“Good afternoon (L/n)-san!” She greeted, “we thought you weren’t coming today but luckily you did! The flowers are already here for you.”

You nodded in response while you walked up to the counter. She pushed up the bouquet and you fished through your wallet with the usual amount. You heard the clicking of the cashier register before grabbing onto the flowers and bowing down, leaving the store shortly after. 

You couldn’t help but think about your current situation. You’ve noticed that although you have been trying to eagerly open up to others, it seems as if your body hasn’t been adjusting well to the sudden change. You knew this life wasn’t something you could fit into so easily. You shook your head, if you simply quit now then what you hoped for in your small life might fade away. If you quit now then the pain hidden within Yuki’s eyes will still remain. 

You didn’t know or understand why you cared so much. Was it part of the Eagle’s destiny to see eye to eye with the Rat? Was there some sort of special connection that was drawing the two of you together? Your thoughts were filled with junk you couldn’t understand. You would think about Yuki more often than you had before, worrying about his health and trying to open up but it seems hypocritical for you to consider such things. 

The way Tohru looked at you yesterday sent shivers down your spine, she was surprisingly perceptive for someone who is usually depicted as an airhead. You felt as if she was about to see right through you at that very moment. You sighed as you made your way up to the stone steps but you were too lost in your thoughts to realize the boisterous voices. 

At the top of the stairs, you stood in shock at the people in front of you. Everyone slowly turned their heads to realize that you had come to the cemetery and you wondered what was the reason for their visit today. Tohru and her friends were picnicking in front of one of the gravestones, all of them enjoying a home-cooked meal and tea. 

“W-What are you doing here. . .?” You muttered, your eyes beginning to widen as you took in your surroundings. 

They were looking at you. 

You flinched when Tohru waved at you. This wasn’t supposed to happen at all today. If they were here at this cemetery, they might have realized your gravestone that was only a few rows down. They might question you about your sudden appearance, they’ll find out. . . 

You dropped the bouquet bought it was quickly caught by Yuki who walked towards you. He gave you a concerned look but held onto the flowers while Tohru ran up to you. 

“(Y/n)-kun! I'm really glad you came over today!” Glad? It took you a couple of minutes to remember that earlier in the morning, Tohru had sent you an invitation to visit her mother’s grave. 

“O-Oh. . . I see.” You took back the bouquet and shifted your weight from one foot to the other. 

“Class Rep! You should totally join us over here! We have extra cups for you as well!” Uotani held up her cup of tea, waving at you with her strange attire. 

You absorbed your surroundings for a while before making your way to the blanket that was placed on the floor. You tilted your head to see that they were stationed next to a nearby grave that was recently cleaned. Without much thought, you carefully walked over and placed your bouquet down on the grave and clasped your hands. 

With someone as kind and gentle as Tohru, her mother must have cared for her deeply, you concluded. 

You bowed down in front of the grave in politeness before sitting down with the rest of the group. 

“(L/n)-san, weren’t you going to give your flowers to someone else?” Hanajima commented.

“No, it’s fine,” You smiled at her, “I could always bring more tomorrow, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.” 

Tohru’s lips formed a frown at your response, but it seems as if everyone else decided to shrug off your actions. She wondered who you really came here for, it didn’t seem like you knew about the invitation until you arrived. She wanted to ask you about it but it didn’t seem fitting in the situation, you must not want to talk about it since it might be extremely personal to you. 

You sipped at the tea that Tohru handed to you, noting the flavor of it and how warm it was. You instinctively wanted to run from this situation but already too late at this point, you simply had to be “cool” about now. 

Hanajima could feel negative energy from you, one that began to snap at her head every time she tried to read your waves. She wondered if she wasn’t supposed to be reading you, it seems as if there was an unknown force keeping her away from feeling your emotions. She inferred that you were similar to the other Sohmas sitting next to them. 

The three of you were plagued with deep, internal sadness. It was difficult to read you with the constant headaches Hanajima is getting from trying, but she can see the look of pain and misery in your heart. The feeling was violent, it scratched at the walls of her heart as if something was trying to claw it’s way out. It was painful, very painful. 

Hanajima subconsciously gripped onto her heart as she peered up at you. You were still sipping at the tea while snacking on the smaller food. She wonders if you were hiding your struggles just like everyone else, could it be the reason why Tohru befriended you in the first place? She never met anyone who had given her negative feedback with waves, it was as if you were pushing her away. Was it even possible for someone to get to your heart? 

She assumes that it would be a painful journey for the search of happiness for you. 

You turned your focus onto Hanajima, noticing the way she was staring at you throughout the picnic. Before you could address the situation she cut you off. 

“(L/n)-san. . . Do you do anything outside of work. . .?” It was a plain and simple question, one that shouldn’t spark any sort of interior motive but Hanajima was curious about you. 

You hummed, “I go shopping for a bit. . . I don’t buy anything that often though, just simple window-shopping.”

“Oh? Is that where you buy all your cute pens?!” Tohru’s eyes lit up in excitement, “I always wondered where you got them! They’re so cute!” 

“They’re next to the bakery on the street, it’s run by Aikyo-san.” You responded. 

“You know the owner’s name?” Uotani asked. 

“Yes, I come over at least once a week to help her out,” you placed down your cup of tea, “she doesn’t have many people working at her store.” 

“I see, then we should visit next time!” Tohru suggested, clapping her hands in glee, “I would love to buy some new pens!” 

Yuki smiled as he watched you interact with Tohru and the group. Tohru said she tried to inform you about the event, but you hadn’t given a response in hours. She started to feel a bit worried when heading to the cemetery but luckily you actually came. He noticed that you were fidgeting a lot more today, almost as if you were a bit exhausted or on edge. He examined his surroundings and saw that Tohru was busy talking to Uotani and Hanajima. 

He shifted over to you slightly, trying to be casual and cool about the situation as you accidentally bumped shoulders. 

“(L/n)-san, how are you doing today?” He asked. 

You tilted your head towards him, “I’m fine really. Just a bit exhausted after waking up.” 

“I see, did you have a bad dream?” 

“Your eyes. . . I hate them! I hate everything about you!”

“I-N-No. . .” You mumbled, the sudden flashback sending shivers down your spine. A small droplet of sweat ran down the side of your neck. 

He resisted the urge to brush your hair back, similar to the way you had touched him several days ago. Yuki pressed his lips together as he grabbed onto your wrist and pulled you up, gathering the others' attention.

“Sorry, I just wanted to show (L/n)-san the view from over there, we’ll be back,” Yuki reassured the others before pulling you over to the fenced edge of the cemetery. 

“Are you confessing your love?!” Uotani teased, causing Yuki’s cheeks to heat up but he continued walking.

“No! Of course not!” 

You placed your hands on the railing, seeing the entire view of the town as people walked through the streets casually. The wind was blowing gently with your hair as you pulled back the strands behind your ear. The view was impressive, the sun was beginning to set, the orange and pinkish colors mixing with the blue hues of the sky.

“Sohma-san. . . I was thinking about the other day. . .” You confessed, tightening your fists as your knuckles turned white. 

“You. . . You feel trapped don’t you?” His eyes widened as he shifted his body towards you. You turned away from him slightly, a frown present on your face, “. . . I want to be there for you right now, but I have to be honest. . .” 

Your nails dug into the railings as you bit the bottom of your lip, “I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“There are things I want to say. . . But I don’t know how to.” You mumbled.

Yuki reached out to pat the top of your head, gently rubbing your hair as he felt the small baby strands brush against his pale skin. Your hair was extremely soft and smooth to the touch, it was slightly warm due to the sun but it was a soothing feeling.

“It’s okay (L/n)-san,” he smiled, “I understand how that feels.”

“I. . . I know that. . ” you narrowed your eyes down to the buildings below, “I know that already.”

Yuki let his hand fall to his side, unsure of what to say. He too wanted to say things, he wanted to shout and cry but everything has been bottled up in his body. He knows the look in your eyes, and you see it in his as well. Yuki stared at you while you fidgeted with your fingers.

He was selfish, just as much as you were. Your declaration had echoed in his head like an endless cave. He has been struggling to stay by your side because of his own insecurities eating away at his insides like starving bugs. He noticed the subtle ways of you trying something new, whether it was eating at the rooftop with Uotani and Hanajima, or when you recently came over for dinner. You were trying something new every single day and he felt just as envious of you as you are of him.

He has so much to say, and so little words to actually express what he feels. He knows he isn’t ready to open up to you, but neither were you. The two of you were locked in a stalemate that never seems to budge. Two awkward teenagers who were unable to cope with their inner struggles while they both try to communicate with each other through subtle means, that's what you were. But you were also playing out the story that was lost underneath several layers of reformation, one that had been buried and never found.

Yuki had already found his push with Tohru, but you were still unsure about yourself.

[too-much-sunshine]

Fangs for the Hospitality

Chapter 2

Summary: After Roman leaves his family reunion mad at Remus, his car breaks down. The huge snow storm forces him into the forest hes always been told to stay away from. Who will he meet? And why are they being so nice? Most importantly, why are his teeth so sharp?

A/N: My self-indulgent magic/vampire fic! Let me know if I need to tag something or you wanna be tagged!

Relationship: Familial DAM, Eventual Roceit, Eventual Intrulogical

Warnings (per chapter): Car trouble, Snow storm, very brief talk of death, anxiety, being cold, vague homophobia, Romans family are dicks, Remus too by accident, cursing, rumors, possible panic attack

Catch up!: Master list, Chapter 1

Word Count: 4547

Read on AO3!

Roman finally lifted his head off the wheel and looked around his car. He made sure to keep a few things in his car that would help him if he ever needed to stay the night in his car. While looking he heard a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Remus called him a worry wart. He shook it off and continued looking around.

After a few minutes of searching for a blanket (he swore was in here somewhere), a loud bang rang out from the front of the car. Roman jumped so high he hit his head on the roof of his car.

“The fuck was that!?” He shouted, higher pitched than he's ever willing to admit. “Come oonnn woorrlld are you really going to make me check my engine now?” He pleaded to any god that would listen.

And almost as if they had heard him, smoke started to cloud from under the hood.

Roman yelped and jumped out of the car. Running to the front hood he placed the backside of his hand to the metal to find it blazing hot.

“How the FUCK does a car start on fire in the middle of a FUCKING SNOW STORM!?” He screamed. And then he screamed again just for the hell of it.

At this point Roman couldn't tell if he was crying or if it was just the melted snow running down his face. His hair was ruined, his suit probably was as well. His shoes were full of snow and it was only starting to snow harder as the moments passed.

Roman huffed another hitching breath as he started to look around. There was no way he could stay in his car tonight. With his luck today it might end with it blowing up in the middle of the night... well more later in the night. Though at this point he considered staying just for the possibility of it actually happening.

Looking around, there was no one anywhere. No houses, no lights, he hasn't even seen a person on this road since he left his old house. On one side of the road was a wide open field where he had pulled off too. The other side was a large, dense forest.

As a kid he was warned to stay away from these woods because many people have gotten lost in them. Remus once dared him to go in, to which Roman said no. Then Remus called him lame and ran away to play somewhere else. There were too many spooky stories for Romans liking. And with Roman overactive imagination he stayed far away from here.

Sure the adults told him that the reason told to stay away was because he could get lost. But Remy once told him that it was really because the forest was magic, and that there were witches, werewolves and vampires in there.

And that story was much more fun so that's what Roman chose to believe as a child.

Now Roman didn't really believe in those stories anymore. It was very much more likely that people just got lost in the forest to never be found again. It is a very big forest and is very thick.

Though at the moment Roman wasn't paying much attention to the forest beside him. The young man was not fit for this kind of weather and it was starting to get to him. He was getting very cold and the wind was not helping. He needed to find help soon. He'd call Remy or Remus but his phone was in his jacket pocket, which he forgot back at the house.

Sucking it up, he realized he would have to walk for a bit to find a house. Maybe they would be nice enough to let him use their phone. He picked the direction he had previously been driving toward, and started to walk. He pulled his arms in close to him and kept a quick pace.

It was very cold. The snow was not letting up and he didn't know how long he would have to be walking. Deciding the best strategy was to try and distract himself, Roman started to think of the creatures that might be in the woods.

‘Maybe,’ Roman thought, ‘There really are werewolves and they are actually really nice. Like what if I stumble upon one and they let me use their phone? Wait...would they even have phones? I don't know their life so maybe. What would I even say to them? Just be like ‘why hello my furry looking friend  I seem to be in quite the pickle. Mayhaps you have a phone I could use?’ … No that stupid… They'd probably eat me before then… That's kinda judgmental huh. Maybe they should just eat me. It's not like if I were to actually meet them I could talk to them. I’d be too nervous like I always am with new people… How am I supposed to get home if I even ask for help? Ugg this is dumb…’

Roman kept thinking of random scenarios that might happen if he were to step into the woods. After walking for what felt like an hour, but could have been anywhere from 20 minutes to 3 hours, Roman was freezing cold and shivering violently. The storm was still really bad, but it seemed that the worst had passed.

It also seemed Romans luck was turning around. Roman had spotted a light coming from deep in the forest. It was the only type of man-made thing he had seen in ages so he had no other choice but to step past the threshold, into the thick forest. Before he stepped in he paused and looked in the woods.

He was so cold, and he knew that if he didn't get help soon he was going to freeze.

‘Well,’ He thought, ‘If I die from this, at least it I finally do something cool…’

And with that he stepped into the forest. It was a hard walk. There was no straight path, which distantly Roman thought was odd.

Finally after walking passed a few more trees he emerged on to a great expanse of flat, white snow. Past the flat area, which he realized was a lawn, was an older victorian style house. Much smaller than the mansion Roman grew up in, but much too big to be lining for one person.

Without thinking much, since he couldn't feel his arms or legs anymore, he quickly hobbled up to the door and gave three, light raps.

Roman stood in front of the door, arms around himself barely staying up right. His hair matted down from the snow melting into his hair. But the temperature must have gone up a bit because the snow was starting to turn into a bit of rain.

Roman vaguely realized that the walk through the woods was a lot harsher then he realized. His bowtie was missing and his shirt was barely tucked in anymore. He was a mess. This would never be acceptable dress to meet someone in. He started to shiver more, but possibly for a different reason.

Roman realized that he was still standing on some random porch, in the literal freezing cold and nobody had answered. After a good five minutes more  wait, Roman knocked again, but this time he mustered up the rest of his strength and knocked louder. He the went back to waiting. The edges of his vision were going fizzy around the edges. He wished they would open the door and at least tell him to leave rather than make him wait.

Finally, after Roman was just about to walk back into the woods, the door creaked slowly open.

~~~

“Roman! Remus! My boys you made it here safe and sound! Come in come in!” She ushered the boys who were previously shuffling in the doorway trying to keep out of starting the softly falling snow. “How have you both been? I’ve haven't heard from you both in a while.” Though the question was posed at them both, her focus was directed at Remus, even helping him out of his coat. Roman took his coat off himself and draped it on the rack next to Remus’.

“Fantastic as always!. Had a patient the other day, she had quadruplets! All natural it was crazy to see how big she was, and how many babies were in there. All of them delivered with no complications. Three boys and one girl!” Remus responded walking next to his mom talking animatedly.

“Oh that's just wonderful sweetie! I bet all of them were cute as buttons! That poor mother though, four babies. That will be a handful! And that poor baby girl, growing up with three brothers! You know-”

Roman tuned out their conversation as they walked past the kitchen and staircase. The ballroom was down the straight hall from the greeting room to the left. It took about 5 minutes to actually walk there though.

This place was too big in Romans opinion. Even as a young boy he thought this place was too big. Too much much space to fill, though Remus never seemed to have trouble filling it all up for the both of them. Roman preferred reading, writing, or drawing compared to Remus’ brand of destructive entertainment.

Occasionally Remus and Roman would come together and put on small plays for their mother, father, and staff if they were around at the time. Their mother was never super interested but their father always thought it was the best show he has ever seen. Always praising them both for their hard work.

Sometimes, when Remus was out making a mess and Roman was sat drawing, his father would come in and sit with him. Sometimes watching him draw or quietly reading. Roman enjoyed the shared silence, which he was told was quite odd for a child.

Often when Roman was feeling upset or scared he would run to his dad and just ask him to read to him. Which he always gladly did. He would hold Roman close and just read from whatever was closest. This was actually how Roman found he loved plays. His dad and him might read together sometimes and trade off lines, trying to see who could make the other laugh first. Roman wasn't typically the winner of this game either, but he found he never would mind

Even years later, long after their dad disappeared without so much as a note, Roman looked back at those memories very fondly. He hasn't changed much since he was young. Not talking unless he had something to share. Most called him quite, but he wasn't always. It just took a reason to get him to speak up, and he often found there wasn't much that could do so.

Soon enough Roman was pulled from his memories as they made it to the ballroom where it seems that they were the last to arrive. Most of the immediate and extended family was here, mingling around in their too fancy outfits. If Roman were to guess he would say there was a single item of apparel here that wasn't at least $100, including jewelry. Roman couldn't say much though since he too was wearing a suit. Though he left the jacket at the door and he chose a bowtie over a regular tie.

Nobody made to look their way, except for a few glances. Most were already in the middle of conversation or were looking for someone else that wasn't him. This made it easy for him to be able to slip right past his mother and brother who were still in animated conversation.

Roman made a look around the room to determine the people and, by association, places to avoid. Making a quick glance around the lavish gold gilded room, Roman saw many familiar faces. In the most left corner near the seating area was his grandmother; Gramma Ann. She was a nice woman if you can get past her severely outdated societal norms. Roman had learned more than once that it's best to not talk to her unless he wanted a lesson on proper edicate and questions about his supposedly straight love life.

(It's not that his family didn't know he wasn't straight (they were quite aware after he was caught in the broom closet with the cook's son when he was 16.) It's more like they were hoping he would “change his mind.” Almost like if they never addressed it, it would just go away and he would be “normal.” Or as close to normal as he can be with the way he is.)

That brings him to who is at the centre of the room. His Uncle Dave was probably the person he wanted to avoid the most. He never was really nice to Roman, nor to Remus. For the longest time Roman assumed he just didn't like kids. But even as he grew Uncle Dave still seemed to hate them. It all came to a head when his brother, Romans dad, left without a trace. He used to live with Romans family during the time when he disappeared. For some reason he blamed Roman for it, something that he never fought back on. How did he know that he wasn't? So Roman just took his yelling. Took his screaming about how Roman is the reason because of all of his problems. How he was just too weird and quiet and terrible, and that's why he left.

Roman quickly averted his eyes to the loud laughter that came from his right. By the looks of it Remus had finally dispelled his conversation with their mother and found Remy. He looked the same as he always has; wearing those dark sunglasses inside, and dressed in all black. He said it was to look cool but Remy had told Remus and him one night (After they had heard Remy being yelled at) that he actually wears dark things because he's sensitive to light. He gets migraines from it. They had been sure to keep the lights down around him after that.

(All three boys were proof that having any sort of illness in the family was very much so not appreciated. It meant that the family was not perfect, which was not an option to most.)

The official gossip session has seemed to have started if the amused cackle from Remus meant anything. Soon enough those two would break away and try and cause as much trouble as they can.

Roman kept scanning the crowd for any problem areas and after spotting a few aunts and cousins to avoid, he seemed to find the perfect corner to remain in for as long as possible. Luckily there were a few chairs there as well and they were empty. The only problem was going to be making it there.

Directly in front of it was a small circle consisting of his grandfather on his mothers side, and anyone trying to please him. This grandfather was the reason these parties were as fancy as they were. He paid for everything including the house, though the suit he was wearing was probably worth more than most of the furniture in it. He was a very wealthy CEO of the steel company that he founded when he was 19. He lavished his daughter, Romans mom, in as much of the money as he could. She was his only daughter after all.

He, too, seemed to hate Roman. But then again he also hated Romans dad so it may just be left over hate from their relationship.

He was never as generous with his money to him and Remus as he was with most of the rest of the family. Roman didn't mind much. He has everything he needs, even if his job makes him a bit tight on money sometimes.

A job his grandfather very much so did not like one bit. To be honest it seemed like Roman was the only one who liked his job. Even Remus seemed a bit apprehensive when Roman had brought it up. But it was one of the only things Roman never budged on.

Roman was a writer, stagehand, and sometimes director at a pretty large community theatre in the area. It paid well, but not consistently since it was only a job during shows. Of which there was 4-5 a year. He loved his job, but none of his family seemed to share that mentality.

Roman hoped that if he just kept his head down his grandfather just won't recognize him. Just walk right past him and he will never know. He wouldn't see Roman and he'd be able to stay the rest of this night in the corner. Roman dropped his gaze and started walking at a quick pace. It was a good plan, if one of his aunts had not already had too much to drink.

On his way over to his sacred corner, someone stumbled right into his side pushing him along with her. Roman knew he was in a bit of trouble as he looked up and saw who he bumped into.

Roman immediately started to apologize.

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry grandpa I-”

“Don't call me that you clumsy brat.” He grumbled interrupting Roman.

“Right...Well sorry either way. Didn't see you there! How have you been? Hows the company?” Roman did want to get out of the situation, but he was nothing if not polite. Too bad the same can't be said for most of the people here. He knew he should just shut up and leave, but he could feel the familiar numb spread of anxiety spreading through his limbs.

“As if you really care. But if you must know, well. Stocks are going down a bit because of those damn foreign factories. If it was up to me, we would take them all out by any means necessary. This is the best country anyway. Not like the world would be missing much.” He declared to the crowd who all laughed and agreed. All except Roman who slowly stepped back from the group. His grandpa seemed to have hit a stride and kept up with his racist speech as Roman continued to back up.

Once he was far enough away he turned and hightailed it to his empty corner, breathing a sigh of relief.

‘Finally,’ Roman thought to himself. ‘Now I can be alone.’

“Hey Roman!” A voice all but yelled into his ear.

Roman would never admit how he jumped about a foot in the air and he spun quickly around. He fully turned to see Remus almost on the floor laughing next to Remy who was at least trying to pretend he wasn't laughing.

“Oh ha ha Remus good job you got me?” Roman deadpaned.

“Oh come on that was so good! You always jump so high when you get scared!” Remus laughed some more wiping a tear from his eye.

“Are you done yet?” Roman said hotly.

“Come on babes let him laugh it up for a while. He's gonna need it after losing so bad to me for another year. What has it been now? Like a 7 year streak?” Remy sarcastically replied.

“Uh, bitch, I don't think so! This year I came prepared!”

“Rems you say that every year.”

“Maybe so but I mean it this year! Watch!” Remus ran off into the crowd laughing. He made a direct beeline for their mother leaving Remy and Roman in the corner together.

“...so...Do you think he actually has a chance this year?” Roman asked Remy, finally sitting in one of the two chairs in the corner.

“Babe, I don't think he even has a good rumor. He's just jelly from all the wins I’ve got.” Remy sighed and sat in the other chair next to Roman.

“I don't know he seemed to think he had a really good one this year.”

“Honey, he thinks he has a good one every year. Last year had to be the worst though. At this point I don’t see why anyone would listen to him, let alone believe a word he says.”

“Well as long as hes having fun here.”

“Well babe you could get in on this too if you want.” Remy lifted his sunglasses a bit to look over Roman.

“Know full well Remington that I can't talk to people let alone tell a convincing lie.”

“Yea yea we've been over it. Social Anxiety is a bitch huh… Well If you need anything you can at least talk to me. I get the struggle in this family.” Remy looked pointedly into Romans eyes.

“Aww does Remy liikkee mmeeeee???” Roman didn't much like the change in tone of the conversion, so he tried to change it back to the light heartedness as it was before.

“Bitch? I would never.” Remy smirked and replaced his sunglasses.

“Yea yea. You know-” Roman started, before a shrill voice cut him off.

“ROMAN ADRIAN JULIUS PRINCE!” A voice pierced through the crowd.

Roman immediately stood up at attention as the crowd parted revealing his mother storming past everyone straight to him. Roman didn't know what he had done wrong this time. But he did know he was kinda upset he didn't even make it halfway through the night yet. Remy stood up, and stood slightly behind him.

“Babes, what did you do?” He whispered.

“I have to clue.” He whispered back, just as his mother stopped right in front of him.

To Romans surprise she did yell at him or push him back right away. She just stood there searching his face. After a tense moment, she seemed to find what she was apparently looking for in his anxious expression, as she broke out into a bright smile. Roman was reeling from such a contrast of emotions going on around him and his own. If her smile wasn't weird enough, she started laughing then wrapped her arms around Roman.

Roman froze. His mother hasn't hugged him since he was very young. He started at the now staring, silent crowd. Slowly he returned the hug, moreso because it was to be expected. Finally she pulled back, but held him at arm's length, hands on his shoulders. Roman found she had tears in her eyes. He's never been more confused in his entire life.

“M-mom what's going on?” He shakily started.

“Roman! Don’t pretend like you don't know! Why didn't you tell you were engaged!” She shouted. The crowd gasped. While Roman took a second to process what she just said.

“I-...I’m not though?” He spoke stuntingly.

“Don't worry honey you don't have to hide it anymore! I know you were worried to tell us because of that one thing that happened...But i'm just glad you finally found what's actually right! You should have brought her with you honey!”

Roman didn't know how to react. She was just so happy with this idea… Should he tell her? Tell her he has absolutely no club what the hell she was talking about? Well...If she wanted him to be engaged...why not let this slide for now…? It's not like she will ever meet anyone he dates anyway. Why not entertain her love for a while.

With his mind made up he finally spoke up.

“W-who told you?”

“So it is true! You didn't deny it! Oh sweetie, I'm so proud of you! Who knew you’d finally do something like this before Remus!”

“Mom.” Roman was starting to feel really small in this very large crowd around him, realizing everyone was still staring. “Who told you this?”

“Why Remus of course! I’m not surprised you told him first, a little disappointed is all but still!”

“Umm. Thank you. You- Umm. Now if you'll excuse me I need to...get a drink!”

“Oh that's perfect! A toast! Everyone grab a drink for my son and his engagement!” She turned to say to everyone.

Roman was starting to breathe a bit faster. He caught his grandfather's eye. He seemed to have done almost a full 180 from how he looked at him before. He had a slight smirk on his face and what seemed to be a bit of proud gleam in his eye. Roman felt a bit sick. Remy disappeared from behind him, probably to get a drink as well.

Maybe he shouldn't have gone along with this idea. Once he found out Remus was involved he knew exactly what was happening. He just wishes he had come up with a less believable lie this year. He should have known once he agreed everyone would be too happy. This was a family of tradition, and to them marrying young was very important. They are probably the most proud of Roman right now then they ever have been or will be.

Someone handed Roman a glass of champagne but he didn't feel it much. His family was cheering for him and they were actually...happy for him. He didn't want this. Not like this. He needed to get out. He needed to run before he started to panic even more. They were happy for him...he didn't want to ruin that by actually being himself.

So he ran.

He ran past his mother. Passed his drunk aunt and uncle who were cheering for him and drinking even more. Right passed his proud looking grandfather. And then right past Remus and Remy who was passing Remus his well earned cash. As Roman passed them he shot Remus a cold glare. Remus went from a gleeful smile holding a new $50 bill, to fear as he watched Roman leave the ballroom.

Once he was out of the room where everyone was watching him, he kept going. He ran past the staircase Remus fell down when he was 7, and he father and him sat on to read Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. Past the kitchen where Remus stole the cooks still hot cookies, where Roman sat with his father when he taught him how to use chopsticks. And finally out the door, completely forgetting his jacket.

Once outside the cold shocked him into a bit more lucidity. The storm is almost in full force now. Whipping winds and heavy snow. But Roman didn't care. He kept running all the way to his car, which was easy to find since it was the most beat up thing in the lot. He was surprised it even got him and Remus all the way out to the countryside without breaking down.

Roman jumped in the front seat and quickly reached for the key in his pocket. Once he finally grabbed it, he started the car as quickly. He distantly felt bad for booking it as soon as everyone started looking at him, but he just handled it. He could still barely breathe.

He backed his car up and round. Finally he was driving away from the mansion, while pulling his seatbelt on at the same time. Looking in the rearview mirror he caught Remus busting through the front door into the snow, just in time to see Roman turn the corner and out of sight.

~~~

Next Chapter!

Taglist:

@primaveradoodles

[ladynestaarcheron]

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Eighteen

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti  @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me @rinad307 @superspiritfestival )

so, i recalled earlier this week that in canon, showers don't exist. you might be thinking, hey lior zoë, what are you talking about? allow me to refresh your memory. in acowar, nesta confesses to feyre in front of the inner circle that her ptsd is triggered by taking baths, because of the cauldron. so she has to bathe in buckets. feyre assures her that they will come up with some contraption that will allow her to clean herself some other way. in the snippet from the end of acofas (which we now know is called A Court of Silver Flames, btw!!), nesta mentions her ability to slip into a bath is huge progress. so presumably, feyre has not given her this contraption. i think about this all the time, because the idea of a superior race with all the magic in the world not having ever invented showers is so supremely stupid to me. however, it has come to my attention that on two occasions I have forgotten this, and mentioned showers in previous chapters of lpg. i have elected to continue ignoring this and in the future will continue to reference showers. but in accordance with the rules of the game, I can no longer call this fic canon compliant AU. henceforth, this fic is a showers exits!AU and nothing more.

enjoy.

---

February 9 - 4 years after

The last of Sugar Valley's snow melts in early February, and as mid-month nears, the weather almost looks warm outside. Of course, it is still plenty cold, so every morning brings a new argument on whether or not Avery has to wear her coat, which sparks an identical one with Nicky.

Nesta takes a deep breath. "All right, Avery," she says. "Stand outside for one whole minute without your coat. Just on the porch. Yes, you too, Nicky."

"I want Ollie to come too," Avery demands.

"No, Ollie doesn't want to stand in the cold without a coat. There you go. Your minute starts...now."

Nesta watches the two of them stand on the front porch, Nicky enjoying himself like it is a game and Avery, cross and stubborn, glaring at her.

Ollie sits on the floor next to the door, working on putting his boots on by himself. He's quiet except for slight whispers as he coaches himself on how to tie his laces.

"Had enough?" Nesta calls.

"I'm cold, Mummy."

"Well, come inside and put on your coat, then," Nesta says, doing her absolute best to keep her voice even.

Nicky does, but Avery remains outside, scowling.

Nesta takes a deep, shaky breath. "Avery," she says. "I can see you're shivering."

Avery stomps her foot. "I am not."

Nesta closes her eyes. "All right," she says. It's far too early in the day to choose a hill to die on. "Let's just walk to nursery, then."

Nesta wraps Avery's coat inside hers—she can't hold it normally, for if Avery sees it, she'll throw a fit. She fastens her buckle tightly, so the smaller coat won't slip down her body and she can still use both her hands to hold onto her children.

But Avery doesn't want to hold hands today.

Eventually, she manages to get all three of them to nursery, with Avery in her sour mood the whole way, Ollie keeping to himself as much as possible, and Nicky blissfully unaware of both his sister's and his mother's irritation.

She sneaks the coat into their teacher's hands and leaves after only two quick kisses goodbye—Avery has joined her friend Emilia in a game and refuses to pay Nesta any mind at all.

So Nesta scowls on her way to start her day, too. Perhaps even more than usual, for Maz ducks behind a bookshelf as soon as he sees her.

"How have you scared him off already?" Zeyn asks, laughingly, from behind her.

Nesta whips around. "All I did was walk in here!" She can't help her outburst. She doesn't have many outlets. She'll take what she can get.

But Zeyn is rather used to this, and his easy-going personality never falters. "Woah," he says, holding his hands up. "Coffee's in the back room. Come with me."

She'd like to stew in her misery for a bit longer, actually, but Zeyn doesn't let her, pushing her along and sitting her down in a chair.

"Is it the workload?" he asks her. "I know you've been taking the brunt of those Prythian writers..."

"It's all of it, Zeyn," Nesta says, dejected. "It's the writers and my regular workload and Avery's going through this phase...and Ollie's being quieter than usual and I think his lungs are part of the reason, really..."

And she doesn't say it to him, but it's Cassian, too. Not that he's done anything wrong, it's just...he's been in the Night Court all week, and she has grown so used to having him around. And now it feels like everything has been dumped upon her alone. Pairing this with that "paperwork" that Amorette had started doing, which is shaping up to be a huge opportunity for her in Ciyaluck...Nesta's never felt more burdened in her life.

"At least Nicky's still singing to himself," she says miserably.

"Ava's not exactly depressed, Nesta," Zeyn says, teasing slightly.

"I think she hates me now."

"She doesn't! Like you said, it's just a phase."

"It's not..." Nesta swallows. "It's just a lot."

And now she can't even share with him, because...well...it feels too weird. She and Cassian have been co-parenting for months now. She's been slowly easing Zeyn out of conversations like this, and to suddenly talk about something as intimate as her relationship with her daughter with such brazenness...it feels wrong to be talking to anyone else this way.

But that isn't right. She still loves Zeyn. He still helped her with the children so much when they were born, when she was pregnant.

"It feels a lot to handle sometimes," she says finally.

Zeyn cups her face with his hand. His eyes, warm as ever, twinkle at her. "You don't have to handle it alone," he promises, voice sweet.

She summons a smile. "Is that an offer to edit these short stories I just got?"

Her ill attempt at humor works. He laughs and breaks apart. "Count on it."

---

February 3 - 1 year after

It was a good thing Adil had found her a house when he did, because the deals with the bank and with Erest, the councilhead, were finalized just as Nesta grew to be too big to fit through the door of her room at the inn.

Nesta had actually been looking forward to her second trimester, because of the promise of not greeting every morning with violent illness, and then crumpling up in a heap on the bathroom floor.

But it seemed that the first day she had awoken to find all she had eaten before going to bed yesterday had successfully stayed down, was also the day she thought she would not be able to get out of bed on her own. While it was true—in her case, at least—that the fourth month of pregnancy brought with it the energy that had all but disappeared completely these past few months, it wasn't much use if she was too heavy to handle herself.

Amorette, her healer, was pleased to note every pound Nesta gained. She had been worried, at first, having heard tell of females unable to produce enough space and nutrition for multiples and losing all of them, one after the other, but Nesta was having no such troubles. She—and Miri—had assured her that she did not look to be the same size as her new two-story house, though.

(There was some concern about the size of one of the triplets, a male, significantly smaller than the other two, but Amorette said as long as they were keeping an eye on it all, they should be fine.)

"Right, then," Adil said, coming down the stairs of the house. "You should be set for now. Placeholders," he added, nodding towards the blue couch in the living room and other items that graced Nesta's sparse new home. "Until we can...get some..." he trailed off, looking around, perhaps doing more measuring in his head.

"You've done more than enough," Nesta said firmly. While pregnancy had not been kind to her over the last month, Adil certainly had, helping her with everything she could possibly think to need. Miri as well. And Zeyn...well, Nesta could never really tell if he was more irritating than helpful, but he was there, too.

"Got the cribs set up, room next to yours. Didn't paint the room, though..."

Nesta could hardly believe it. "What?"

Adil looked as startled as she felt. "Well, Miri said it was important for you to paint it. Nesta...?"

"Nesting," Miri called from the kitchen.

"Right."

"No, no, it's not that. I just..."

I just forgot I'd need cribs.

"...didn't realize you had bought me cribs. That's—that's too kind."

"Gift from the shop," he grunted, looking away. That was fine. Nesta didn't want to make eye contact either. "Well, we'll be on our way."

Miri came out of the kitchen. "I've got some meals ready for you in there, dear."

"Oh, thank you, Miri. You didn't have to do that."

"Oh, please. We'll see you tomorrow, dear."

"Thank you," she said again, to them both, as she walked them out.

The sound she made when she shut the door was between a sigh and a groan. Endless relief and gratitude that she finally—finally, for the first time in her life, had her own home. And the dawning realization that it would not be hers alone in a few short months.

Or would it? Nesta didn't remember deciding she was going to keep the triplets, only that she wasn't terminating the pregnancy. Were those her children stretching out her insides, she wondered, running her hands over her belly as she stared in the mirror? Or was she just holding them for someone?

That was something she needed to figure out. Before Cassian wrote back, at least.

She tried not to think about how he hadn't written back yet. Perhaps he was still...upset. But he would, eventually, and then she...they would...what?

Less than five months to go...and with the average duration of a triplet pregnancy being far less than the typical nine months, probably not even that. Whatever decision she was going to make, she had to make it soon.

---

February 18 - Year of

Nesta never thought the sight of Cassian's house in their camp would bring her so much relief. But it meant that trip was finally over.

"I've got to shower," she said, as soon as she walked in the door. "I have to get all of that place off of me."

"What was so bad about it?" he called after her, but she didn't stop to answer.

That camp wasn't so terribly different from this one, true. In fact, it was uncannily similar, as she had noted when they first arrived there. But the people were different. There was no love lost between all the townspeople here (save Cassian and Emerie) and Nesta, but she had not missed being looked at that way. Hated...feared.

She hadn't minded really, in that room. And she could admit to herself here, alone in the shower, that she even...enjoyed some of it. The parts where she spent all her waking hours with Cassian, and even when there were other people in the room, she wasn't sharing him.

Nesta had never been someone's first choice. No one had ever placed her at the height of their priorities, given themselves to her first and foremost. And that still wasn't what was happening. They had only gone because Cassian was General Commander—sworn to her sister and Rhysand and the people of the Night Court first.

But all that had seemed far away on this trip. It was so easy to pretend like none of that was real.

Even then, she knew the illusion couldn't last that long.

---

February 26 - 1 year after

Days seemed to go by quicker now. What with her new house, Nesta felt she had more freedom to go about the town as she pleased. She was so taken with living life as she saw fit, she didn't even mind that Sugar Valley really didn't have much to do. She thought she might prefer it that way.

In the mornings, she would walk to the bookstore, and someone would be waiting with a coffee for her. Zeyn or Miri or sometimes Leyla. Perhaps they worked in shifts.

She'd read and repair all day, and stop to eat lunch with everyone at half past noon. There hadn't been a collective lunch break when she had started, but one day she sat down with a large container of chicken salad, and Zeyn had sat himself next to her, and then Leyla had joined, and Maz followed her, along with Xeyale and Amir, and Miri had come to see what the gathering was about, and then Adil had wandered in after her. Sometimes their publishing agent, Hazar, stopped by and joined them.

Sometimes she'd leave in the afternoon for a visit with Amorette. In the evenings, she'd go home and fix herself dinner, which she liked to do alone.

But after that, she'd go for a walk about the town, and inexplicably, someone would be there. Most often Zeyn.

"So, you think of any names yet?" he said to her one night, as they walked.

Nesta popped a sugarberry into her mouth. "Names?"

"For the babies."

Nesta flinched. "No."

"Oh, do you think it's bad luck to talk about it? Some people do. My mother's that way."

"I don't believe in luck," she said. Luck was so faerie, like their pantheon of gods and fate and mates. None of that was real. Not real enough to matter, anyway.

Zeyn laughed. "That must be nice."

She didn't think it was. He laughed at everything, didn't he? Nesta would never be that way.

"So, do you need any help? With the names?"

"Did you have some you wanted to share?" she asked drily.

"ZJ," he said immediately.

"ZJ? Zeyn Junior?"

He grinned at her. "Got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

She summoned a weak smile. Where she was from, someone was only a Junior if they had taken their parent's name.

"Zahra's pretty popular for a girl," he continued, unaware of her thoughts. "I think it's pretty."

"I don't think I want a Gilameyvan name, though," she mused. And she certainly shouldn't choose a name if she wasn't sure she wanted to keep the children.

"What's popular in Prythian, then?"

"I don't know," she said shortly. Then, after considering it for a few moments, "I'm from south of Prythian."

"What's popular there? Is Nesta a common name?"

"Hardly," she scoffed. Feyre wasn't, either. They did know their fair share of Elains, though. "I guess...Heather? Joyly? Analynn?"

"Joyly's nice."

"Well, I didn't like any of the Joylys I knew."

"What about boy names?"

Nesta thought. "Well...Caleb, I guess. Elias." She didn't remember many boys she had known. Tomas, of course, but she wasn't going to name anyone after him. "Actually," she said, softly, "I did always like my father's name."

He touched her elbow gently. "What was his name?"

"Ollison," she said. She hurried to find something else to say. She certainly didn't want to talk about her father. "I like Avery for a girl. A book I liked when I was younger...the heroine was called Avery."

"Human-authored?"

"Yes."

"Maybe we can find it," he said. "How do you know so many human-authored books anyway?"

So Adil hadn't mentioned her slight stretch of truth. "I lived among them for many years," she said.

"Wow, really? What were they like?"

"They were normal," she answered, irritated by the question.

"Really, even to a High Fae?"

Oh. That was why he asked. How to answer?

"Friendships and love can transcend race," she said, thinking of her sister and her new family. Herself and...

"You loved some of them."

After a lengthy pause, Nesta said, "I did. Very much."

---

February 11 - 4 years after

Avery's poor attitude does not transfer towards her behavior at nursery, according to her teacher, and while Nesta supposes she should be glad of this, she finds she's only upset that it seems to be just her Avery has a problem with.

This is further worsened by her shrieks of delight when Cassian accompanies her to pick them up that afternoon.

Avery races towards him like she hasn't seen him in months—even though Cassian had arrived last night, and they had all eaten breakfast together.

Cassian doesn't seem to notice Nesta's disgruntlement, and laughs as he picks Avery up into his arms. Nicky and Ollie clamber at his legs, and he scoops them up too.

Nesta keeps her eye roll to herself as she takes their bags. Not Avery's coat, though—because at Cassian's request, she had elected to wear hers today.

At least Nicky says, "Mummy, I missed you so much today!" and Ollie nods along eagerly.

"Can we go to the park?" Avery asks.

"You know the rules, Ava," Cassian says sternly, as they leave. "We go home and eat first."

Avery pouts some, and Nesta's blood rushes to her cheeks—is she going to throw a tantrum? Oddly, the idea of a public fit doesn't faze Nesta at all, as the three of them have each had their fair share, but having Cassian see how incompetent she can be mortifies her beyond belief.

But he coaxes her out of it by promising they're going to go to the park later, and actually, they're going to cook something together to eat, and won't that be fun?

Nesta has been hiding her bitterness from her children their whole lives, so this one afternoon is hardly the one that kills her. But she takes extra care to keep up cheery pretenses because of Cassian's presence, and she's convinced she's done a good job of it, because he doesn't seem to notice anything's the matter at all.

At least, she doesn't think he does, but right after they shut the door to the children's room, he puts his arm over her shoulder, and—when they are safely out of earshot, in the kitchen—says, "Nesta, what's wrong? You've been miserable all day."

"I have not been miserable all day," she scoffs, trying to hide her flush with a glare.

"Come on, Nesta. What is it? Is it Ava? Kids act like that all the time."

"I know how children act," she snaps.

"I didn't mean to imply you don't," he says. "Just...trying to reassure you." He hesitates. "Nesta...Rhys and Az and Mor each told me that you're a wonderful mother."

"What a surprise that must have been."

"To them, maybe, but not to me," he says seriously. "I always knew. But it's okay if this is hard for you to do on your own. With Ava and with everything you've had to take on at work...and, you know, if anything else has been pressuring you..." he trails off, and when she doesn't show any sign she knows what he's talking about, his lips tug upwards slightly, and he adds, "If I've been pressuring you."

"You have not been pressuring me," she says automatically.

"Well, I hope you're lying," he says, "because I've certainly tried to."

Nesta rolls her eyes.

"You really haven't thought about my telling you I want us to be a family?" he asks, skeptical. "I don't believe you. Come on, Nesta, it's just me. You can tell me."

Nesta gives a short, irritated sigh. "Well, of course I've thought about it."

"And what?" He takes a step closer to her. "You haven't come up with an answer yet?" He puts his hands on her shoulders, smirking slightly.

He's...he's much closer now. And his wings aren't spread wide, but inching closer to her as well. Blocking out everything in her periphery, so he is all she can see. "I have."

He raises an eyebrow. This is unnatural, isn't it, being this close without actually touching? "And?"

His eyes—like Avery's, like Ollie's, like a dark honey disappearing into the black of his pupils. It takes her a minute to remember what he's talking about. "Oh," she says, slightly surprised to remember. "Well. Of course I want us to be a family." She doesn't get a chance to say anything else.

Because then he is kissing her, and it's like no time has passed. His hands circling her waist and hers taking their place in his hair. He tastes the same—that vague lemon and mint. His hair is a bit longer, but the growling sound from the back of his throat when she pulls it is just as she remembers. It's what spurs him onward, downward. His lips move to the side of her mouth, and he kisses down her neck, but she pulls him back upwards. It's been too long. She has waited so long for this.

And it appears she'll have to wait a while longer, because just as their hands start to roam, a small voice from the stairwell calls, "Mummy, my throat is really hurting a lot."

They rip apart. Cassian's eyes are wide, and he snaps his wings backwards to be tucked against his back.

Nesta whips around, hands furiously smothering her hair—just in time to see Ollie wobble into the kitchen.

He hasn't seen.

The pair of them breathe a sigh of relief together.

Then Nesta remembers what he said. "Your throat hurts, angel? Come here." She picks him up and holds him against her. He lays his head on her shoulder and coughs, wet and deep.

"It's been back," Nesta whispers to Cassian. To Ollie she says, "Do you feel like you need to take the purple medicine we got from the healer?"

Ollie nods, yawning.

"It's in that cabinet there," she says to Cassian. She takes a deep breath to calm herself so she can calm him. "We're going to take a little bit of medicine. We're going to practice our deep breaths over the steaming bowl, and first thing tomorrow we are going to see our friend Healer Nazrin. All right, angel?" She looks at Cassian when she speaks, and he nods along with Ollie.

After she directs Cassian on how much of the tonic to give Ollie, she says, "Now, why don't you go with Appa and sit on the couch, and Mummy will bring the steaming bowl?"

This is not the first time Ollie has woken up in the middle of the night complaining of throat or chest pains and a cough. Nesta's not overly terrified; in fact, she's even pleased to see he is old enough to tell her exactly what hurts and that he wants medicine. But she knows that for Cassian, this is the first time, and he is probably as scared as she was. So sitting with him for a moment alone on the couch while she takes care of the treatment will probably calm him down.

And give her just a few seconds to collect herself. There is far too much on her plate. She doesn't need anything extra to deal with now.

---

hope you enjoyed that!!

also, did you know, i started a booktube? also also did you know, june 21st as this week and it’s the triplets’ birthday? also also also did you know, june 25th is tomorrow and that’s my birthday!!

thank you all so much for the overwhelming support. i just love you guys so much. i also love @thestarwhowishes, my beta.

---

Chapter Nineteen

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

The Guardian’s Oath, Part One

This is the first thing I’ve written in the “spirit of the season”. I've always been a huge Halloween geek, probably because it falls close to my birthday, so when I was little, it kind of felt like all this fun stuff was somehow related to me. 

I usually avoid writing for characters who are already popular in wrestling fan fiction because I figure that there’s already so many good things to read and I don’t have anything particularly new to offer, but this idea couldn’t have worked with anyone other than Finn Balor. I’m not claiming that this is incredibly original either because it absolutely is not. Anyone who’s read any classic gothic stories will recognize that this comes close to outright plagiarism in bits. Nevertheless, I started writing it to see where it went and this is what happened. Well, it’s the first part of what happened. This is about half of what I have written thus far and there is more coming. 

The setting is 19th century Ireland, about which I know precious little, so please forgive me any egregious errors. 

Pairing: Feargal Devitt/ Finn Balor x OFC 

Word count: 3,706

Content advisory: Nothing other than that it’s a slow burn so some people are going to find this section a little flat (more fiction than fan content here)

It was one of the first warm days of spring when I arrived at Wynn Cottage. I was practically trembling with nervousness, waiting to meet my new employer. Although the education I had received from the church was a good one, the offer of a position as governess for a priest in the hamlet of Bray came very quickly after I was ready to work. Indeed, the offer seemed to have come from nothing, from a chance meeting of a deacon at my church with a parishioner from Bray. I liked to think that it was fate, that the position had come to me at the exact moment I was ready because this was where God intended for me to be. While the arrangements for my transfer to Bray were conducted mostly by the two churches, I had been touched to receive a kind and welcoming letter from my new employer, Reverend Feargal Devitt. 

He explained in his letter that he was a widower and that because the tiny protestant population of the county was widespread, his work required him to spend a great deal of time travelling from village to village. He needed a governess who could care for and help to educate his two young children, a boy and a girl, one whose faith was in line with his own.

I alighted from the carriage and took my case with all my meagre belongings from the driver and stepped through the gate into my new life. 

As he had promised, Reverend Devitt was waiting for me with his children. There was a slightly older woman, clearly a servant of the house standing with them like an equal member of the family. They made a lovely picture, standing before their quaint cottage under the dappled sunlight that broke through the apple tree just next to it. 

"Miss Miles," he greeted me warmly, "welcome to Wynn. I hope your journey was easy."

"Quite easy, sir. It was my first time on a train, so it made for a rather nice adventure."

He beamed and placed his hands on his children's shoulders, gently pushing them a step towards me. "This is my son William and my daughter Sophia. Children, this is your new governess, Mis Miles."

The children were an odd pair. I knew that the boy was eight and the girl nine but they gave the impression of being quite a bit further removed in age. The boy figured his father with his large blue eyes. His sandy hair was lighter than the Reverend's but I could imagine it would darken to the point where their resemblance would be quite striking. He was a little small for his age, although his fresh complexion and proud stature showed all the signs of perfect health.

His sister, by contrast, was tall, almost to my shoulder, and dark. Her hair and eyes were the colour of coffee and her skin a warmer, like the shell of a walnut. As she tilted her heart-shaped face in my direction, I was struck by the keen intelligence in her eyes, mixed with a hint of apprehension. I could not fault her for that and I only hoped that I could win her over. 

"This is Kate, our cook. She's been with us since before the children were born. Any questions you have about the house or the town, she'll be able to answer."

The woman gave me a smile, her round, pink cheeks pressing her eyes nearly shut. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

"Susan, one of the girls from the village, comes by to help with the cleaning and upkeep and Mr. Jones is the gardener but they don't live with us. You'll meet them later."

It was only then that my eyes came to rest on Reverend Devitt and truly take in his appearance and I felt my breath catch in my throat as I did.

His eyes were bluer and clearer than any sky I had ever seen, the highlight of his handsome face with its squared jaw and neat beard, shaved in such a way that his full lips were still visible. He flashed me another smile and I felt my heart quicken in response. I had never met any man, or any person, who inspired such a reaction in me and, as rash an idea as it was, I believe that I fell in love with him at that moment. 

"Please," he said softly, "come in."

I picked up my case and Kate immediately moved to help me."

"Your rooms are in the garrett," he explained with a hint of embarrassment. "It's not too large and the ceiling is a little low but it's warm and dry and there is a window that gives a nice light. On clear days, you can even see the ocean."

"I am certain it's more than enough for me, sir. I expect I shall be spending most of the day with the children anyway. And I should very much like to see the ocean. I've only ever had it described to me."

The Reverend looked shocked. "You've never seen the ocean? At all?"

"Never in my life sir." I caught a look that passed between the children and looked down, ashamed. My situation had never permitted me to travel any distance from the inland village where I was born. It was not until I uttered those words, however, that I realized what an ignorant peasant I must seem as a result.

If Reverend Devitt saw the look on his children's faces, he gave no sign of it. He only gave me another of his thrilling smiles and said, "Well it's settled then. We shall go for a walk while Kate prepares dinner."

I felt my cheeks color at his words. This hospitality was far beyond anything I had dared hope for and I wondered if he would have been so congenial with anyone, or if it was possible that it was something he did just for me.

Kate and I carried my trunk to my rooms and while the light was strangely mournful in the late afternoon, the accommodations were better than I had been led to expect for a woman in my position. 

"You don't want to see the view?" Kate asked, noticing that I avoided looking towards the window. 

"I don't want to spoil the surprise," I answered shyly.

She gave me a smile that was every bit as warm, although not as beautiful, as her master's. 

"I hope it's not too forward for me to say, but I believe you'll fit in well here."

*

I was a little surprised that the shore was so close and so easily accessible. I had always imagined the coast to be a series of tagged cliffs towering above the wild water but here the land gently rolled down to meet the water, a soft stretch of sand the bridge between them. 

Reverend Devitt took my hand to help me down the last few steps to the beach and I had to turn my face away so that he could not see the effect it had on me. He kept my hand in his until he was sure my feet were steady on the unfamiliar surface.

The children walked ahead of us. William rushed off and started gathering stones and shells. 

"He collects them," the Reverend informed me. "For what purpose I'm not sure but he's done it for years." 

Sophia strolled on her own. She ventured closer to the water, which struck me as a very good thing to do. Many of the stories I'd heard of the ocean involved people being swept away into it. From time to time, her brother would call her over but each time she returned to the water's edge, as if it were only there that she was happy.

"I'm too indulgent with them," Reverend Devitt sighed, noticing how my eyes followed Sophia with concern. "I try to keep discipline but I find it hard. They lost their mother young and their father is off helping the lord's flock rather than his own."

"Well I hope I can set your mind at ease on that score, at least a little," I offered. 

He turned to face me, his smile a little softer and sadder. With the light behind him, it was like he had a golden halo. I had been delivered to the home of this angel of a man and once again, my heart rushed at the feeling I already had for him.

I was so much in his thrall that I was startled when both the children rushed up, to their father and to me.

"Look what I've found!" William cried excitedly. He extended his hand to reveal a live crab, its legs grasping at the air while the boy dangled it by his shell.

"It's a big one," Sophia added, a mischievous little grin spreading across her face.

"Put your hand out, Miss Miles," William goaded. "He can hold him. He won't hurt you."

"William, hush," his father tutted. "Don't ever speak to her like that again."

Both children had their gleaming eyes fixed on me, as if their father were no longer there, waiting to see what I did next.

I disliked the crab, finding it like an armored spider, and I shivered at the movement of its spindly legs, but something in me hated the idea that I might fail an early test from my charges, strange though it might be.

"No," I quavered, holding my palm out flat. "He can put it in my hand. I don't mind."

Not one of our group could have believed that I didn't mind. My hand shook almost violently as I offered it. Nevertheless, I nodded to William to proceed. I hated the sensation of the legs of my hand, too light for the size of the creature. And despite William's assurance, I felt certain that it would happily snap one of my fingers with its grotesque claws.

What should we do with it, Miss Miles?" William cajoled me. He and his sister leaned in closer, their eyes bearing in on me with even greater intensity.

"You take it back and put it back exactly where you found it," his father ordered without waiting for me to reply. "Now."

The two of them scampered off and I saw William toss the crab back, none too gently, into the rocks where he had found it. From there, they walked together, Sophia taking his hand in hers and pulling him close as they spoke to each other with animated expressions. I knew instinctively that they were discussing me.

"So what do you think of the ocean?" Reverend Devitt asked after a long pause.

"It's very beautiful."

I paused and took a deep breath, my nostrils filling with the briny scent. At that very moment, looking out on its endless expanse, I wasn't sure if I liked the sea or not. 

"I feel like it's all around me, even here on land. The smell and the sound and the mist in the air.."

He looked at me with a tenderness I had never known. "You get used to it," he promised.

We headed back to the house as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of flame and rose and indigo. He took my arm and rested his hand on my back as he helped be back up the path away from the beach and I felt the echoes of his touch as we took our dinner together, as I watched him read from the bible and a book of fables to his children, and even after I retired for the evening.

I had hoped that the air I'd taken in on our walk would make me fall asleep quickly but it was not to be. I felt I could not get comfortable, either hot or cold and the sounds of the house were different than I was used to. The thing that made me the most anxious, however, was that I could hear the waves rolling in the distance. It left me unsettled, as foolish as I knew that to be.

The Reverend stayed at home most of the next day before he headed out to visit the adherents of the faith where they needed him. I learned that he was normally gone from Monday afternoon until Saturday night and I had to hide my disappointment that I would see so very little of him. 

I reminded myself that I was a servant in his house and my role was to tend to and educate the children, not to pine after him. Although it was late for lessons by the time their father had gone, I did have both the children practice on the small piano in the drawing room before dinner. They did so without any resistance and paid respectful attention when I corrected their mistakes. 

After we had taken dinner, I was about to send them to bed when I was startled by the sound of something creaking and banging loudly from outside. My nerves were already on edge as a storm and blown in as darkness fell, the coastal wind being much wilder than I was used to, so I gave a startled cry at the sound.

Kate rushed in and her face softened upon seeing me standing, hand on my chest, my gray eyes wide with fright.

"I'm sorry, miss, it's just the back gate's come loose again. The Lock's needed replacing for a while now but Mr. Jones keeps forgetting to do it."

"We'll get it," Sophia cried, grabbing her brother's hand and rushing past the two of us. 

By the time I'd recovered my wits, I heard the back door close. I don't know what I thought might befall the children but I tore after them, practically falling on the wet grass as I rushed to the gate. 

Sophia stared at me as if I were a crazy woman and William laughed a little.

"What on Earth are you doing?" I panted. "You mustn't run off like that, especially after dark."

I wiped away the rain that slashed at my cheek and motioned for both of them to get inside. There was a wooded area behind the gate and with the wind up and the leaves blowing, I felt myself unnerved by the shifting shadows within.

"Don't be silly," Sophia reassured me with excessive sweetness. "It's just the gate in our own yard. Besides, you don't know the trick to it. If you don't know the trick, it'll just blow open again."

"And then you'll have to wake us to do it for you," William chimed in.

Each of them took one of my hands and steered me back towards the house, as if they were the adults and I the child. It wasn't until we were back inside and I had sent them to get ready for bed that it occurred to me that I should have asked them to show me the trick.

I went upstairs with the Bible in hand to read to the children on my own for the first time. I had thought of a passage or two that I believed would be instructive at their age but I still felt nervous. 

It was a great relief when they sat in their beds, poised and quiet, listening attentively. 

"Do you have any questions?" I queried, closing the book on my lap. 

They exchanged a  glance and Sophia spoke for both of them.

"No ma'am."

"I know your father read you stories from another book. Would you like me to do that?"

"We've heard all those stories before," Sophia sighed. 

"When Kate or Susan put us to bed, they tell us fairy stories," William added excitedly. 

"Oh, is there a book of those you'd like me to read from? I don't mind."

"Oh they don't read," Sophia laughed. "They just tell us the stories they know."

"They tell us about the creatures here."

I bit my lip. "I'm afraid I don't know any fairy stories from this area."

"What monsters are there where you come from?" William asked a little too sharply.

"Well I'm not going to tell you stories about monsters when you're going to bed or you won't sleep."

Sophia laughed as if I'd said something foolish. "Oh we're not afraid."

"Do you have Bog Maeve where you come from?" William pressed, his excitement only growing. "She's the old lady who lives under the bogs and pulls travelers under."

I felt like I had somehow lost control of the conversation and yet I found myself wanting to impress the children, hoping to overcome the impression left by my cowardice in the face of the storm. 

"I believe we have stories of something like that, but the name is different."

"What about ghosts? We have the White Man. He walks around the edge of the graveyard and leans against the church wall, crying for his wife."

"You mustn't carry on like that, William," I chided. 

"Tell us about a spirit from where you grew up."

"Well there are woods all around, so we mostly have stories about wood elves and sprites that inhabit the trees. But those are just folk tales." I gave a proud little smile to show them I was unaffected by such things.

"You mean woods like the ones behind the back gate here?" Sophia asked coyly. William giggled.

"I suppose they're a little like them." I felt increasingly desperate, like I was being drawn into some sort of trap. 

"Do you have Finn Bálor where you come from?" William asked.

"I don't think so. Or at least I don't know that name. What is he supposed to do?"

The two of them exchanged a quick look and began reciting in unison:

Finn Bálor comes in the dark of night

With his seal black skin and his eyes of white

He comes for the children and takes their breath 

Or spirits them off to certain death;

But even worse for the maiden fair

Who he drags away to his watery lair

And though her screams are still heard through the wind and rain

His maiden will never be seen again.

Sophia furrowed her brow. "They wouldn't have Bálor where she comes from."

"Why not?" William responded, as if he were reciting the script to a play.

"It says Bálor's lair is watery. So he must live near the ocean."

William made a soft noise as if he was disappointed.

"That really isn't a story for good Christian children," I stammered, a little shocked at the ugliness of their rhyme.

"Everyone around here knows that story," Sophia answered. 

"Well, I think it's time to stop the stories for tonight and for you to get some sleep."

"Just a little longer," William pleaded.

We won't sleep for the storm," Sophia cooed.

I didn't want to think I'll of a child but I felt like she was mocking me over my own nervousness about the storm.

"You don't have to tell us any more stories like that," she continued. "You could just tell us about yourself."

A little hesitantly, I settled back in my seat. "Very well. What would you like to know?" 

"How did you end up working as a governess?" Sophia prompted.

"This is actually my first position. I had just finished my education through the church in Killfoyle and they found this post for me."

"Why did your parents not do that?" William asks, his eyes so innocent I could scarcely believe this was the same boy who had recited that ghastly rhyme just minutes before.

I lowered my head, wondering how much of my story I should tell. "My parents have been dead for some time."

Sophia slid to the end of her bed and rested her hand on mine. "You poor thing."

The maturity in her voice was a little unnerving, but I nonetheless gave her a little smile before motioning for her to lie back down.

"How did they die?"

"William!" His sister snapped. "Don't you ask such things!"

"But I was lucky and my church took me in and saw that I was educated. They made sure I had prospects for a good life."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" the girl asked gently.

"No." I paused, feeling uncomfortably like I was lying. "I had a younger brother but he died when he was small."

"Did he die with your parents?"

"William stop it right now!" Sophia's dark eyes were furious. "I'm sorry," she said to me, composing herself, "he's a baby and he doesn't know any better."

"I'm not a baby!"

"You hush this instant! You're upsetting her! How do you expect her to like us if you act like that?"

"Oh but of course I like you!" I insisted. "You're lovely children. He's just speaking rashly because he's tired."

Sophia's expression was skeptical. "He had no business speaking to you that way."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Please don't be angry."

"I'm not angry. But now I really think you must sleep."

I stood up, wondering if I should give them a kiss but deciding against it.

"Miss Miles?" Sophia said primly. 

"Yes?"

"I hope that you will be much happier now that you're here."

"Thank you, Sophia. That's very kind of you to say."

I knew that the children hadn’t meant to hurt me, but my heart felt heavy as I retired to my room for the night. Thinking of my family was always harrowing for me. It reminded me how narrowly I had escaped a miserable fate. Although my heart soared being here, living under the roof of such a beautiful man and his precocious children, I knew there would always be a part of me that lived in fear that everything good could be taken away from me as it had been before. 

I spent another fitful night, unable to clear my head enough to sleep, my mind a turmoil of memories and uneasy thoughts of the sinister Balor and the chilling rhyme the children had shared, set to the sound of the crashing waves in the distance.

[shineonmalcolmbright]

Shine On, Bright: Chapter Twenty-Two

Table of Contents

Past

Without Ainsley, Malcolm stood alone blinking several times to realize the wall in front of him was actually normal. The gutted remains of it ceased to exist. Of course, right? There wasn’t really crusty blood across its wound. He imagined it all. His brain brought it to life because as soon as a thought crept inside, it writhed around too fast skewing his thoughts. His mother complained about his brain because it led him into dark corners and there’d been Tommy, his so-called imaginary friend who warned him: You won’t be safe in Colorado.

“Wait!” Malcolm blurted to nobody in particular, he hoped he was alone but chances of ever being alone at the Overlook Hotel were slim. “It’s downstairs! It’s. . .downstairs. . .”

He’d found the magazine before while digging through the boiler room at some other point. If it wasn’t up here then it’d be down there. He was careful to not leave trails of murder behind in their pretend apartment. His mother would have a fit if she ever found out his sick new obsession. He followed an invisible path to descend into the bowels of the Overlook.

The journey straight into darkness felt as if his insides were bruised. A deep sick feeling inside of him. He saved a little flashlight in his back pocket knowing they’d meet again and again. There was some old song he heard his family play.

Hello Darkness, my old friend.

Now the light didn’t help out a whole lot. A bit of it sliced through the murky darkness. Humidity weighed it down with being so close to the boiler or so Malcolm guessed.

I’ve come to talk with you again.

Before he struck the last, last level he let the flashlight scan its way through the darkness to be sure he was alone. All he needed was to be alone, alone again, alone down here.

Because a vision softly creeping, left its seeds while I was sleeping.

Ghosts weren’t good company.

Malcolm closed his eyes for a split second once he touched down on the lowest level. He let the absence of sight increase his hearing but only the boiler grumbled. Alone. Alone. Alone again.

And the vision that was planted in my brain still remains.

He made his way over to the boxes full of newspapers and magazines. The stories of murder all compounded into one spot.

Dust floated and danced around him. His knees scraped the floor knocking more up into his face causing his nose to itch and himself to sneeze. Malcolm managed to catch it in the crook of his elbow. When nothing else made a sound, not even a mouse, he returned to the stories in front of him. Except before Malcolm could uncover the story of the family annihilator all over again to prove to Ainsley why her friends weren’t her friends, but instead the ghosts of murdered girls.

Murdered girls couldn’t make good friends.

There wasn’t any sign of the girls though. There wasn’t any sign of the father or the mother. He pried through it only to pause hating the idea falling into his brain at the sight of some old headline. The paper curled with slight decay.

Burglar uses Chloroform: Attacks a Woman in Room 237, Robs Her and Cuts off her Hair

No photo but underneath the article speared its way straight into the story.

According to experts, beautiful hair for wigs can be as valuable as some jewelry.

That imagination struck sending shivers down his spine thinking of how somebody had to find the woman with her hair shorn off and all her items gone. For some reason, he folded the paper and pressed down on its new crease. He squeezed it into his other pocket before returning to his search for those Grady girls.

“Pst.”

Malcolm froze.

He’d read about the crooked woman he found in the basement.

About how she threw all her children from the rooftop and hanged herself down here. They didn’t find her body for weeks. Police searched the town and further for her hoping to arrest her when she’d been falling to pieces beneath them all along.

Malcolm closed his eyes letting his hearing do some seeing. A muffled voice spoke up, it only spoke in gibberish and not quite at him. The gibberish sounded as if something or somebody tumbled over into some distant corner. It shut up and something slid across the floor.

Maybe if Malcolm told himself: It’s just shoes crunching along the ground like how shoes crunch on grave. Wasn’t like there was any gravel for the basement floor. Yet something slid forward brushing dust-up tickling his nose. His elbow caught his sneeze and then he opened his eyes for the first time to greet the fact that he wasn’t ever alone down there. Peering over his arm, he shined the light before him to find. . .nothing.

To be sure, Malcolm scanned the room with his light not seeing anything of interest. He checked each corner accidentally whispering out loud to himself each time, “Alone. Alone. Alone.”

Pst!

But that time around it sounded like the sole of a shoe for sure squeaking across the ground. He went to look over his shoulder to see what was coming.

There wasn’t anything nearby to protect himself and he had no idea if it’d help with a ghost antagonist. Maybe his brain could save him. He had the shining according to Gil and maybe he could shine real bright, brighter than the light in hand.

Only as he turned something grabbed a hold of him. Pressure hoisted him from the ground. His knees scraped the ground as some space came between him and the floor and somebody smothered him. His lungs burned without any oxygen entering them only it was worse when he attempted to breathe cause the burning grew, it seared his lungs, his mouth, and his chest right before the darkness took him.

Burglar uses Chloroform: Attacks a Woman in Room 237, Robs Her and Cuts off her Hair

“MALCOLM!”

Never before had a name sounded so violent. Jessica wielded each letter as if it were its own weapon. A series of knives or axes struck Malcolm. His head ached alongside all of his muscles. He rolled over burying his face into his pillow.

“Malcolm! Don’t you dare! You’ve been like this long enough, it’s time to wake up, get up, and start your day.”

When Malcolm sat up, he came face to face with his mother who put a hand on his forehead. She waited a few seconds and began to nod as if she were a doctor all along. “No more fever!” She backed away from him heading toward the kitchen area, which meant. . .

What?

“Fever?” Malcolm’s voice sounded all raspy. For a second, he feared he’d lost his voice all together. That the word in his brain would never leave. He looked all around. “How-How did I get here?!”

Jessica rolled her eyes. She popped the cork on a bottle of wine. “That’s not very funny, Malcolm, we’ve been here already for what? A month? More?” She began to pour herself a glass. “Seems longer than that.”

“NO!” Malcolm didn’t mean to snap. It did get Jessica to actually stop pouring her glass of wine. “I mean, how did I get here from the boiler room?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The boiler room! I was down in the boiler room! Something attacked me!”

Jessica took one long sip of wine, it seemed to be necessary as if it were her life source. “Malcolm, stop this nonsense before you scare your sister.”

But Malcolm looked all around, he wasn’t even wearing the same clothes but instead was in pajamas. Somebody was in the bathroom, the toilet flushed and water ran. He glanced up noticing Ainsley stood inside. Not that he meant to spy on her. Just her thoughts were so loud as she watched the water run pretending to watch her hands. In the time she stood there pretending, she could’ve just washed them.

Off to the side waited Malcolm’s notebook. He paged through it finding the same page as the day before and started to write 11/12. Only Ainsley leaving the bathroom with faint thoughts of Oh he’s awake disturbed him with the cacophony of Jessica playing out him rolling and rolling and rolling in his bed almost toppling off it for over 24 hours.

“What’s today’s date?” Malcolm blurted.

“November 13th,” said Jessia before taking another long swig of wine.

“Mr. Boots said it’s Friday the 13th, a bad luck day,” Ainsley added.

The day was November 13th and something. . .wasn’t. . .right. . .

11/08: Woke up in library. Thought I went to bed. 11/09: Woke up in ballroom (?). Remember going to bed. Mother said something about taking a pill to sleep better. Don’t remember falling asleep. 11/10: Is it possible to not remember falling asleep but waking up? Feels like haven’t slept for days. Ask somebody about it. 11/11: Woke up in bar, heard music, heard voices. Father found me, we talked, said to talk to him, didn’t hear all the noise. Ask him about it later?

Malcolm held a pencil, it hovered over the page in his notebook while he sat up in his bed. Even with his mother in the kitchen, it felt as if she were hovering around him tweeting like a bird about a fever, fever, fever because somehow he got back there and had a fever?

There was a whole day missing.

11/12: ????

“Malcolm, look at me when I talk to you.” At least Jessica caught his attention. Malcolm poked his teeth with the eraser. “Are you sure you’re feeling better?”

Malcolm nodded and offered a smile, just for her.

“Do you want any orange juice? Ainsley and I picked it up from town yesterday.”

11/12: ????

“Oh, sure. Yes, please.” Malcolm managed to stay smiling at Jessica even as she turned away. Ainsley stood close by. She peered out of the kitchen at him giggling about something. He rolled his eyes and looked down at his notebook. There wasn’t even a memory around to why he started this, but again it made sense. Nothing stuck and a day was all gone.

11/13: Woke up in bed. Last thing I remember, boiler room. Looking at newspapers. Then nothing. Is there something wrong with me?

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

S.T. REWRITE - S2:E3; Chapter  Three, The Pollywog - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

Dustin adopts a strange new pet, and Eleven grows increasingly impatient. A well-meaning Bob urges Will to stand up to his fears while Y/n’s powers grow stronger, bringing to light many questions about her past.

A/N: Long chapter ahead. Idk it’s been a while since I’ve written so it might seem longer to me. The reason I’ve been gone, if you haven’t heard already is I’ve been depressed, but I assure you, it’s nothing life threatening, just something I’m working through and I appreciate you guys waiting for me. I’m not over it yet, no one really gets over it magically, but just being able to sit down and find the inspiration to write again is a huge step and I’m just as excited as you are that this is happening. Anyways I’ll let you get to reading!

||3rd Person POV||

With timid steps, Dustin crept into his living room, hoping not to draw any attention to himself or the creature he just captured. He closed the front door quietly and began making his way towards his bedroom. His heart leapt up to his throat when he heard the sound of his mother.

“Dusty!”

He froze in place and plastered on a smile, turning to his mother who came up anxiously to greet him home.

“Dusty, what happened? What was that?”

Dustin’s mouth ran dry. How could she possibly know already? She couldn’t, could she? Dustin tried his best to brush it off.

“W-hat? What, what was what?”

Mrs. Henderson frowned, tilting her head and gesturing down the hall.

“Your poor sister. She came in crying, and she won’t answer me. Won’t even say a word, now what happened tonight Dusty?”

“Oh, that, yeah, um, she uh…” he looked down at the homemade ghost box he had in his hands and felt anxiety creeping up. “Well you know, boy drama I guess,”

Dustin immediately felt a pang of guilt for that remark but he was beginning to panic. He could feel the creature begin to shift around in the box and he knew his mom would keep asking questions if he didn’t cut straight to the chase.

“Well, what happened? Is there another girl?” She asked sadly.

“What?” Dustin asked dumbfounded. “No! Well, I mean, technically yes, but she has nothing to do with-”

“Did he reject her?”

“No! Mom!”

Dustin began shifting on his feet, getting increasingly more uncomfortable, and it was impossible to tell if it was from the conversation or the fact he was hiding a secret, unidentified species in the prop of his Halloween costume.

“Dusty? Are you okay? You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird!”

Without warning, the ghost box in his hand shook, making several audible thuds. Mrs. Henderson jumped back, letting out a small yelp in fear.

“Woah!” Dustin burst out into a fit of uncontrollable and nervous laughter as he looked from the trap to his mother.

Mews, who had been standing at Mrs. Henderson’s feet, hissed harshly at the box.

“Awesome, right? Yeah… I-I rigged the trap with, uh, a motor to make it look like I caught a ghost. Just like the movie.”

Mrs. Henderson let out a forced and nervous laugh. “Oh, Dusty.”

“Yeah,” He laughed forcibly, the trap begins to shake violently. “Funny. Look at that. Look at that.”

Dustin seized the opportunity, and quickly left for his bedroom. Quietly, he tiptoed past his sisters room. He figured he could tell her when he told the others, given she clearly needed the space.

Closing his bedroom door and locking it behind him, he brought the trap close to his face.

“I told you to keep quiet.” He hissed. “All you had to do was stay still for one minute. One minute.”

He temporarily rested the trap on his bed, as he grabbed his turtle out from his tank and set him on the ground. “Sorry, Yertle. Temporary eviction, buddy.”

He picked up the trap and opened it, dropping the small chittering creature into Yertle’s tank. Dustin leaned down to get a better look, and marveled at it as it began moving about the tank, and immediately crawled under the log and into the shade.

“What are you, little guy? What were you doing in my trash?”

The small creature, slowly and cautiously stuck it’s head out from under the protection of the shaded log, almost as if it was listing to Dustin.

Dustin’s smile grew. “You hungry?”

Dumping the nights earnings of candy onto his bed, he didn’t have to rifle through the pile long before spotting a Three Musketeers bar. He grabbed it and quickly unwrapped it.

Returning to the tank, he broke off two or three pieces of his favorite candy and proceeded to drop the bits of nougat into the tank. He watched, as he took his own bite from the candy bar, as the critter attempted to leave the log, only to retreat.

“Too hot?”

He reached for the heat lamp and turned it off. He looked to the critter,who looked visibly more relaxed.

“Sorry about that, little guy.”

He eagerly crawled out from under the log and began nibbling on the small chunks of nougat, seeming very satisfied. Dustin smiled at this.

“You like nougat, too, huh?”

It looked to Dustin and gently hissed in response.

“You’re pretty cute, you know that? I’m glad I found you.”

Realizing he needed a name for the creature, he looked to the candy bar in his hands in thought.

‘The Three Musketeers. And their trusted ally, D'Artagnan.’ He thought.

He smiled knowingly.

“D'Artagnan. I’m gonna call you D'Artagnan.”

+++

A few hours, and several pieces of candy bars later, Dustin had fallen asleep on his bed while reading ‘Reptiles and Amphibians’ in an attempt to out any information on d'Artagnan. Unbeknownst to the sleeping boy, only a few feet away from him, d'Artagnan had began to grow.

+++

[FLASHBACK]

HAWKINS NOV. 1983

Hopper shivered against the harsh winter air. He kept telling himself he wasn’t crazy for doing this. Leaving stashes of food and a few Eggos in a lockbox out in the woods on the off chance this girl was still alive.

But that police report of a dingy looking girl in the woods who “made that damn squirrel fly” could not have been a coincidence. And he remembered her taking a liking to Eggos and well, he didn’t want her to starve. Or have to cook any more squirrels by the sound of it… So he thought it was worth a try.

Eleven watched the man carefully. She recognized him from that night. He was the same man that saved her and her friends from the bad men. And here he was leaving her food. Right in front of her. But he was walking away. Her breathing increased and she knew she had to make a decision.

Take a chance on him and let herself be known, or continue to try and scrape by out in the woods. The more she thought about it the less it seemed like a choice. Before she knew it, her feet had carried her to the man. He had stopped just before he reached his truck when he heard her.

They both seemed equally shocked she was there, and they said nothing. He slowly took off his hat, showing her he wasn’t a threat.

[END OF FLASHBACK]

“Rise and shine,” Hopper called from the doorway.

El’s eyes fluttered open and the memory of the night before came rushing back to her. Huffing, she turned on her side, her back facing Hopper.

“So that’s it, huh? You’re still not talking?”

El only glared at the wall in silent protest.

Hopper feigned a sigh. “All right. I guess I’m just gonna have to, uh… enjoy this triple-decker Eggo extravaganza on my own.”

El’s eyes became as wide as saucers, and without turning her head she looked in the direction of the doorway, knowing she had already lost.

The pair sat at the table, Hopper happily digging into the stack of Eggos and whipped cream, making noises of approval.

“Mmm-mmm! Good, right?” He asked, wiping a bit of whipped cream off his face as he tried to pry a conversation out of El. “Know the great thing about it? It’s only 8,000 calories.”

El only stared at him. A mixture of not understanding, and not amused. Hoppers lips pressed into a firm line, realizing he had forgotten who he was talking to for a moment. As he cut another slice of the triple-decker Eggo extravaganza, he glanced around the room and spotted the TV cord leading all the way into El’s room.

“You visited him again last night?”

Her eyes trailed from the cord to Hopper’s gaze, and finally down at her lap, knowing she had been caught.

“He says he needs me.”

“Want me to go check on him”

Not meeting his eye, El sadly shook her head.

“I know you miss him, all right? But it’s too dangerous. You’re the last thing he needs right now. You’re gonna see him. Soon. And not just in that head of yours. You’re gonna see him in real life. Y/N too. I feel like I’m making progress with these people.”

Blinking, she leaned forward. “Friends don’t lie.”

“What?” He asked, taken by surprise.

“You say ‘soon’ on day 21. You say 'soon’ on day 205. You now say 'soon’ on day 326?” She demands, voice rising.

“What is this?” Hopper asks, quickly growing agitated. “You’re counting down the days now like you’re some kind of prisoner?”

“When is 'soon’?”

“'Soon’ is when… it’s not dangerous anymore.”

“When?” She presses.

Hopper, who is visibly uncomfortable, and is fiddling with his pockets, continuing to avoid eye contact. “I don’t know.”

“On day 500?”

“I don’t know.”

“On day 600?”

“I don’t know.” His own voice rising.

“On 700? On day 800?”

“No!”

“I need to see him! Tell me!”

“I said I–”

Before Hopper can finish, El throws his plate of Eggos on his lap with a single flick of her head.

“Oh! Shit! Shit!” He yells, standing up in surprise.

El stands up and glares at Hopper, fire in her eyes. “Friends. Don’t. Lie!”

She marches into her room, throwing her arm behind her, and the door slams itself shut.

+++

That very same morning, on the first of November, the Byers household was in a scramble as they moved about the house, getting ready for the day.

“Jesus. Have you seen them?” Joyce asked.

Joyce had misplaced her keys, and she had been digging through the couch cushions while her sons searched the other rooms.

“We’re looking, Mom.” Jonathan reasoned, discarding the coat he had previously checked the pockets of.

Will walked by him, resting his mother’s purse on the kitchen table, and began rifling through it.

“Yeah, we’re… we’re looking,”

“A-ha!” Cried a voice from down the hall. “Found 'em!” Chuckled Bob, triumphantly waving the keys.

Joyce sighed in great relief.

“Hiding under some jeans, sneaky little buggers.”

“Thank you. Thank you. You’re a life saver.” Joyce pulled Bob close and gave him a quick kiss.

She pulled away, and began gathering her things from the kitchen table, and turned to Jonathan.

“Can you take Will to school today? I cannot be late again.”

Jonathan quickly lowered his voice while his mother was still in close proximity.

“He’s staying over now?”

She ignored his question, not wanting to discuss it while Bob was present, and lowered her voice to match his. “Can you just take Will, please?”

“I can take him,” Bob shrugged.

“Will you make sure he gets in okay?” She asked timidly.

“Yeah, of course.” He grinned. “What do you say, big guy? Wanna go for a ride in the Bobmobile?”

Will was taken aback and looked to his mother for confirmation, she only smiled at him.

He wasn’t expecting Bob to offer to do that. It was a nice thing to do. And Will guessed it wouldn’t it hurt.

After all, what the worst that could happen?

…Right?

||Reader’s POV||

“I don’t know mom, he just… he’s been acting different. They all have” I sighed into my cereal bowl as I ate.

Well, to be fair, I was mostly just frowning at it.

“What do you mean, honey?” Mom asked, hands curled around her mug as she sat opposite from me.

I let out a frustrated sigh and looked around, it became to talk, a lump in my throat was forming.

“I just-” I sighed, composing myself, and selected my words carefully knowing I had to be cautious with what I told her. “All I want is for Will to be okay. And I’ll do anything to respect that. But lately, I can’t help but feel like I could really help him, and now that things are getting bad again, Mike is getting crazy grumpy and focusing all of his attention on Will and totally cutting me out, and Will is letting him.”

I took a deep breath, wiping a tear away, and began to fiddle with my cereal bowl. My fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the rim of the bowl, and I could feel my mother’s eyes on me.

“And, I know I must be coming off as totally selfish, and I feel bad but… I just want to help, and Mike isn’t exactly a saint here. I know he’s got… other things on his mind, stuff he’s upset about, but he’s taking it out on me and guarding Will and I’m just trying to help. I’ll totally back off if Will needs me to, but Mike hasn’t let Will get a word in edgewise. And others all are all too worked up over the new girl, I get it though, she’s cool, but still,”

I let out a long exhale, feeling ten pounds lighter, but no better about Will or Mike.

“I don’t hate Mike,” I said. “I think it’s good that if he’s focused on anything it’s Will, I just… I just wish…”

“He’d be your friend again, too?” My mom finished.

I bit my lip, blinking back tears, and I nod.

“Yeah, I do. I miss how everything used to be. Everyone got along, and all had the same interests. And Will wasn’t having all these episodes…”

“I’m sorry honey. I know, it’s such a hard time at your age, but you just have to hang on to the good moments. Everything will work itself out, I promise. What happened, with Will, anyway?” She asked, sipping her coffee.

“Well, I only left him for a moment, to chase after Mike, of course I thought he was right behind me but…” I trailed off, thinking of those horrid boys, and my jaw clenched. I stuttered as my brain searched for a foul name I call them in front of my mother. “Some… pricks practically jumped him. Scared him into an episode.”

I could feel my anger building up. Just at the mere memory of the boys, it all came flooding back and I was feeling all the emotions from last night coming swarming back to me.

“Y/N,” She lightly scolded.

“Well, they were! I could have called them a lot worse, too. This must have been his worst episode, I’ve never seen him this freaked out! He-”

I glanced down when I sensed movement in the bottom of my eye line and I saw my cereal… bubbling? Boiling. It was beginning to boil.

I jump up from where I was sitting, ripping my hands away from the ceramic bowl, startling my mother in the process.

“Y/N! What has gotten into you?”

'I wish I knew’

“Uhh, I’m running late. I just realized. Thanks for the talk, love you, bye,” I said, already backing away and making my way down the hall.

I was only half lying, I was cutting it short on time. But I couldn’t let my mom see whatever the hell I just did to my cereal.

I turned down the hall, leaping over Mews with ease, who seemed unfazed by it.

Just as I reached my door, I nearly collided with Dustin. I came to a halt, and he jumped back, being extra careful to keep his backpack zipped up and out of sight.

He was hiding something. But then again so was I, and judging by the look in his eye he knew it too.

We didn’t have to say anything, we both gave each other a look, knowing we would talk to each other about it later, and bid each other farewell.

“AV club? Lunch?” He asked, growing startled and adjusting his backpack once more.

I narrow my eyes and nod.

“Okay, well, see you at school then…” I say slowly.

He nods, just as suspicious, and we both parted ways.

I slip into my bedroom and get dressed for the day. As I did, my mind kept playing what had just happened in the kitchen, over and over again in my head.

And by the time I was out the door, it had wandered to the handful of times I had… used my powers.

'That is still so weird to think about’

I recalled the first time when I blasted those agents who almost grabbed me. I felt my stomach drop, and I remembered why I hardly ever think about it. I can’t, and don’t ever want to imagine what would have happened if they had gotten to me.

And then shortly after, when… when he had El. And me. The first time my brother and the others saw me use my powers. Both times were unintentional. It just happens. I wish I could learn how to control it.

But there were other strange things too, like how I could heal. Really quickly. For a while there I thought I could do stuff with plants but… that turned out to be a dead end. I didn’t mind though. It was quite a relief actually, I can barely handle the fact I have powers, something as wild as control plants. It must have had something to do with my healing abilities?

'Who the hell knows’

I felt crazier and crazier the more I thought about all of this.

But what happened this morning… It reminded me of what happened at the assembly for Will. I had gotten quite upset at Troy. Understandably. And I could have sworn I left a mark on the bleachers.

Heat seemed to be a common theme, and it began to make my head spin.

I had to take some sudden deep breaths to prevent my anxiety from creeping up again.

How had everything changed so much, so quickly?

||3rd Person POV||

The car ride to school was mostly silent. The only sounds were the occasional turn signals and soft music playing from the radio.

Bob decided to ease the tension and broke the silence with simple conversation.

“So was that you I heard milling around last night, or was that a ghost?” He chuckled, indicating he wasn’t mad, just genuinely curious.

“Yeah, me probably,” Will said quietly.

“Another nightmare?” He asked gently.

“Um…no” Will answered, avoiding his gaze and looking out the window at the passing landscape.

Bob nodded.

He needed another approach. He really wanted at least one of his girlfriends kids to like him. He liked them, he knew they were good kids, just needed time to get to know them, that’s all.

Bob sensed that there was more than Will was letting on, and he just wanted to help. So he did in the only way he knew how.

“Did I ever tell you about Mr. Baldo?”

“Mr. Baldo?” Will asked slowly, confused at the name.

Bob scoffed in agreement. “Yeah. I was a little younger than you. I was standing in line for the Ferris Wheel at the Roane County fair,”

As Bob told the story, Will became invested almost immediately, and shifted in his seat to face him.

“Mmm-hmm” he nodded.

“And suddenly, I feel this fat white glove tap me on the shoulder. I spin around and there he is. Mr. Baldo.” Bob plastered on a fake smile, and began imitating the clown, his voice grating. “'Hey, kiddo, would you like a balloon?’”

Having come from Bob, Will didn’t find the imitation so scary and responded with a chuckle.

Bob chuckled with him. “Go ahead, laugh. It’s funny. It wasn’t funny back then, I’ll tell you that.” His smile faltered. “I couldn’t get him out of my head. Every night. He would come to me in my dreams. And every night when he came to me… I ran.”

He sighed, recalling the memory.

“It got so bad that I made my mom stay in the room with me until I could fall asleep every night.”

Will felt a giant pit form in his stomach. He almost felt like he could get sick to his stomach. He knew what Bob was talking about, all too well. But the awful part was, he didn’t know if it was just a dream or not.

“Really?” Will mumbled, growing frightened.

“Really. It went on like that for months. And then one day, the nightmares suddenly stopped.”

Will finally tore his away from the road, and gazed hopefully at Bob.

“Wanna know how?”

“How?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Well, I fell asleep, and just like always,” he blinked several times, seeming unnerved by the memory. “Mr. Baldo came to me. Only this time, I didn’t run. This time, I stood my ground”

Will listened, and couldn’t help but think of the monster that had been plaguing him the last few nights.

“I just looked at Mr. Baldo, in his stupid face, and I said, 'Go away. Go away!’ And just like that, he was gone. Never saw him again. Easy-peasy, right?”

The gears were turning in Will’s brain. Hope in his eyes.

“Easy-peasy.” Will agreed, nodding.

Bob Newby smiled, thrilled that he had gotten through to Will, believing with all his heart he had truly just helped the boy, knowing nothing of the horrific repercussions to come.

+++

Tag List: @dickkwad @aimee-lucass @iblesstherainsdown-in-africa @miscellaneoustoasts

DM if you want to be added!

[icecubelotr44]

Trouble with a Capital ‘T’ (2/3?)

It liiiiiiives! (And by lives, I mean it’s been sitting in my documents for weeks and every time I got home from work, I kept forgetting to post it.)

Still basically just another excuse to whump the Jones brothers, after all.

Chapter One

ao3 | ffn

Chapter Two:

Everything was white.  Everything was buzzing.  Someone was screaming.

Oh, wait that was him.  

Killian sagged sideways, nearly toppling over and letting his head rest on Liam's seat as he tried to catch his breath.  Tears stung his eyes and his cheeks, but he couldn't have bitten them back if he tried.  It hurt, gods it hurt so much more than it had a few minutes ago.  He didn't actually know a body part could hurt that much - and he'd lost a bloody hand, had the stump cauterized, and survived the resultant infection and fever.  

He glared at his leg, sure that he'd rather the bloody Crocodile lop it off aga-

His leg was free.  

Killian stared for longer than should have been necessary, not quite understanding that he'd been successful.  He could feel the blood soaking his pants, could see the jagged end of the bone poking out.  But he wasn't trapped any more, and that meant he could get to Liam.  

Killian's ribs screamed nearly as loudly as his leg as he slithered backwards over the console, into Liam's seat with his leg propped up on his own seat.  Gods, it looked a mess.  

It was too much.   Killian twisted, finally losing the contents of his stomach onto the ground just outside the car.  More tears fell as he gagged and retched until there was nothing left.  

Finally spent, Killian clutched at his ribs and rested his head on the steering wheel, breathing in shakily until the agony muted enough to concentrate again.

Liam.  

There was nothing for it, he had to get to his brother.  So he slid backwards until he could get his left foot into the wheelwell and used it to lever himself out of the car.  

He hit his hands and knees, retching again into the snow and nearly collapsing forward into the last of his dinner.  

Liam.  

Killian bit back the nausea, shook his head to try and clear the stars, and crawled to his brother, heedless of the drops of blood he was leaving behind.  

Liam's eyes were closed.

Killian wasn't sure why this surprised him, but it did.  "Brother?"  He didn't know why he expected a response, something about how Liam had always been there for him (until he wasn't) and how he'd clearly come back from the dead or from another realm or timeline or...  had come back to him.  For him.

"Brother, please," Killian begged, moving to turn Liam over slowly, carefully, gingerly enough not to exacerbate his injuries any further.  He settled Liam's head in his lap, brushing back the damp curls and trying to rid his brother's cheeks of the snow.  His skin was pink in some places and frighteningly pale in others, but he was breathing, soft puffs of air that Killian could see in the air above his mouth.  

Another tear leaked down Killian’s face and he dashed it away angrily, sniffling it back and trying to get hold of himself.  

"Please, Brother, I need you," he begged, almost expecting his brother’s eyes to open at the raw need in his plea.  Liam had always… would always be there to help him.

The only thing that answered him was the wind.

Killian let himself wallow for a moment, but only a brief one, determined to save his brother and possibly himself.   He couldn't do that if he was just sitting in the snow like a lost little boy who didn't matter to anyone and never would.   (He'd seen enough of them in Neverland to last several lifetimes, thanking his stars every time that he'd had Liam growing up when no one else in the world wanted them.)

All right, Jones, that's enough of that now, he thought angrily, boxing up the memories, the emotions, the abandonment, and shoving it to the side.

A shiver worked its way through him, igniting any number of injuries and reminding him that there was still the unknown issue with his shoulder that had been lost in the agony of everything else.   No time for that now, he had to get Liam back into the car and then find the damn blankets.  

Killian sat Liam up, propping him - slumped nearly on his side - against the front door.   Levering himself to his own feet, Killian bit back a cry when he set weight on his injured leg.   Pain flared out from the open and jagged fracture, but it held him up.

Barely.

"Liam?  Brother, can you hear me?" he asked when he thought he saw Liam move.   Nothing happened and Killian put it on the back burner.   Carefully, he dragged Liam backwards, knowing that it would be easier to lump him into the backseat than to try and contort him back into the driver's seat.   Wrenching open the door nearly made him falter, unintentionally putting more weight on his leg than he'd meant to and clenching the muscles around his ribs.

The worst, he knew, was yet to come.

"All right, Brother, stay with me," he mumbled, looping his arms under Liam's and heaving with a sharp cry.

Killian was shaking with exertion by the time he had Liam nearly upright, but he couldn't stop.   Not now.   Not when his brother was so limp.   With less care than he'd intended, Killian flopped Liam into the seat.

His brother screamed when he landed on his injured arm.

Killian bit back a grimace when Liam's eyes opened to slits and he rolled to try and grasp his wounded arm.   Blood started to trickle out around the stake of wood again and Killian slammed the door shut before he could fixate on it.   He needed to get to the trunk, get to the gauze and the pressure bandages and the godsdamned blankets.   He heard Liam's mumbled question, heard his brot...  captain, captain, damnit, call his name - his cursed name - but he couldn't focus on that.   If he did...  if he did, he'd never get to the trunk.

Was it too much to ask to want his...

Yes, yes it was too much to ask, the risk too high, the threat too real.   Gods, he wanted his brother back and awake more than anything, but he couldn't risk it.   Even if he had so many questions.  Why was Liam here?  How was Liam here?  Would he stay?  Could he forgive Killian for who he'd become?  For turning pirate and forsaking the crown that Liam had so willingly followed?

For spending hundreds of years seeking vengeance instead of peace?

Would his brother stay with him now?

Did he still love him?

He stumbled, his leg giving out on him and sending him crashing, face first into the snow.

Bloody, buggering, son of a kraken, he thought violently, shaking the snow off as best as he could and cursing several deities and Mother Nature in the process.  The snow was falling thick and fast, the air whipped into a frenzy with the storm.  He had to get up, to stand again, to keep moving.  It was so tempting to lie there, but no one was coming to save them.  It was the Jones brothers against the world, always had been, always would be.

Killian pushed himself to his knees, snarling out his pain instead of screaming like he wanted to.  He couldn't… Liam was somewhat conscious in the car and he needed to stay there.  The stubborn bastard would come running if Killian screamed.  

It took longer than he'd like, but he managed to drag himself up with help from the bumper.  Putting weight on his leg came next, nearly sobbing when the snow settled on the jagged edge of the bone and it erupted in fire.  Killian gasped out a breath around his ribs, dropping his forehead to the cold window for a moment and just trying to breathe.

Numb fingers reached out, searching until he saw them wrap around the door handle.  A moment longer to breathe and gather his strength and he stood tall, his leg protesting vehemently, and yanked open the trunk.

The blankets and medkit were exactly where Liam said they'd be.

Thank the bloody gods something's gone right, he thought wryly, nearly crossing himself in a ghost's memory of his cursed self lest he bring down calamity on them.  He threw the blankets over the back of the seat so they wouldn't get damp in the snow and wind, and then made his way around to the passenger's side, hoping beyond hope that he'd be able to get the door open.

Liam's shaggy curls greeted him and Killian breathed out a sigh of relief.  He sat on the edge of the seat for a moment, nearly screaming again when he had to put all his weight on his injured leg to get into the car.  It took longer than he'd like, but he managed to slide in, to settle Liam's head in his lap, and to shut the door again.

"Why did you call me your brother?"

Killian busied himself with spreading the blankets out over Liam's large frame, inwardly marveling at how so much of his brother managed to fit in so small a space.   He tucked the first blanket tightly around his legs, then shook the second one out as best he could and left it loose, prepared to tuck it over his brother's shoulders after he'd taken care of the impalement that was still bleeding sluggishly.

"Detective?"

Killian was sure it was meant to be an order, but it came out breathy and questioning.   Liam was weak, he needed help.   Killian would have to get him squared away and then try to make it to the road.   He'd found one of their cell phones in the snow, tossed in the crash and shattered, and the other had no service and the battery was low.

"I... I wasn't calling for you," he lied, hoping that his brother was too focused on the pressure Killian was putting on his wound to hear the way his voice shook.   In a way, he thought, it was true.  He wasn’t calling for William Jewell, his captain and boss.  He was calling for Liam Jones, his captain and his brother.

But Liam... William shook his head.  "I've read your file.  You don't have a brother."

"I did," Killian admitted, not trying to hide the grief of being separated from Liam for centuries.   He hoped Jewell would read through the lines, read him like an open book as Liam could.

Liam froze.  "When did you lose him?"  His voice spoke of known loss and Killian thought of the unsolved file in Jewell's desk drawer.  That's me, Liam.  I'm right here, he thought.  But he couldn't... he shouldn't.

"A long time ago.  I... I miss him."  You, Liam, Killian thought sadly.  It's you I miss.  But I'd gladly live another three centuries with you not knowing who I am than to risk you to Gothel's new curse.

It didn't matter.   None of it would if they couldn't get Liam to help, get him to help.   His leg was throbbing, his ribs were screaming, his head was pounding.   His right arm was on fire now, the back of his shoulder hot with pain.  It felt like torn muscles, only different, somehow more intense.  Killian reached up with his prosthetic, but couldn't feel anything - the pain emanated from a point beyond his reach - though the fingers came back sticky with blood.

He ignored it.   He had enough to worry about.

Tearing open some of the rolled bandages, Killian went to work stabilizing the branch in Liam's arm and putting enough pressure around the wound to finally stop the bleeding.   Liam growled at the pain but allowed Killian to work, watching his every move intently.

"You're hurt," he mumbled, once Killian had tucked the blankets around Liam's shoulders.

Killian just shook his head.  "It will keep, we need to worry about you right now."

"I had a brother, too, you know." Liam's eyes closed, the tone of voice one of pain and loss.   Killian knew exactly what that was like.  "You remind me of him."

"Aye, L-Liam, you've told me.  We've looked at the file together, remember?"  Killian risked the contact, needing the assurance, and rested his hand on Liam's chest.

"You remind me of him," Liam repeated anyway.  "He was my little brother.  He followed me everywhere until... until we were separated.  I... I miss him, too."

I'm right here, Liam.   Bloody hell, I'm right here.  He wanted to shout it from the rooftops.  He wanted to shout it in Liam's face.  He wanted to find Rumplestiltskin's bloody dagger and slide it gracefully between Gothel's ribs while he shouted it in her face, too.

He wanted his brother.

Hell, he'd take on the bloody Darkness, himself, if that's what it took to keep Liam safe.

Shutting his eyes and blowing out a stuttering breath, he calmed himself down.  No, he thought.   Not even his love for Liam could make him take in the Dark One's curse.  He'd never go that far; he couldn't.  He couldn't go back down the path he'd followed until Alice had come into his life.

His head dropped back to rest against the seat.  He was tired, he was cold, and he hurt.  Killian wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and try to escape some of the torment for a bit, but he couldn't risk it.  If he fell asleep-

He jerked up, startling a squawk out of Liam.  It was full on dark, now, the snow blanketing the car and muting the world, somehow.  Air drifted in from the broken window and the shattered windshield, but it seemed warmer in the confined space.  He'd fallen asleep.  Godsdamnit, he'd fallen asleep and he could have... Liam could have... gods, he couldn't do that again.  But he was just so cold and so tired and-

"I'm sorry, little brother," Liam whispered into the darkness.

Killian froze, his breath caught in his chest and what felt like a dagger slicing into his chest.  "Li...  Liam?" he asked, not daring to hope that his brother remembered everything in the same instant that he was suddenly petrified that his brother had remembered everything.

"I'm sorry I couldn't find you," Liam continued, unaware of Killian's plight.  He turned the best that he could, grabbing Killian's hand and looking straight at him.  "I'm sorry I was too late. Killian, please, can you forgive me?"

Liam didn't know his real name was Killian... had he woken? Was he in danger?

"Please, little brother, I didn't mean for you to die."

Oh.

"It's... it's all right, Liam," Killian murmured back, not knowing what else to do, what else to say.  "I know you wouldn't have left me if you could stay.  I know you didn't mean for anything to happen.  I was mad at you, for a long time.  I was so angry that you'd gone where I couldn't follow and I abandoned everything you taught me.  I didn't understand why we had to be apart, why the universe saw fit to separate us. But we're...  we're together now, so it's all right.  I forgave you long ago, brother."

Liam shook his head, shifting with a bitten back grimace until he could find Killian's prosthetic, tangle his fingers through the stiff joints.  "So much happened, and I tried.  I tried to stay with you, to fight to stay with you.  But we couldn't...  I couldn't make my way back to you.  I was weak, little brother, and I couldn't figure out my way back to you until it was too late.  You were gone where I couldn't follow.  I miss you, Killian.  I miss you and I still wish you were here with me.  You must have felt so alone and I...  I just... I couldn't find you.  Not until it was too late."

Killian shuddered, the memories - the grief - he'd long since buried coming to light in his brother's words.  He didn't know what was going on - didn't really understand what side of Liam he was seeing, but it didn't matter.  His brother needed him and he'd be damned if he was going to fail Liam again.

"It's not too late, Liam.  You found me.  Aye, it took longer than either of us would have liked, but we're together now, just us against the world."

And it was, would always be the brothers Jones on their quest for good form and glory and, most of all, a happy bloody ending for the two of them.  Together.

Even if he had to slay a witch to do it.

"The brothers Jewell," Liam avowed.

Aye, close enough for now, Killian thought, shifting with a wince as he shivered.

“Rogers?” Liam asked some time later, his eyes more clear and staring - almost accusingly - at Killian.   “What’s wrong?”

The emotional whiplash Liam was putting him through was more than enough, but Killian couldn’t exactly tell him that.   It stung more than he’d like to admit to hear his cursed name falling from his brother’s lips.   

“Rogers,” his brother ordered, a tone of voice that Killian had followed for years and then dreamt about for centuries.   A tone of voice that he’d never fail to respond to.

“We need to get out of here,” he allowed, not quite a lie, but not what was really wrong, either.

Liam nodded, but frowned.  “I don’t think I can make it too far; everything’s a little fuzzy.”

Killian shuddered.  Hearing his brother admit weakness was… well, it wasn’t something he’d ever be prepared for.  “That’s all right, Liam.  I can… you can stay here and I’ll try to get help.  I just need…”

Need what, Jones?  A minute to gather your strength, an hour to hope that you’ll make it more than ten feet outside the door on this bloody leg?  You’re not going to make it any further than Liam would.

But Liam was fading again, his eyes glossing over and the shivering starting to worsen.   “Please don’t leave me, little brother,” he begged, lost to the delusion once more.

Killian bit back the tears at the sheer desperation in Liam’s voice.

“Please.  Please, Killian, I need you with me.  Please don’t… I’m sorry I lost you.  Please don’t go!”  Liam shifted in the cramped backseat, the blankets falling away from where Killian had tucked them carefully, and knotted his fingers in Killian’s shirt.  “Please!”

Killian reached out to snag the warm blankets, tucking them back in carefully before he wrapped his fingers around Liam’s.  “I’ll not leave you again, brother,” he murmured, ignoring the pervasive cold that started to wrap around him.

Liam’s hand was trembling just slightly in his - whether from the cold, the pain, or the sheer depth of relief that Killian saw echoed in his face - and his fingers refused to give up the treasure of Killian’s shirt.  He dropped his head back against the seat, grimacing when sparks danced in his vision. Gods, he just wanted to start this day over with, get his brother somewhere warm and safe and leave him there.

Killian’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around Liam’s.  No, he thought wildly.  He’d never wanted to be parted from his brother.   Not ever again.

Squeezing his eyes shut against the pain that crested every time he tensed, Killian never noticed when it took him under completely.

Rogers's hand went limp around Liam's fingers and a bolt of fear shot through him.  He didn't understand the feeling, not really.  He hadn't felt that in years.  Not since he'd lost Killian in that bloody back alley, since he had come across his little brother - shot and bleeding out - no.  No, wait, that wasn't right.  Rogers had been shot in that alley.  Liam hadn't been there when Killian died, too busy chasing his goddamned tail across the city looking for a lead on his brother's whereabouts, looking for the right case to improve his standing on the force so he could open enough doors to get to Killian.

Not knowing that all the while, Killian had been right in the city, under his nose, needing him desperately.  And Liam wasn't there.  Wasn't there for the only thing in the world that their mother could leave him, for the only person who relied on him (and who Liam relied on when their father had split).  Wasn't there when his little brother was gasping out his last breaths, likely wondering why his big brother wasn't there to keep him safe.

No, Liam had failed Killian, but he'd be damned if he would do such a piss poor job of keeping Rogers safe.  He'd almost lost the man once, and the stab of regret that accompanied that memory just made him all the more determined to see Rogers safely to a hospital.  Rogers obviously needed someone to look out for him and Liam... well Liam would be lying if he said that he didn't need the feeling back that came with successfully looking after someone who looked up to him.  They weren’t brothers, not by blood anyway, but they were tied together by far more than that.  The bonds of fellowship and the thin blue line and everything the proverbial 'they' talked about were more than just lip service.  Those things meant something, and it was more than enough to draw he and Rogers close.

Slowly, painfully biting back a groan that nearly turned into a whimper when he jostled his arm, Liam forced himself to sit up.  Stars popped in his vision and it felt as though the SUV lurched nauseatingly around him as he tried to gulp in air and stay sitting upright.  He had to let go of Kil- Rogers's shirt, throwing his hands out to the seat below him as if the entire vessel...  vessel? it's a bloody car, you idiot...  were rocking on a storm-tossed sea.

Liam wasn't even going to try and justify where his thoughts were floating off to.

Rogers didn't move.

Liam got his first good look at the detective then, cursing loudly through the blanketed silence in the car.  He was bloody well going to murder the idiot.  Rogers was nearly as pale as a ghost, his white complexion blending into the snow covering the window behind him.  Even unconscious, he was shivering, goosebumps covering the exposed flesh that Liam could see.

He cursed again - a nonsensical string of words about a kraken and a demon-child spawning a creature that had more bloody sense than Rogers did.  The blankets slipped from Liam's shoulder as he reached subconsciously out to touch Rogers’s cheek and started swearing once more.

Rogers was freezing and it was only then that Liam realized - his bloody stubborn and idiotic br- subordinate hadn't taken a goddamned blanket for himself.

Muttering angrily to himself, Liam struggled to separate the two layers of woolen blankets that were wrapped tightly around his too-tall-in-too-small-a-space frame.   No good, dumbass, idiotic, son of a- Liam bit off the curse when the blankets finally came free.

"Didn't I teach you anything about self-preservation, you bloody git?  Never, never make yourself a victim because nobody is going to look out for you if you're not where I can..." he trailed off, beginning to shake - and not from the cold.

Rogers.

Killian.

Killian!

Rogers - shot and bleeding out in an alley.   But no, not Rogers.  That hadn’t happened.  Or...  rather, it had, but that wasn't the start of their story.  No.  No, there was so much more than that.

Abandoned by their father, sold into slavery, breaking free of the hold of Silver and the rum that had taken Killian by storm, the Navy.  Freedom in war, in rising through the ranks of their own station.

Killian, whole and safe and holding him on that bloody, godsforsaken island after he’d made the stupid, self-sacrificial mistake of trusting someone who wasn't his little brother.

Gods, he had a little brother, still.

Killian, shaking with relief when Liam had woken, tears in his eyes and trembling fingers that had clutched at the lapels of his uniform, berating Liam’s stubbornness and his lack of self-preservation on that godsforsaken island in the name of good bloody form.

Killian, screaming again - this time for anyone to help him as Liam had collapsed, the poison returning with a vengeance just as they'd made plans to do the honorable thing and report the King's treachery to the Admiralty.

Killian - the last thing Liam had heard before waking up in Hades' bloody clutches - screaming out his grief as Liam had failed him so utterly, leaving him with no one to protect him in their cold, cruel realm of existence.

Hades, quickly restoring him to life before his body could decay, only to hand him over to the bloody demon child Killian had thought was his salvation - a slave once more to Neverland and its ruler - in exchange for information that never had made sense to Liam.  After all, how could a child have a full grown son whom Hades feared?

Decades of servitude to bloody Pan and his shadow, always a half step from salvation if he could just get free long enough to barter passage from Pan's nemesis - Captain Hook.  Liam would gladly take to piracy if it meant freedom to leave Neverland, to find out what had become of his little brother all those years ago.

All Liam had wanted back then was to find some record of Killian's passing - to know if his little brother had ever been truly free.

But now?

Now, Liam was sitting in a bloody contraption of a vehicle next to the little brother he'd thought must have passed on centuries ago.  He didn't know how or why, but he didn't rightly care, either.  Killian, his Killian, was here - alive (okay, barely because his little brother was still a bloody idiot, apparently) and he was going to gods-be-damned stay that way.  Liam wrapped the blanket tightly around Killian now, terrified that he was too late.  

Again.

Always too late, always leaving his brother, but this time - this time - maybe Killian was going to leave him.

No!

Liam gripped his little brother's shoulders, stomping on the cursed memories that brought forth images of another little brother, this one cold and dead on a slab in the morgue.  He no longer recognized the face, but felt the grief of loss all the same.  He couldn't quite shake the feeling of losing his little brother, even when the only little brother he'd ever known was right here, inexplicably beside him, breathing and shivering.

Liam shook Killian.  Hard.

"Kil-" Liam cut himself off.  Rogers would think he'd lost his godsdamned mind if he woke up to his Captain calling him by a strange name - by the name of his dead little brother.  He couldn't risk it.  He needed Rogers to trust him.

He needed it more than he needed explanations, more than he needed to see the recognition in his little brother's eyes, more than he needed the air in his lungs and the scant warmth of the blanket pooled in his lap.

But Killian didn't respond anyway.  Didn't wake up and look at him, didn't cock one bloody eyebrow and smirk as he'd done ever since they were boys playing at pirates outside their seaside cottage, play-acting for their mother.

No, Killian remained cold and frighteningly still and unconscious and Liam had never felt so lost in his whole bloody life.  He couldn't lose his little brother.  Not now, not before he'd even really gotten him back.

Gods, if he lost Killian now...

Grief crashed down on Liam's shoulders with enough force to buckle his spine.  He slumped forward, tugging his little brother close and taking advantage of his unconsciousness for only a moment, tucking Killian's head beneath his chin and hugging him as tightly as he could manage.  He just needed a moment to gather his resolve, to reassure himself that Killian was truly alive, that Liam hadn't yet failed his-

His hands were sticky.

What the bloody...  oh gods, blood.

"Son of a godsdamned kraken, Killian Jones!" Liam spat as he tugged Killian further forward, hiking his brother's jacket up his back to see the shirt beneath nearly saturated with blood.  Shaking, Liam reached up to find the rend in the leather and tore it further, exposing the jagged laceration that was nearly as long as his hand.  Killian must have been cut by the glass of the broken passenger side window during the crash.

"Bloody hell, you stubborn, self-sacrificial..." he trailed off into Gaelic, a language he hadn't spoken in centuries - not since he'd been lost to Killian and washed up on the bloody shores of Neverland, alone and lost.

"Mac kraken agus an scáth fuilteach sin," Liam muttered again, throwing in an insult to Pan's bloody shadow while he was at it.  Killian stirred when Liam reached for the first aid kit, digging haphazardly through until he could find something suitable - an abdominal combine pad as it turned out - and mashed it with all the strength he had against the gash on his little brother's back.

Killian writhed weakly, trying to turn away, but Liam persisted.  "Serves you right, you moron," he seethed and pressed harder.

That tore a little whimper from Killian's lips that struck Liam right in the heart.

"I know, little brother, I'm sorry," he whispered, laying Killian back against the seat and using his own weight as pressure against the wound.  Liam covered him with both blankets, tucking the ends under Killian's shoulders to keep them secure.  "Don't worry, I'm going to get us out of this mess."

Liam turned then, intent on getting out of the car and searching for the road, when the whole world seemed to tilt and whirl around him.  "Bloody hell," he managed, gripping his hair with one hand and the backseat with the other.

It didn't help.

His arm throbbed, his head was pounding, the world was spinning.  None of it should have mattered because Killian was bleeding and only somewhat conscious in the seat next to him.  Gasping, moaning a little in spite of himself, Liam tried to scrabble for the door handle, needing to get out, get to the road, get help.

He had barely managed to lock his fingers on the handle when his battle of wills with his stomach came to an abrupt and violent end.  Liam nearly blacked out, his head coming to rest on the driver's seat as he forced the stars popping in his vision to not send him back to the calm of unconsciousness.

Killian needed him.

"Looks like you two could use some help," a chipper voice startled Liam badly, making his head shoot up in search of the newest threat and causing the world to tilt dangerously around him again.

"Who the bloody hell are you?"

tagging: @gusenitsaa @pirate-owl @killianmesmalls @killian-whump @gilliangrissom @cocohook38

[hearteyesuris]

Home / Stenbrough

I haven’t written in like. 8 years!!! I’m sorry!! Anyway so you know how I wrote those Depressing brokenfamily!Bill headcanons? This is a one shot based off of that and it gets sad ,,, but its also fluffy!!

Warnings - Implied panic attack, bill is Fed Up, bill’s dad is emotionally abusive!! idk if there’s more but. be safe

Words - 2.2k (how)

Bill Denbrough did not have a home.

He had a house - of course, he had two. His Mother’s and his Father’s.

His parents (to put it frankly) did not care. At all. They didn’t care for Bill once Georgie had died. And he understood - really, he did. Everyone deals with bereavement issues differently, and his parents had finally pushed one another apart, after years of tension so thick that Bill’s stutter couldn’t even kill the silence between them.

Once Georgie’s death had been settled, and the period between November of the previous year and Bill’s painful thirteenth summer ended, so had their relationship. His Mother had left with the choice thrown upon Bill to chose who to go to.

And he picked his Mother.

But, he had decided, sixteen was far too young to be dealing with such a violent set of parents - not that anyone should be at any age. His Father had always used emotional blackmail as a twisted persuasive method, and his Mother had always taken it, turning his words into something as sweet as honey but lacking the backbone she needed to put him in his place. She’d listen to the words, plead out a strangled sorry and declare it all OK until it happened again. A routine of sorts, Bill had mused.

Despite the two not being together, Bill’s parents still managed to leave him stuck in the middle.

‘Bill? Shall we go and get your favourite dinner tonight?’

‘Bill, how about we go and buy you that new book you’ve wanted?’

‘Bill, make sure not to tell your Father about this,’

‘Bill, make sure not to tell your Mother about this,’

Bill, Bill, Bill. It was all he ever heard - and when he agreed to whatever his parents wanted to do, an awkward silence settled over him and whoever had taken him out that night, causing Adrenaline to course through Bill’s nerves, snagging on loose ends and pulling them free.

However, this became another routine to Bill, a new thing to get used to and accept as it was.

It just wasn’t until this night that he realised how bad it truly was.

Wednesday nights had always been spent at his Father’s house - a sad midweek visit, dragging a bag or two behind him and mumbling a hello in his direction as he sat and smoked, eyes fixated on a book, or a film, or the TV - anything that wasn’t his son. He might get an awkward pat on the shoulder or a greeting back on some days, but most of the time if he didn’t begin conversation, he wouldn’t get any.

Unspoken words hung in the air until the whistle for dinner flew upstairs. A degrading call to further prove that his Father truly didn’t care. But it was only once he’d reached the bottom step did he realise that something was not as it usually was.

Where Bill usually ate dinner alone, the news humming as it always did in the background, laid a second place mat and plate, his Father sat behind it.

Anxiety swam through his bloodstream, dipping and diving and dancing in the tawny vapour of anger and stress.

‘William,’ his Father began, his words dripping with a patronising tone, flooding Bill’s head and boiling until he felt his lungs burn and cry out for help. ‘Come and sit,’

He walked into the living room, cold linoleum sneaking past his thick socks due to his Father’s distaste of spending money on heating the house, took a shaky breath and sat down.

Questions filled his mind - what would this week’s activity be? Why was it being discussed on a Wednesday? Had a family member died? Had his father found out about something?

‘Don’t look at me like that, William,’ He scoffed, looking at Bill as though he was the disappointment of an empty packet of cigarettes, rather than his son.

‘I’ve been thinking - before you say anything, please hear me out,’ Bill steadied himself for the usual. Not to be friends with the losers? To come and do work experience with his Father? To stop writing? To stop living as he pleased?

‘I don’t … I don’t think your Mother is an appropriate person for you to be living with,’

Of all the things Bill had rallied up in his head, he wasn’t expecting his Father to say this. Of course, he’d never been all too fond of his Mother since they ended it, but he had never tried to deny Bill the rights to live with her in such a way. He had, of course, been dropping hints right under Bill’s nose that he was the better parent.

‘Being the patriarch of a broken family does not make you the better person,’ Bill mumbled under his breath, a way that prevented his stutter breaking through and making him seem more pitiable than brave.

His Father’s eyebrows shot up, a breeze of crimson fluttering past his face, growing stronger as he got angrier.

‘Excuse me,’ his Father stared him in the eyes, veins fluctuating with anger and writing as his voice increased in volume, ‘This is my house, William. If you refuse to listen to me then we shall go about this the hard way.’

Something in his voice sent a shiver through Bill, a cold sweat beading at his temples. He gulped back the words that had died up in his throat, feeling that all too familiar anxious tug at his stomach, the hand of Anxiety stroking up his ribs and tickling at them, gliding painfully slowly across each rib and suddenly ripping at his heart.

‘William, so long as I am your primary carer, you shall listen to me,’ Bill scoffed at this, a laugh caused by the unbelievable statement escaping.

His Father looked positively enraged, his face regaining its red hue as he picked up both his and Bill’s plates.

‘Go to your room, please. You are not to contact your Mother and we shall discuss this in the morning. Out of sight.’

Bill bit back tears - of anger and sadness - and made his way up the stairs.

He walked straight past his closed door into the significantly smaller room down the hall, the door of which was littered with crayon drawings of animals, plants and people.

Georgie’s room was quiet, and calm. It was one of the only things that had remained constant in Bill’s memories - ever since he could remember, Georgie’s room had looked like this. Pale yellow walls, one of which was coated in crayon from the time he and Bill had decorated it. The bed was made, a winnie the pooh bed spread adorned it, Georgie’s favourite - he had liked how he was always so happy, and in a way seeing him was bittersweet to Bill, due to how much Georgie had turned into a ray of sunshine, cheering up everyone he saw.

However, the main reason Bill sat on Georgie’s floor was because his room was at the front of the house. And Bill was not going to sit in his bedroom just to fulfil the duties his Father had given him. Definitely not.

So, instead, he decided he would go to the only house he’s ever truly felt was a home - Stanley Uris’ house.

Stanley Uris had been one of Bill’s friends since he was younger. Stan and Bill’s Mothers used to meet up for coffee on Sunday mornings and due to this, Stan and Bill became friends.

Ever since the year previously, when their closest friends Richie and Eddie started dating, the two boys were prone to spending time as a pair outside of the group - of course, all the others had their suspicions, but nothing needed to be confirmed. They laughed along with the jokes, held hands, linked arms, perhaps even kissed in private - but they didn’t have to confirm it.

Whilst Bill loved all of his friends, there was just something so prominent about Stanley. He had such a peculiar sense of humour that had Bill in fits, he was always able to make time for his friends (especially Bill) and would be so willing for him to stay at his or come over if anything happened at home. So Bill decided that he would ignore his Father - really, what was the worst he could do? - and go to see Stan instead.

The jump down wasn’t too steep and Bill had perfected it from all the times it was necessary that he left through his baby brother’s window. He looked back in, as if he expected Georgie to be sat on his bed with a book, and then dropped down onto the damp grass below him.

Not even allowing himself a minute to catch his breath, Adrenaline once again entered Bill and shot through his whole body, coursing smoothly and flooding all his senses.

He ran all the way to the Uris household, a whole 2 miles away - he could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth but shook it off, sitting on the curb of the road and breathing deeply to regain his senses.

He heard the sliding of a window above him, and turned around quickly, only to see Stanley Uris’ silhouette where the noise came from, his hand out of the window in a beckoning motion.

Bill stood up from the curb, scrubbing at his face with the sleeve of his jumper in an attempt to get rid of the tracks left behind by the tears, and entered Stan’s house.

The Uris household - another thing that had remained a constant in Bill’s life. The paintings on the beige walls, the hand stitched messages made by Andrea Uris, the vintage furniture in each room. Bill loved the familiarity of it, and the security that came along with it.

Gentle footsteps echoed from the old wooden stairs, tapping out in a repetitive pattern that reminded Bill of the closest thing he’d ever had to home - Stan.

Stan knew that he didn’t have to talk when Bill was feeling like this. He’d always let him talk first, so he could decide how he should initiate a conversation with the taller boy. He tapped Bill on the shoulder and traced his finger down his arm, eventually resting at his wrist and holding his hand. Still on the second to last step, he gave his arm a soft tug before twisting on his foot and making his way back upstairs.

The boy behind him was clearly exhausted, the bags under his eyes had almost tripled in size since Stan had seen him that afternoon. His face was red raw from what Stan assumed to be crying, and his eyes looked bleak yet held a world of emotion in them.

Bill Denbrough confused Stanley Uris - how could one boy hold so many emotions yet keep them all bottled away until he gave in and opened the gate?

Pulling back the duvet on his bed, Stan gave Bill a gentle nudge and settled him down in his bed, and before getting in himself set his vinyl of The Queen Is Dead on. He offered Bill a smile and got a watery one in response, but it was better than nothing.

He crawled into his bed and rested his head on Bill’s chest, knowing it kept him grounded, and felt his heartbeat clatter around his ribs, thrumming out an irregular beat and making the boy’s hands shake.

He felt those same hands come to rest on the small of his back, drawing patterns over the soft skin there, and then he heard him swallow deeply and open his mouth.

‘I just … Stan, I can’t stay at my Dad’s anymore,’ he choked out, digging his fingers into Stan’s back to ground himself, ‘I hate it there. I hate him. He makes me so sad. He doesn’t want me to go to Mum’s anymore and he just wants me to stay in my room - he complains when I don’t eat but then takes my food off of me and won’t let me eat. He gets angry when I go into Georgie’s room and right now he thinks I’m in my room contemplating how I was rude to him when all I did was tell the truth and-’

Bill’s breath came out in staggered junctions, his chest heaving beneath Stan’s head.

‘What’s your favourite flower, Bill?’

‘Daffodils - for Georgie,’

Stan smiled and squeezed his hand, pressing a soft kiss to his chest.

‘That’s nice, I always think of Georgie when I see daffodils,’ Stan spoke clearly to Bill, enunciating each word to remind him he was there, ‘I love lilies’

‘I’ll buy you some, I promise,’

Stan beamed at this, his eyes stinging and threatening tears.

‘I love you, Bill,’

Bill gave Stan a half hearted smile - half hearted as it may be, it was all he could manage in his state.

Stan gently hummed along to the music, letting the vibrations float across Bill’s chest and swim around the empty room, thick with the haze of falling tears and ragged breaths.

Bill Denbrough may not have a physical home - but he had Stanley Uris, and that was the best home he could have ever asked for.

/ tag list

@trashmoutheds - @t-rash-m-outh - @spicyymoon–lovve - @whipashwhipash - @rainy-kaspbrak - @trxshmouth-t0zier

[daneel-the-sister-of-castiel]

Smoking Love - Chapter One: Savior

"Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs." He never knew what being in love felt like until he met YOU.

This is a K Project anime fanfiction centered around your journey in HOMRA and your journey to loving Mikoto Suoh, the infamous Red King of HOMRA.

Rated PG-13 for violence, language, and trauma

    The smell of smoke was one all too familiar to you... and it seemed to follow you around wherever you went, in your sleep and in your waking hours.

    It was there when you came home from a sleepover, only to be greeted by the sounds of sirens and the reeking stench of scorched wood instead of the usual scent of fresh-cut grass and the ringing of laughter.

    It was there when you escaped the grasp of your friend's mother, ignoring her pleas to come back to her. You rushed over to your blazing home, trying to force open the front door. Your hands were instantly scorched, the skin on your palms procuring second-degree burns as you screamed in pain, the remnant scars serving as reminders that there wasn't anything you could've done to save your family.

    Its ever putrid presence emanated from your father's and your little sister's ashes as you had scattered them on the ground where your childhood home once stood a few weeks before. 

    It perforated your nose every time you stepped into your abusive foster parents' house; you couldn't take a breath without coughing up a storm. It would be a surprise if you didn't get secondhand smoking from your time there.

    The smell of smoke had never brought you anything other than sleepless nights and unpleasant memories. It was death and misery, destruction and loneliness. Until that fateful day in the middle of July, the height of summer, when you met him, a stoic redhead with violent tendencies and a bad smoking habit, and that scent you hated so much began to represent not only the bad things in life, but also the good...

                                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    "Ughh, why does the world hate meeee?! Why?!" you asked yourself for the second time that day, banging your head against your bike's handlebars one last time before jerking off of it with a scowl. You pulled down your size too small shorts for what seemed the millionth time that day, then started your two-mile walk through gang-infested territory with a bike that had both tires popped. Your day had had such great promise this morning.

    You had been woken up by the sound of your favorite song blasting through your phone and not a nightmare. You had checked your phone and found out that the book you'd been waiting forever to read was finally available at the library. Your air conditioner had even started working, which was the biggest blessing of them all. One more night of kicking off sheets and sweating like a pig, and you were about ready to give the manager of your building the loudest screaming fest ever, even worse than that time where all you could take was cold showers in the winter and you about almost burst his eardrums shouting at him to fix it already.

    That was where the good part of your day ended. For lo and behold, in the excitement of last night's movie marathon, you had forgotten to take your laundry out of the washer. Now all your nice, fitting clothes were still sopping wet, which left you searching through every stupid little hiding spot in your apartment until you found a clean pair. The ones you happened to find, however, were from three years ago and you had since grown into yourself more. So getting the shorts on took you about a solid ten minutes and quite a few groans accompanied by a couple of colorful curse words mumbled under your breath. The shirt barely fit over your hips with your chest almost popping out of it, leaving you feeling a tad bit exposed. At least you wouldn't get hot in your current attire. After all, it was the middle of July. How cold could it get?

    You really wished you'd told yourself to shut up because right after you'd went downstairs and gotten your bike from the bike rack outside, it began to pour. Not sprinkle, not a little drizzle that lasts for about five minutes. No, the clouds decided that today would be a nice day to unload every ounce of water stored in the atmosphere down onto you. Okay, maybe not just on you, but you were currently getting drenched and you still had to bike two miles to the library for your job there, in the stinkin' rain, with clothes that were too small. You felt that you had every right to be a bit dramatic. You could have taken the train, however, you were never too fond of being in close, cramped quarters with strangers nor did you like walking to the station, either. This was Shizume City after all, run by various clans and gangs, some headed up by "Kings." You didn't want to walk about on foot with those kinds of crazy people roaming around. So you resigned yourself to begin biking in the cold, wet rain. That was the first time you asked yourself, "Why me?"

    When you finally got to the library, one of your colleagues told you that the book you'd been waiting for, guess what, had accidentally been checked out to someone else by the new volunteer. You had to hold yourself back from screaming out loud and banging your head against something, anything, as long as it was hard and could make you forget about every crappy thing that had happened to you that day. Instead, thankfully, you opted to sigh through your nose, resigning yourself to stand in front of a fan for a few minutes before you had to shelve some books.

    After shivering for a solid three hours with a towel a co-worker had given you wrapped around your shoulders, you managed to dry off and wanted to thank the stars above that you hadn't started sneezing. You refrained from doing so, though, because you didn't want to risk jinxing yourself again. Of course, it didn't matter anyway, because after you closed up shop at ten p.m., you discovered that someone thought it would be just hilarious to stab a hole in your two tires.

    "Well, I hope they're happy, because I know I sure ain't little Ms. Sunshine right now," you grumbled under your breath. You may have been grumpy and out of sorts at the moment, though you were by no means depressed or ungrateful with your lot in life. You knew that your problems were nothing compared to many others around the world and that you should be thankful for the roof over your head, the money in your pocket, and the food in your belly. It's just that you were so hopeful for today.

    You hadn't had a nightmare about the fire the night before, something that was rare and unprecedented. You could barely go a day without thinking about how much you'd been deprived off all those years ago. You had not only lost your father, your sister, and your home, but your mother as well. She wasn't the same after the accident... neither of you were. She shut down, not eating, not sleeping, letting herself waste away. She couldn't even bear to look at you anymore, because all you did was remind her of what she'd lost that day. It was why she, your own mother, gave you up. She left you to grieve alone and suffer among strangers. The day she signed the papers was the last day you ever saw or heard from her.

    From there, you were bounced from family to family for years. You either got terrible, abusive people who didn't care two cents about you or kind, impatient, and sometimes shallow people who didn't want to deal with your scars (both physical and emotional ones). You grew self-conscious of the burns on your hands. They itched, they burned, and they made your palms rough to the touch. You were teased by the ignorant bullies at the school, who thought you'd gotten them from touching a burning stove on accident or clumsily spilling boiling hot water on them. In those days, you tried to make yourself as small as possible, so you never stood up to them, no matter how much you wanted to.

    It was like that until you were taken in by the most wonderful family you'd ever met. Under their tutelage, you blossomed into the confident, smiling young woman, capable of being proud of herself. They taught you how to defend yourself and how to keep up that sense of optimism you'd lost the moment you'd lost your family. Of course, there'd still be days where you cried or where you'd despise yourself or you'd doubt others loyalty, but they were fewer than before. They didn't control your happiness any longer. You could breathe freely once again. Just thinking about the fact brought a small smile to your face as you trudged down the street with the bike beside you. Instead of reminiscing about past events, however, you should've been paying attention to your surroundings. If you had, you would've sensed a sinister presence following close behind you.

    You didn't notice until it was too late and you had already walked into a trap.

    "Hey, you look like you could use some help with that bike there, pretty lady," you heard a gruff voice behind you say. This caused you to freeze. You got a sinking feeling that this stranger wasn't interested in helping you, and only wanted to do you harm.

    "That's sweet of you to offer, but I think I'm good for now, thanks," you declined in a polite tone, your back facing him. You didn't want to encourage him into jumping you early before you could retrieve the tiny bottle of pepper spray tucked into your bra.

    "Aww, come on now, don't make a man feel more guilty than he already is. Here." He reached to grab your bike from you and that's when you saw your opening. You jerked the handlebars forward and rammed it into his stomach as hard as you could, dropping the bike before whipping out the spray, discharging the volatile substance right into the man's eyes.

    His yells of pain echoed in the alleyway you'd chosen to take a shortcut to your apartment, a not so bright idea considering you were now running for your life in shorts that kept riding up your thighs. You almost succeeded in escaping until bam! Two men who looked like they never left the gym suddenly appeared in your path and blocked the exit. You tried to stop your momentum, yet it was no use. Your body crashed into them anyway, then found yourself being dragged back to the man from earlier. You tried your hardest to struggle, but it wasn't any use. They had muscles thicker than your neck and seemed unaffected by anything you did. You couldn't get them with your pepper spray since you, being stupid, had dropped the can when you'd banged straight into them. In other words, you were screwed, big time.

    "Hey Rino, what should we do with her now?" one of the men holding you asked the man who you sprayed in the face mere seconds ago.

    He was fiercely rubbing his eyes with closed fists when he snarled, "Teach that little bitch a lesson. No one messes with Rino."

    You'd scarcely processed what the gangster said before being slammed into the trash bin behind you and pinned against it. You let out a shriek of pain once more, trying to struggle in vain as one of the massive giants got ready to punch your lights out. Your heart was beating in your throat, causing your breath to quicken. You tightened your body up, bracing for more injury... yet it never came. Just before his fist could crash into your face, a calm, monotone voice interrupted, "You're in my way."

    Your captors all turned their heads toward the new voice, to find that there was not just one newcomer, but at least six newcomers, and boy, they did not look pleased at all. However, one stood out from the rest, probably the one who'd spoken. He was tall and lean, with striking red hair and an air of power radiating from him. You could tell he was the leader of the group. For some reason, you got a vague sense of familiarity about the man, but you couldn't quite place it. You had an itching feeling that this wouldn't be the last time you'd see the telling redhead. Behind him, you could make out the faces of three others: a tall blond man with red sunglasses and a black blazer, a teenager with chestnut hair holding a baseball bat in his hands, and a heavier set blond man with a beard and saggy clothes. You couldn't make out any of the others.

    "Yeah, you heard the Boss! Let the girl go and get your damn asses out of HOMRA's turf or we'll make you pay!" the teen shouted at your captors, gripping his bat tighter, eyes seeming to glow with fiery red.

    HOMRA, eyes glowing red? It was then that realization came crashing down on you, why the leader seemed so familiar to you, why he had such an intimidating demeanor. You were in the presence of the Red King, the Third King and leader of the clan HOMRA, and some of his most powerful Clansmen. You'd never seen them before in person, but you'd heard from others that they were people you didn't want to mess around with. They must've been on patrol around the city, just happening upon you about to get beaten to a pulp.

    The leader of the men who'd assaulted you scowled defiantly, "Why should we listen to a bunch of punk ass phonies who don't know the first thing about fighting?" Damn, this man must've been stupider than you originally thought, or he just had a major death wish.

    The scary guy with the baseball bat and skateboard, who you assumed was Misaki Yata, the so-named vanguard of HOMRA, lit his bat aflame with the trademark Red Aura that all fellow Clansmen had, tightening up his jawline and growling. The man with the sunglasses, who you guessed might be Suoh's second-in-command, Izumo Kusanagi, flicked out his lighter but didn't open it. The both of them seemed to be waiting for something... or someone.

    The King didn't react like his comrades did, but you saw an angry fire blaze in his eyes for a fraction of a second, there so fast, gone so soon. It had been there, though. You were certain of it. We all waited with bated breath as Mikoto Suoh dug his hands into his pockets and pulled out a cigarette from one of them, sticking it in his mouth as he closed his eyes for a second. Then his nimble fingers shone with the Red Aura and the King lit the cancer stick, taking a good, long puff of it.

    "I'm getting tired of waiting, you asshole!" your original attacker screeched as Suoh did so, "We'll beat your asses and then I'll have my way with the little whore over there." Yep, the idiot had completely lost his mind. He must've really wanted to die.

    That last statement seemed to be the final straw, for the Red King flashed open his amber eyes once more and that fire you saw a moment ago was fully ablaze, eradicating any trace of the amber that had been there before. Next thing you knew, you saw a big fireball made of Red Aura coming straight for the lowlifes, who decided to toss you into a brick wall in their haste, slamming your head right against it. Your vision began to blur as you felt blood trickling down your neck, listening to the mangled screams of Rino and a chant of "No blood, no bone, no ash!" before your mind went began drifting away and it was too difficult to concentrate on keeping your eyes looking and your ears listening. The last thing your senses picked up as your mind faded was the lingering smell of cigarette smoke wafting up your nose, and the feeling of warm, strong arms wrapping around your weak frame.

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own the characters or the gif. Credit goes to GoRA and the creator of the gif. The storyline is my creation, however.

Note: You can find this fic and subsequent parts on my writing blog, fanfictionamerica

[imaginesoverreality]

The Agreement: Part 2

An unexpected visitor comes to offer Diana the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance to save the man she loves from Hades. Diana wants nothing more than to give Steve the life he was so deserving of. The Queen of the Amazons decides if the opportunity is too good to be true.

Feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged!

Word Count: 1645

Rating: M (Eventually, I promise.)

Link to Part 1: Here

The light of the morning sky slipped through the soft beige curtains in the small room. But it wasn’t the sun’s warmth that washed over her body, but the soft skin underneath her. His fingertips followed the path etched by her bone structure, across her collarbone, and down her arms, so lightly that it tickled. She had been awake long before he was, but she wasn't ready to share him with the world quite yet.

“I had a dream last night.” He laughed a little to himself, shaking his head. “I haven’t had a dream that didn’t turn into a nightmare since…” He trailed off, looking down to be sure she was still asleep before continuing. “I honestly couldn’t even tell you. But last night, I dreamt of us. It was what imagined happy people do on a Sunday. I was reading the newspaper, out on the porch, when I heard giggling. It almost sounded like birds singing.” Diana continued her performance, even shifting a little to not cause too much suspicion. “You came out, dressed in all white. God, Diana, you looked like an angel. The way the light shined all around you. There was a bundle in your arms that you were so amazed by. It wasn’t until you were standing in front of me that I noticed it move. Somehow, it turned around to look at me. This beautiful baby girl, wearing the same white dress as her mother, reaching out for me.” She smiled to herself, her mother had told her many times of the joys of having a child, she could be so honored to be the one who gave that same joy to Steve.

No longer able to keep up the ruse, Diana opened her eyes and looked up at the man who never ceased to amaze her with his courage and determination.

“Mornin’ angel” Steve whispered. The Amazonian smiled up at him and shifted so they were face to face. She traced the bridge of his nose and the outline of his upper lip before replacing the digit for her own lips. Despite all the literature she’s read about sparks and butterflies when sharing a kiss with a lover, that’ not what she felt when kissing Steve. The feeling she felt now, as he moved to place her above him, was more like burning feeling that starts at deep inside her, and burns throughout her body. It spreads all the way to the ends of her hair and the tips of her toes. Pressed as closely as they could, the pair almost seemed to melt into a single being. So enraptured in one another, they could have spent the rest of their days in this very place, in the same state of undress as they were the night before. She could feel his enthusiasm growing as his hands moved haphazardly from her neck, down her legs, and back up the curvature of her spine. With a groan of frustration, Steve pulled away from Diana’s intoxicating kiss.

“We can’t, Diana” he said breathlessly, more to himself than to her. His eyes pleading with her offer some semblance of mercy. “We have to go get the boys if we want to catch up with General Ludendorff and Dr. Maru at the ball.” Reluctantly, Diana agreed. She stood at the end of the bed, looking for her belongings, when a soft call of her name caught her attention. Turning to look at the source, Steve lifted onto his knees on the bed, placing her smooth cheeks between his calloused and undeserving hands. He gave her a kiss he hoped illustrated the depth of his adoration for her. He doesn’t know that his will be the last kiss they share, but if it is, he wants it to be a memorable one. 

                                                           ***

“Diana of Themyscira, Daughter of Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, are you willing voyage across the Five Rivers to Underworld and retrieve Steve Trevor from the grasps of Hades?”

Diana raised her eyebrows, snatching the picture back into the safety of her arms.

“I mean no disrespect, but this arrangement seems surreal. Either you’re not telling me the whole truth, or you’re playing a cruel game.” Diana accused. Zeus, taken aback slightly at the outspoken doubt of his powers, smiled back at the Amazonian before him. “Hippolyta taught you well. Yes, Diana, there is a catch. I am still recuperating my powers with my battle with Ares. And as much as I would like to help you on your quest, I will not be able to go past the gates. My body is not fit to fight another war.”

He slowly maneuvered his way out of her bedroom, with his hands folded behind his back. And like a daughter following the footsteps of her father, Diana fell into step with Zeus, until they were both at the front door. “What you’ve done, Diana, is more than I could have done selflessly at your age. Please, allow me to be selfless now, by giving you this opportunity.” After several moments of hesitation, Diana determined that she had nothing to lose by going. Quickly, she stormed into the living room, pausing momentarily to look at the photo in her hand one last time. Looking into the grainy monochromatic depiction of his eyes, she realized just how much she missed that shade of blue that was uniquely Steve. All she ever wanted for him was to have the life he deserved. She put on her armor and gathered her weapons, before returning to the doorway. Looking around her apartment one last time, and letting out a shaky breath, she silently prayed that she will return soon.  

Zeus opened the door and offered his hand to her. Once they were linked, all Diana saw was a flash of light. 

                                                          ***

Diana.

Diana!

She felt someone shaking her aggressively. It took a large amount of effort, but she was able to bat open her eyelashes. There was a storm whipping around her, waves were beating against the rock that she was lying on, and rain pouring down her face. The princess pushed her hair away and took Zeus’ awaiting hand. Once she was on her feet, she looked around. But all she could see was chaos.

“Where are we?” Diana yelled over the booms of thunder. Zeus pointed to the opening behind her. “This is the entrance of Hades’ dominion. And also where I leave you. The path is straight. However, I do not know what he will ask for you in exchange for your love. But I hope it gives your heart peace.” Before Diana could even thank him, a crack a lightning struck the very spot he was in, leaving her utterly alone.

The Queen of the Amazons turned to face the mouth of the cave. It's monstrous and grotesque appearance would be laden any man’s heart with fear. But Diana was no man. She marched in, shield up and sword ready for anything that dared to get in her way. If anything stood between her and the love of her life, she would kill them all without hesitation.

Despite the violent stormed that raged outside of the cave, its contents were rather peaceful. It took only a few minutes for her to be met with the crystal blue pools that lead to the River Styx. At the port's mouth sat Charon, the Ferryman, who stood at attention when Diana approached him.

“You are among the living, are you not?” The ferryman asked. It had been centuries since his eyes fell upon a soul that had not perished.

 “I am Diana of Themyscira, Daughter of Hippolyta, and Queen of the Amazons. Zeus brought me here so I could meet with Hades.” Diana tried to stay unfazed as the groans of the dead echoed off the hollow walls. Her fears only heightened when she looked at the hideous face of the ferryman who would take her across the river. He looked more like the gargoyles that adorned the Parisian churches, than a man. But Diana refused to show any reaction.

 “As you wish.”  

 The two sailed across the relatively peaceful waters. With each passing second, she was a little bit closer to Steve. She tried to think of him as he left her, filled with pride and heroism. Maybe when he sees what lengths she took to reach him, he will give her that big goofy smile he would wear every time Sameer would sing, purposely out of key, to mess with Charlie. Or maybe he would sweep her into his arms and kiss her with the same love and enthusiasm as he did when they spent their last morning together.  

 As they moved deeper into the cave, Diana could almost feel the life drain out of her. The cold musty smell made it unbearable for her to breathe. She tried covering her face with her arms but didn’t make any difference. The groans of the dead were starting to send shivers up Diana’s spine. The painfully agonizing shrieks seemed to be getting louder and she prayed Steve’s voice wasn’t among them.

 “We’re here.”

 Diana looked up to see stone steps leading somewhere behind a thick layer of fog. Slowly climbing up the damp steps, weapons raised, she was meet by a loud growl. A single droplet fell from above her head. And a beast, that loosely resembled a dog with three heads, charged at her with teeth bared. Diana took up her shield in order to separate herself from its bite. She began mentally planning a series of attacks before a voice boomed, ceasing the dog’s violence.

 “Cerebus! Back! That is no way to greet family.”  The animal continued to growl threateningly but slowly began retreating until it was side by side with its owner.

 “Well, if it isn’t my sweet niece, Diana.”

[sending-the-message]

My Ex-Girlfriend Isn't Taking The Breakup Well Part 6 by thegeneralg

Chloe arrived promptly at 2 pm today. While she was here right on schedule, it still wasn't fast enough for me. My mind spent the entire night racing, thinking about everything I knew about Mrs. Arlington. I don't think I slept for a moment. Not even a shot of whiskey helped, but it did calm me down a bit. Since it was a Saturday, we knew Mrs. Arlington, if that was even her real name, would be home.

I couldn't believe it. Did she know all this time? Was it a coincidence she moved next to me? Is that why Allison broke in? Not to get at me. but for a crack at her? The last thought sent a shiver through my body. Right as if on cue, the doorbell rang. Not gonna lie, that moment made me jump. I ran to open it and there was Chloe. She walked inside without saying a word, but once the door was shut, she immediately greeted me with a hug. As is often the case, I didn't know how much I needed one until that moment. Sitting down on my couch, we tried to figure out how to approach the situation.

"I'll invite her here," I began. "I want her right where I know where everything is. My man John who I told you about will be here in a few too. Not gonna take a single chance. He'll be ready with some 'assistance' should it be required. In fact another friend of his will be bringing some 'assistance' as well." Chloe nodded in approval.

"Good idea."

"I'll be the one to show her the photo and you will be the one to say how you got it."

"Sounds like a plan." She hesitated a moment before continuing. "What do you think she will do?" I sat there for a moment, I had no idea what to say. The woman had been an ideal neighbor for years, not once had she laid a finger on me. She had been nothing but helpful and kind to me. At this point, she was almost like family to me. Perhaps part of me didn't want to believe anything bad would happen, but after everything that's happened so far, I wasn't about to count anything out.

"I don't know," I eventually whispered. John and his backup, another bouncer named Travis, got there about 45 minutes later. I didn't think it was possible, but Travis was even bigger than John was. But when he saw me, Travis immediately shook my hand.

"John told me what happened. Shit is crazy man." That was the most accurate thing anyone had ever said so far about this whole thing.

Shortly after they arrived, I called Mrs. Arlington to come over. I told her I had something to show her about Allison. As expected, she said she would be right over. When she spoke in her usual friendly, inviting tone, it made my heart sink. I know in my head she was lying to me, but I guess I didn't like the idea of ambushing her like this. But I immediately reminded myself I was doing the right thing and she had been the one keeping secrets.

"Just come on by now if you have nothing going on. The doors open." I made sure to keep my voice innocuous. Mrs. Arlington immediately agreed and within minutes I heard her walk across the driveway and up the steps, and the front door opened. I heard her call out and I told her to come in the living room. She walked into the living room and immediately looked confused.

"Oh, why hello there," she looked around at the people there. "Vince, I thought you had something to show me?" Her blue eyes looked at me uncertainly.

"I do," I said as I handed Mrs. Arlington the photo of her that Chloe had gotten. The original one, not some phone screenshot. There was just something about holding an original photo. She looked at it for a full minute, I think she was in shock. In that instant, you could feel the atmosphere change. It was like Mrs. Arlington was physically diminished.

"Where did you get this?" Was all she could say. Her eyes looked different than I had ever seen them, almost like a mouse's, timid and nervous. I didn't say a word, but I pointed to Chloe. I could see Mrs. Arlington nervously glancing at John and Travis. She knew perfectly well what John did for me in the past.

"You were at Allison's house that night with her father. The bedroom. You both looked pretty keen not to be seen. Which makes sense, because he disappeared not too long after that. So tell us what you know." In that moment, I could feel something silently break within Mrs. Arlington. If you have ever seen something bad happen to someone, you know what I mean. It is like their body physically changes before you.

"My God. I am so sorry I didn't tell you. I swear to you, I had no idea." She muttered before telling us more. "This was so long ago, I swear to you Vince, I had no idea Allison was Jerry's daughter. It all makes so much sense. So, here is what I know. Damn, how could I have not seen the resemblance. " She chastised herself before cleared her throat and getting down to business. "It's true, I was there that night. But not for what you think. As you know by now, back then I was a legal secretary in town. Allison's hometown. Although it is only about four hours away, it might as well be a million miles away. I was fresh out of school and had just landed that job when Jerry Dunbar came to our office. Will Sanders was the best lawyer in town and it was an honor to work for him. I don't blame Jerry for wanting the best."

"What do you mean?" Chloe asked. Her brow furled in suspicion.

"You knew the Dunbar family?" Mrs. Arlington asked her. To which Chloe nodded. "Then you know what I mean when I say things were not right in that family. Especially with the mother. It's why I say it all makes sense now. Jerry Dunbar came to us for legal help. He wanted a divorce from Allison's mother, Clara. But he didn't just want a divorce. No he wanted full custody, and that was just a warm-up. Jerry said Allison's mother was dangerous and he wanted the courts to intervene."

I sat there silently, not sure what to feel. Chloe looked as pale as my kitchen floor, which was bone white. Mrs. Arlington's voice had become more steady as she spoke. "He was terrified of her. Absolutely terrified. Over the years he had seen things, heard things, and when he was really lucky, he experienced it. For example, she would lie about the most routine things. Things no normal person would lie about. Or she would have an absolute fit over stupid petty things. Like a piece of furniture being moved or the color of wallpaper. But she was never violent. At least not to him. That was one of the things that terrified him. She had all this rage built up and very rarely, it would peek its head up. But it would always go right away, leaving him unsure if it had really happened. A Jerry had a friend from work, who had a doctor for a brother and Jerry called him up for his opinion. Well, turns out Clara was a dead ringer for being ill, seriously mentally ill. I forget what it is called, but it wasn't bipolar or depression. No, this was major, as in call the FBI profilers type bad. What's your name honey?" she suddenly asked Chloe.

"Chloe," she replied hesitantly.

"Lovely name," she said with a warm smile. In spite of everything, Mrs. Arlington managed to make Chloe smile as well. "Well Chloe, let me ask you something. Did you always feel that Mrs. Dunbar was always perfect. Like a china doll that never gets blemished? Always has a perfect answer for everything?"

"Yes," she practically whispered.

"I had the same feeling too. Creepy isn't it? Almost makes you wonder if she was human. I didn't know exactly what to call it when I met her, but there was something different about her. Well, what made Jerry call us was that he had been thinking about this for a long time. But what broke the camels back so to speak was Clara's trip to visit her mother. The one that she took when you saw me at their house. Well Jerry was instantly suspicious, because Clara LOATHED her mother. Absolutely hated the woman. Called her every name possible. So when Clara started acting all concerned about her Mother, Jerry knew instantly something was up. Once she was gone, Will had me go with Jerry to the house to look the place over. Said a woman's opinion was crucial. I would be able to look at things not just as an outsider, but as a woman examining another woman's habits. We looked for stuff related to Allison's grandmother, legal papers, letters, anything that would give us a clue to what was going on." Mrs. Arlington then paused, a pained look appeared in her eyes, as if she was bracing herself for something.

"Then we went into their bedroom. Which was where Clara kept her important papers, inside a lockbox in her closet. That's why we went into the bedroom. After some trying, we managed to figure out the combination. For such a clever woman, she was surprisingly unimaginative about codes. It was Allison's birthday."

November 3, 1988. 11.3.88. The number flashed through my mind like an involuntary spasm. I still remembered what I got her last year for her birthday. A new leather jacket. It cost an obscene fortune, but she looked so sexy in it. Light crème colored leather, I can still practically smell the new leather scent. In spite of everything, the memory still managed to make me smile. Not that I would admit that to anyone of course.

"We opened the box and went through the papers inside. Inside was the usual, birth certificate, other identification papers, a few precious mementos, and other ordinary things. We were just about to put it back when Jerry found something. An recent life insurance policy taken out, but not for one of them, but for Allison's Grandmother. Clara had taken it out about 6 months ago and had been steadily spending more time with her mother in the time since. The policy was for 450,000 dollars in the event of her mother's death. Bear in mind, Allison's grandmother was only in her early 60s and was in good health at the time, so it wasn't like she was betting on a sick old woman would die at any moment."

At that moment, I felt sick. My intestines felt like someone was twisting them into balloon animals. It couldn't be possible.

"Confident that this explained a lot, Jerry told me he would get more information and speak to both me and my boss as soon as he had it. He kept in touch with us periodically, but never had any news. Finally, a few months later, Jerry came to see us at the office. Didn't call or anything, he just barged right in. That wasn't like him at all. The man was always a stickler for etiquette. Told us all that he was onto something and was gonna head out of town to follow Clara when she went to visit her mother this time. Allison was staying at a friend's house, so she didn't need to be watched. Told us he would call us as soon as he could. Well that call never happened. Jerry never came back and was reported missing three days later. But that wasn't the worst part. That was when the calls began."

"The calls?" I asked blankly.

"At first they came slowly. To Will Sanders at the office. No one ever spoke, just some heavy breathing. At first, we thought nothing of it. Working in a lawyer's office, you tend to become a bit desensitized to weirdness. But then they began happening at Will's home. Will had seen it all, so he could care less. But then they began happening at my home. At night. When I was alone. At first, it was just more heavy breathing. Don't get me wrong, that was a bit creepy, but I could deal with it. But then someone spoke on the line, just one time. I will never forget that voice. It was a quiet voice, a charming sounding man."

"Don't worry about Jerry, if you know what's good for you. Unless you want us to check up on you . Especially if you go into houses that aren't yours again." I felt Goosebumps pop up on my skin when Mrs. Arlington said this. I had never in my life seen her look so afraid. Just thinking about it seemed to terrify her.

"After that the calls stopped. They never called anyone else in the office but Will and me. To this day, I don't know how they knew I was with Jerry, but they did. Believe you me, I never went anywhere near the Dunbar house again. We told the police what had happened, but they couldn't find anything. I left town not long after that call and did everything to forget the whole thing ever happened. I swear to you Vince, I had no idea Allison was Clara's daughter. I knew the girl's name was Allison, but there are a million Allison's out there. She also looked nothing like her mother. But it all makes sense now, they say if you want to see what a girl will be like when she gets older, look at her mother. This is the last thing I have to say. I have seen plenty of darkness in my life, but no human being ever made me look over my shoulder the way Clara Dunbar did."

We sat there in silence after Mrs. Arlington finished speaking. She stood there, her arms folded against her chest. I wondered how long she had kept this story to herself. Years probably. There were a million questions running through my mind. But somehow, Chloe asked the most important one before I could.

"What happened to Mrs. Dunbar?" Mrs. Arlington took a breath before answering.

"No idea, and I can't say I'm sorry for that. Most I ever heard is that she left town and no one heard from her again."

"Anything else?" I asked Mrs. Arlington blandly.

"No Vince, and I promise you, had I known Allison was Clara's daughter I would have told you immediately."

"Thank you, that will be all Sharon," her face fell instantly at this. But she nodded in response. I had never called her by her first name before. Funny, it was sort of like when a parent calls a child by their full name. That's when you know you are in deep shit. Without saying a word, she walked out of my living room. The door shut quietly behind her. I don't think she will be invited here any time soon. I thanked John and his friend for their backup, and they left shortly after. Chloe and I sat there for some time before she spoke.

"Do you believe it?" she asked me. I nodded my head. I actually did believe her, and I didn't need to ask Chloe if she felt the same. I could see it on her face that Mrs. Arlington had accurately described what Chloe had experienced when the Dunbar's lived next to her. We had some answers now, but that just created about a thousand new questions we had yet to answer. Chloe bid me farewell and told me she would keep an eye out and to call me if I needed anything and I told her to do the same. Now it was just me and my thoughts. One question dominated all the others. Odds were good Allison's father was dead. But what happened to her mother?

Part 1 https://redd.it/6dq4dc

Part 2 https://redd.it/6f9nmj

Part 3 https://redd.it/6h3jhu

Part 4 https://redd.it/6ilf6l

Part 5 https://redd.it/6s1vir

[sxgiittxriius]

Some Igloo Fun, On A Snowday || Smut

“Daddy wake up.” A small voice eagerly said.

“Hmnm?” He groaned sleepily then going back to sleep.

“Daddy it's snowing.” Draco ignored the voice and dugged deeper into the warm covers.

“Daddy wake up and let’s make a snowman.”

“Mummy, daddy won't wake up.” A small soft voice called out to their mother.

"Lyra, sweetheart. Why don’t you and Scorp go out with Grandpa and make those snowmen and igloos’ while I try and wake daddy from his slumber? We’ll come out in a few minutes, alright.“

Lyra blinked. "Okay. Let’s go Scorpy!”

As the two children ran out from their parent's room, Hermione pulled back the covers and kissed her husbands’ cheek.

“Draco. Wake up and let’s do that plan of yours.”

“It’s too early, Granger.” He grumbled.

“It’s never too early to be naughty, Draco. We should do this before I back out.” her statement woke Draco up.

“You are not backing out of this. Planned it especially just for this snow day.” He came out of the covers staring at her hard.

The couple left as soon their children went inside with their grandparents to have some nice and warm hot chocolate with fluffy marshmallows.

The two married adults silently came out of the door with blankets and ran towards the biggest igloo that could fit them both.

“This is a very bad, bad idea.” She chanted all the way inside the icy shaped dome.

“As long as we keep quiet, no one will hear us.”

“What if Lucius or Narcissa come looking for us? It-”

“We’re already here. C'mon, don’t be a prude, have some fun for once in your life.”

“P-prude? Draco, I’m married and had children with you and you’re calling me a prude?”

“Relax, Hermione. We’ll be fine.” He confronted his wife as he pushed her to the soft blankets he made as she talked his ear off about getting caught.

“We have to be extremely quiet, if we don’t want Scorp and Lyra to come and find us.” Draco breathed out expertly tugging his wife's’ thick gown.

In an instant, Hermione sat up and was on her knees, tugging down on his trousers.

As she took it off, Draco braced himself by placing his palm flat to the low curved ceiling overhead and he un patiently growled.

“Can you be quiet? If your plan fails I will seriously hex you to bits.”

He glances down, finding her brown eyes peering up and her fingers running a path along his inner thighs.

He swallows, then nods, perhaps too eagerly, but how could he help it with her ‘I’m playing the innocent look’ covering her face?

Only the twitch of her lips, the corners curling up with a seductive purr when her fingers hooked into his trousers, giving away her innocent intentions.

“Draco,” she demands, not at all satisfied with the incessant bobbing of his head and the lustful noises he’s making. “Can you be quiet?”

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” he insists, his stomach jumping to his throat when she yanks the trousers down and his cock, already hard and throbbing, springs free before her lips.

His next words are more a rhetorical hiss, “Whatever the fuck you want.”  

Now she looks absolutely pleased and her tongue flicks out, just grazing the head and then licking around the ridges and Draco groans, his eyes rolling back. “Merlin, that felt so good.” 

“Oh, I know,” She murmured, taking him in her hand as her other hand trailed up the back of his thigh to grip his ass.

She licks him from the base to the tip, moaning the whole way, then her mouth envelopes him.

Hot and wet, her hand pumping when she takes him deeper and her tongue swirling when she pulled back. 

One of his hands falls to her neck, threading into the loose curls that spill about her shoulders. With his encouragement, Hermiones’ pace builds, her licks and laps growing all the more eager until Draco’s ready to explode.

“F-fuck, Hermione.” He moaned.

“You like that?” Her lips, swollen and red, pull back, twisting in a sinful smile that does nothing for the building pressure in his groin.

But he’s not getting the friction he needs, as she sits back on her heels and smirks.

He’s about to finish himself when her fingers snag his wrist. “I’ll continue, love, if you promise not to make a sound and make everyone come outside.” 

Draco rolled his eyes, now stepping back from her and out of the pants around his ankles. His shirt follows, and he takes note of the way her gaze travels up from his cock to his abs to his grin.

The air stills between them for half a second, then Draco is on his knees, his mouth colliding with hers and his hands ripping the too many layers of her clothing away from her curves. 

With every brazen kiss, every searching touch of his fingers, more skin is exposed. Her legs, her hips, her stomach, her breasts.

He takes his time to lavish each place with licks and nips and kisses, but her breath is coming so fast and the two fingers between her thighs tell him that she’s more than ready. 

He’s ready too. He wants her, needs her. 

The groan of his name when his fingers curl inside her turns to a pout as he pushes her down flat on the bed of thick blankets.

“What are you waiting for, Draco? Fuck me.” 

“Just thought I’d warn you,” he mutters, his tongue licking from her hipbone to her nipple, where he tugs the flesh between his teeth, “The bad thing about this plan is that the heat from the both of us will probably melt this igloo.” 

“Please, you’re not that good.” she scoffed.

“Oh!” he fakes an offense, then roughly flips her over, keeping her on her hands and knees.

He rolls his hips just right, so his cock grinds against her slick, warm centre, and a finger circles her clit slowly. “You’re going to wish you hadn’t said that, Granger.”

Hermione sent a smirk over her shoulder, like she knows exactly what’s coming next, “Am I really going to regret saying that?”

“Stop talking, love.” His hands gripped her ass, and he presses into her slowly, barely hiding the hiss as it escapes through his teeth.

Fuck, she’s tight. Always so tight. 

He thrusted forward a few times, shallow and slow, pulling almost completely out of her and sliding halfway back in while his fingers rub her clit in quick patterns. 

Back and forth. Around and around.

Hermione moaned, gasped and shaked, her back already covered in a thick sheen of sweat. 

Another brush of his fingers, a harder thrust, and Hermione screams, “D-draco! Godric.” 

“Shh,” he growls, his mouth against her ear, “The only name you should be screaming is mine, not of another mans’. Concentrate would you. Wouldn’t want anyone to come out with that loud screams of yours now, we wouldn’t like that, right beautiful?” 

She reaches a hand back, running her hand through his blond locks that hung around his face. Her own hips moved, matching his deepening thrusts, “If anyone of us screams, it’ll be you.” 

“Right.” Draco plants a palm on her back, between her shoulders, forcing her upper body down onto the pillows.

His knees nudge hers further apart, his fingers find a nipple and Draco pushes in further, his hips flush against her ass.

Between them, his grunts and groans, her hand in his hair and the other clutching the blankets, the pace builds.

The air is heavily filled with their scent of sex, her skin is covered in a flush of red and his own skin is also damp, flushed, burning up with desire for her.

His name echoes off the icy walls.

Draco, Draco, Draco - at first it was clear and coherent, but it shifts into this indecipherable moan.

Hermione quivered, her legs trembling, her mouth opens in a silent plea, and Draco’s fingers travel from her nipple to her clit once more. 

“Come for me, love,” he whispers in her ear, nibbling the soft flesh as his thrusts slow turns to something languid and sensual.

He wants her to feel all of him, for him to feel all of her as she falls over the edge.

That amazingly tight, slick heat. 

“Hermione, come with me.” he grunted.

And the wave bursts with a sharp cry from her tongue, and she’s hotter and shakier and wetter than ever, “Ah- Oh, Draco, don’t stop.” 

“Merlin, Hermione,” Draco groaned, slipping out of her completely before ramming back in. Hard. Her name hisses between his teeth again, low and breathy, “Fuck, you’re so fucking wet.” 

They collapse forward, his chest pressed against her back and his face buried in her shoulder.

Then he’s riding her harder than he has before - in and out, skin slapping on skin - and Hermione’s hips are rising from the blankets just enough to meet him thrust for thrust.

His eyes flutter shut with a deep sensual groan. 

Another rock of his hips, erratic and crazed. Another needy sigh from her. 

His teeth dig into her shoulder and she cries out with the pain of his bite and the pain mixed with pleasure mixed with his own guttural grunts against her skin.

Hermione came again, as powerfully as she did those few seconds ago. 

And he does too, violently and wildly, calling out her name and a string of curses over the sound of her whimpering moans. “Hermione, damn. Merlin, fuck.” 

The couple both laid still for several moments, Draco kissing Hermiones’ ear to her shoulder several times, before settling his face in the crook of her neck.

The moment’s still and content, his heart thudding into her spine and her breath slowing to hushed sighs. When he shivered, however, Draco glances up to find that half of the icy walls around them have been reduced to nothing. He concluded that in the midst of their lovemaking, the heat from both of them covered the inside of the dome and slowly melted away.

He’s greeted with fluffy snow drifts, rather than the crystal enclosure he was expected to as he never took Hermione outside for a naughty rendezvous.

“Looks like I am that good, sweetheart.” 

“Hmm?” Hermione moaned and she started to buck off of him and pulling her wand out of her discarded clothes and conjured the ice back up around them before her lovely husband could blink.

She frowns at him, her lips pursing together, “I did not do that.” 

“Yes, you did.” 

Her head shakes urgently, “No - that was you.” 

“Well, technically,” he shrugs, gathering a tousled blanket and covering both of their naked bodies, “It was me… I did make you come.” he happily said.

Even with his arms wrapping around her waist and his body rapidly warmed the two of them, Hermione grumbled, half a smirk playing at her lips, “You’re still not that good.” 

“Well, aren’t you stubborn, wife.” Draco quipped, laughing as he presses a kiss to her cheek.

“That was, what? Three times? Three times, Granger, that you came and it was you who melted the igloo.” 

“Actually, I believe it was the both of us who melted this igloo. But alright. You’re good, amazing even and I love you.” she admits, squirming her body so she’s closer to him.

“I love you too.” he replied as he closed his eyes while tugging her closer to him.

Further off, beyond the lovers’ line of sight, a woman dressed in a dark green dress chuckled under her breath, “Well, it looks like we’ll have to make the children stay away from this area.”

“I told you they were out here doing something dirty. It was a bad idea for us to come looking for them.” Lucius said as he gripped his walking stick, shifting his legs awkwardly, making it look like he was trying to get away.

Lucius kept his eyes averted from the scene, but Narcissa smirks at him. “What’s the matter? It’s not like they’re the first to do that.”

Masterlist 

[wherestridestheworld-girdling]

The Composite Black ch.1

He crackles with such abominable laughter. Emblazoned on his mulish mask of tapered sinew, hate-hewn flesh folds caked with dust and brusque are wide swathes of topological erosion.  This is the dermatological attrition of ghouls and goblins, creatures of depravity and denizens of sacrilege, monsters whose skin weathers and bleaches in the divine of the daylight.  His garish façade is the embossment from a nightmare, a face that haunted the sculptor’s sleep, ensnared eternal in gothic stone gargoyles or the twisted grimace of an amputated stub adorning a tortured ashen oak.  His wrinkles purse like snake pleats, shivering subtly, coiled around his contemptuous orifices, intermittently blustered about by the intake of his olfactory snot-pits and wreathed around a rancid gyre of dental shards. Pan up but avoid the swallowing riptide of his gawk, those arrested by the shifting guise of his lunatic looking-glass eyes are often burnt asunder in smears of soot.  They are eyes of caged aggression, of molten wrath, volcano eyes that sear what they see.  The color of spent fuel, of cadaverous cinders, broken glass and smoke damage. Encircling this myopia is the crown-of-thorns of his brow, framing his persona like a band of spear-spiked dagger-tooth crags.  These are accelerated geologic processes, flexing tectonic plates which know not the placation of a tranquil lull; their beveled furrows exist in a duality of disgust and mockery.  Cast-iron rims lipping twin cauldrons, forever bubbling.  

This is a hardened, deadened man whose scars shroud his marred body and mind.  Each patch of discolored tissue that tattoos him tells tales, mostly violent and cruel. But the companion text is tenfold the volume, bedecking disfigured corpses strung about his travels.  Most he left horizontal but some he let vertical, a fate hardly better.  Those who walk the world mangled by the bite of his blade speak a bit softer, keep an eye at their backs, wake sweaty in the night.  He is the shade which haunts their periphery, cloaking uncertainty in fear and calling out to them from the shadows.  Just a winking remembrance causes the heart to race, the pupils to dilate, and the past superimposes the present.  A torture wheel of cyclical trauma, perpetual terror of a deathblow half inflicted.  His victims are many; they line cemeteries and bar stools, numb and cold to the touch. Almost as if he burned their spirits on the flaming alter of his own vehemence then let them frost over, a sacrifice to savagery, a vulgar display of power.      

No matter.  “Let the dead rot and the livin’ scorn,” blistering words from his blistered lips, shaky and sun-sick in the dry heat of the early morn.

“I dare say yer yella hide won’t last til’ noon. Those buzzards circlin’ up there won’t waste a horse’s fart before they’re on ya like the flies, pickin your eyes out, digging through your gizzard.  I bet even half past 11 you’ll look even more like a dimes worth of dog meat than your ugly mug does now.  Matter of fact maybe when your boots stop kickin I oughta cut you down from that tree and drag your sorry carcass through the mud into town so that the strays can each get a good meal from ya. It’ll be the only good thing you ever did for this town.”

Even as he said this, serrating his speech with disdain, the creases of the undertaker’s neck shook with fright.  He felt as he had as a little boy throwing rocks at tethered dogs, hoping that in their fury the stake anchoring them wouldn’t be snatched from the dirt.  The evil within this man seemed unnatural, impossible.  It was foreign to him, this relentless rage, foreign to this tiny town pitted on the outskirts of dusty emptiness.  This tiny town, where Main Street is the only street and whose primary riffraff are a few rough tough cattle rustlers, vagrant out-of-towners drawing from the herd come the fat flock of Spring time.  Enter this black frothing demon whose snide grin makes the white dressed church ladies sign the cross, a smirk which consumeth like hellfire, and paradise becomes pit.  Anubis had seen his share of atrocities, sights which may have maddened one of fragile temperament. He’d been a field medic in the Spanish war.  Seen, heard and sometimes felt the splatter of men being shredded into mincemeat, splayed inside out by scalding shards of metal. He’d repressed much of those wretched memories, loosing them on his past future, which even now harass every moment of absent rest.  And the days were not long passed when he’d been called on as the chief embalmer to clean up after a few of the Union’s scorched earth campaigns, burying massacred Hopi women and children, of all the vile things, in yellow-earthen mass graves usually after weeks of decay and carrion pick-throughs.  He’d even had to put down his only daughter when her body swelled up with gangrene, but the carnage left by this awful man, this brimstone beast, was the brutality of legend.  This was the monster before him, the twisted serpent of the apocalypse, Apep, fettered in maat by Osiris’ noose.

Then the shark put away his sawtooth bouquet, pivoting his rope burned neck in the guillotine of the hangman’s hoop, directing his vociferous focus on another individual from the small crowd of the witnesses who’d climbed the hill to watch this dreadful man��s death.  The old Indian woman Xmucane met his fiery craters with her own cataracted pupils, a challenge in defiance, adversaries horn-locked on the battlefield of all space and time.  Their concentrated beams of perception met and clashed, smoldering with static energy.  

The words rose out of him and blew toward their mark like a waft of chemical death, “Have you come to tell my fortune grandmother? I should hope that even a blind ol’ witch like you could see the signs of my fate today.  Or maybe you’re just so disoriented and confused you just wandered up here on this hill like the geriatric ol’ hag you are.  Too..” his lips began to leak a rotten-colored mucus foam as they flapped and pursed and sneered.  Spurts punctuated his rabid barks as the muscles in his whole body contracted in spasms of steaming rage.  His carapace turned a furious shade of boiled red. “young to die and too old to screw! I’ve seen moldy cow pies that…” a gruff fit of gravelly coughing seized the doomed man so that any further curses became just choking hoarse gasps.  Minutes passed and the hacking only worsened until only a few caustic spasms and the muted gurgling of air being forced through thick fluid remained.  Suddenly within the leather of the man, the smoke-blackened corridors of his body flooded with sludge, his air passages became expulsion channels for emergency discharge.  Prison-food regurgitation geysered up the tunnel of his throat and waterfalled out of the cave mouth.  The gastrointestinal flow sizzled down his jailbird stripes in chunks of grey dribble as eyes, nose and gob spurted like drainage faucets.  At last, when the conniption ceased, the muscles holding him ridged loosed limp, letting his weight dangle from the rope collaring him for a moment. Coated in perspiration and exhaustion, all that was left of him was the furnace of his anger and a heaving breath.  Air pressure writhed against the pressure of the lariat strangling his airway, lungs bursting in heft.  

Xmucane was already halfway down the hill, strutting slowly and steadily, never looking back, never uttering a word; she just continued driving her cane into the dry earth followed up by each hoary shuffle step. This repeated in rhythmic synchronicity as her short precise movements churned the declining distance back to town, through glades and gullies, past rockslides and embankments, hugging the curvature of the trail and moving like the passing minutes.  Somewhere, there amongst the bramble, a whisking river resided as an auditory undercurrent, a rivulet which had conveyed sediment from distant mountains for hundreds of thousands of years.  This is the sculptor who carved Hangman’s Hill from bare plane. It reached out from within the drape of the trees at a spot perpendicular with the crook in the trail of the advancing ancient seer, Xmucane, greeting her with roaring thunder from the mountains.  She continued on past the Road to Xibalba, with her descended her daughter-in-law the waning moon, fading into the light of day.  

“In nomine Iesu Christi, Deus et Dominus noster, Immaculatae Virginis intercessione ab ipsis Maria..”

In the Name of Jesus Christ, our God and Lord, strengthened by the intercession of the immaculate Virgin Mary..

Back atop Hangman’s Hill, at the seat of the execution of this nameless man, the preceding spectacle of grotesque behaviors attracted like moth to flame the mercy of god’s instrument on earth, the surrogate of Papal presence, the local orthodoxical authority of godliness, the Catholic missionary Ruggieri degli Ubaldini.  With the bluff as his sandy pulpit he exercised training he’d received in the seminary as a youth.  Vocal muscle memory and gospel rigmarole drilled ad nauseam under the oratorical tutelage of the Head Father at the rocky coastline church of San Miguel.  He fondly recalled praying to the Blessed Virgin those many years ago on bent knee, tightly gripping the Bible and rosary his parents had given to him, trembling with righteousness in that stuffy old adobe chapel as chartreuse swells of spray crashed against the rocks. There were times of distant recollection when the word of god resound within his mind like vivid hanging melodic lines of Gregorian monks bounding out of mass halls and cathedrals.  But with the melting years his faith had become by jaded by dour funeral processions and exorbitant church politics.  He clutched his indented Holy Book in one crinkled hand and the other pressed palm forward, shaking with a bit of the hall-hallowed vindication he’d once felt but mostly just the fear of an excruciating death at the hands of this tenuously bound hellion.  He prayed as if blacksmithing a suit of armor.  

“Mother of God, beato Michaeli Archangelo, beatis apostolis tuis Petro et Paulo, et omnibus sanctis auctoritate officii nostri potentem..”

Mother of God, of blessed Michael the archangel, of the blessed apostles Peter and Paul and all the saints and powerful in the holy authority of our ministry..

“suscipere fidenter impetus propulsare insidias diabolic..”

we confidently undertake to repulse the attacks and deceits of the devil..

A light breeze swept the hillcrest. Misty dew-laden air whisped up in thermal currents as the freshly angled sun warmed the valleys of wildflowers and sod below, cycling moisture.  The breeze ruffled multicolored swatches of deciduous leaves stapled onto the fronds and twigs of the circular band of white oaks which surrounded the site of the hanging.  Then the breeze tousled the silent crowd, flexing hat brims, swaying ties, brushing skirt tails, flapping pant-legs, bringing dusty tears to dry eyes behind the veil of handkerchiefs.  Finally the wind rippled into the ganglion of the scene stirring its focal subject.   The man’s limp unconscious body swiveled slightly in the stirrup of the noose strung from the single low-hanging splintered branch of the lone dead tree.  However most of his inanimate weight remained planted to the earth, supported by locked knees atop an aged fruit box, its paint flecking.  A crystalline snail of spittle oozed from the gape of his mouth and was blown and whipped around by the current around the side of his head, seeping into one of the few remaining haggard tufts of bristle on the back of his desiccated scalp.  

“Deus oritur; inimici ejus dispersus est et qui oderunt eum, a facie ejus, secundum impellere fumum..”

God arises; His enemies are scattered and those who hate Him flee before Him. As smoke is driven away..

“ita pulsi sunt; sicut exustio ignis tabescerent, sic animam meam in conspectu Domini. Ecce crucem Dómini..”

So are they driven; as wax melts before the fire, so the wicked perish at the presence of God. Behold the Cross of the Lord..

“fugite inimicorum. Leo de tribu Iuda, radix David, qui vicit. Fiat misericordia tua, Domine, super nos quanta speravimus in te..”

Flee bands of enemies. The Lion of the tribe of Juda, the offspring of David, hath conquered. May thy mercy, Lord, descend upon us as great as our hope in thee..

The diminutive old man paused after that line for a dangling moment, taking a rasped breath and wiping the sweat dripping down his forehead with a cross-embroidered handkerchief produced from within the folds of his black vestments.  A few syllables still hung in the air, echoes of Medieval Latin ricocheting off canyon cathedrals, saguaro shrines, stain glass mirage.  But the point of omni-ocular convergence remained the captive.  The small crowd of tense observers were fixated, captivated by the captive, as if the depth of their focus was his only restraints.  It had to be unequivocal, this man’s extinction; if even an iota of irresolute distress remained it would be catastrophic to these quiet people and their small agrestic community.  It had to be confirmed, the light leaving his eyes, so they could live once again in their accustomed peace.  Ruggieri continued..

“Adjutorium nostrum in nobis, quicumque haec legis, Et spiritus immundi, omnis satanica viribus, omnes invadentes infernali, omnia impium legiones, et coetus sectis..”

We drive you from us, whoever you may be, unclean spirits, all satanic powers, all infernal invaders, all wicked legions, assemblies and sects..

“In nomine Domini nostri Jesu Christi et eius virtute, ut sit Deus et effugare ab ecclesia et ab animabus ad imaginem et similitudinem Dei, divini agni sanguine redemisti. Serpens callidissime..”

In the Name and by the power of our lord Jesus Christ, may you be snatched away and driven from the church of God and from the souls made to the image and likeness of God and redeemed by the precious blood of the divine lamb. Most cunning serpent..

“YEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS?!!  You do well to utter such flattery but this meagre title leaves much to be desired by my parched discrimination.  My sapless ear has reached but a fractional portion of its full satiation and demons these days just don’t grovel as they did in those glorious days of old, the Fall anew, when plague shadows of locusts and immortal armies of darkness smote the world under my blood blackened banner. Abbadon? Lucifer? Perhaps Wicked One? Or Deciever? Appolyon is what the Greeks called me or maybe you’re feeling particularly biblical, in that case the classic Hebrew is utter elation.  Bleed your tribute and yield your dignity, lay paltry and prostrate before the infamous Beelzbub.  Nothing says ‘Prince of Darkness’ like a black winged monster that manipulates buzzing clouds of ravenous flying insects.  Although my personal favorite is good ol’ Satan, doesn’t the word just remind you of pagan blood orgies and violent fertility sacrifices cast under occult torchlight? Ssssaaataann.  It rolls off the tongue, or hisses off if yours is forked I suppose.  Let’s all say it together! Saaataan… Saaaaatan…”

“Decipere humanum genus ultra audeas, Dei Ecclesiam persequi, ac Dei electos excutere et cribrare sicut triticum..”

You shall no more dare to deceive the human race, persecute the Church, torment God's elect and sift them as wheat..

“Imperat tibi Deus altissimus, he, cui in magna tua superbia te similem haberi adhuc præsumis. Imperat tibi Deus Pater..”

The most high God commands you, He with whom, in your great insolence, you still claim to be equal. God the father commands you..

“Imperat tibi Deus Filius. Imperat tibi Deus Spiritus Sanctus.  Christus Dei Verbum caro factum, imperat”

God the son commands you. God the holy ghost commands you. Christ, God's word made flesh, commands you..

“Your feeble crusader dogma and moral avarice is fetid muck pilled high by sociopathic old men, deceptively arranged to countervail their own perverted chastity and empathetic ineptitude.  The theologic doctrines to which you egregiously prescribe, and to which you presume supremacy are just the bones and bits, carrion detritus, convenient canon leftovers that you have culturally appropriated and reconfigured from semi-legitimate religious heritages into a hypocritical, racist and sexist, anthropocentric cult of personality and fanaticism.  The tyranny, genocide and mass subjugation performed by the filthy, bloodstained tentacles of your Holy Catholic Apostolic Church and all its puppet entities and dummy financial institutions is as heinous an act of malign villainy as has ever been committed, and it occurs in the light of day, applauded by boisterous mobs of enraptured subjects. It’s commendable, it really is.  Such blood-draining callousness, such wanton barbarism, such murked wickedness.  We are brothers you and I, legionnaires of death. Don’t you remember? We cut ourselves out from the same womb.  Don’t waste your breathe Padre, let us entwine our barbed fingers, for together we can concoct such exquisite chaos and mouthwatering malcontent.”      

“Qui pro salute generis nostri tua invidia perditi, humiliavit semetipsum factus oboediens usque ad mortem..”

He who to save our race outdone through your envy, humbled Himself, becoming obedient even unto death..

“Qui Ecclesiam suam ædificavit supra firmam petram, et portas inferi non praevalebunt adversus eam, cum ea ipse permansurus omnibus diebus usque ad consummationem saeculi..”

He who has built His church on the firm rock and declared that the gates of hell shall not prevail against Her, because He will dwell with Her all days even to the end of the world..

“Ergo, draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica, adjuramus te per Deum vivum, per Deum verum, per Deum sanctum..”

Thus, cursed dragon, and you, diabolical legions, we adjure you by the living God, by the true God, by the holy God..

“Per Deum, qui sic dilexit mundum, ut Filium suum unigenitum daret, ut omnes qui credit in eum, non pereat, sed habeat vitam aeternam..”

By the God who so loved the world that he gave up his only son, that every soul believing in him might not perish but have life everlasting..

“Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum eis; desine Ecclesiæ nocere, et ejus libertati..”

Stop deceiving human creatures and pouring out to them the poison of eternal damnation; stop harming the church and hindering her liberty..

“Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis..”

Be gone, Satan, inventor and master of all deceit, enemy of man's salvation..

Explosively vaulted across the physical and virtuous distance between these two men was a putrid projectile, an expulsion of contempt, a gust its coconspirator.  The coagulated salivary squirt was a conglomerate of gastric ebullition, nostril slop, fermented dental scum and various caramel colored pusses and oozes from infected teeth, gums and cold sores.  The noxious cocktail erupted in a sticky spray that coated the clandestine breeze, commodiously transporting the range strike to its unsuspecting target. A toxic cloud of insolence and filth assaulted the castigating old man, penetrating his saintly demeanor.  It splattered in tobacco tinged splashes across his gold rimmed spectacles, a bit of the acrid pitch inflamed the sensitive peripheral creases of his naked eyes.  While most of the foul fluid doused his sun-spotted forehead and drooping cheeks, lathering them in slime, a portion cemented to his short lampshade mustache while another equitable fraction spewed into his articulating mouth via direct oral transmission.  Vomiting ensued and part of the crowd rushed over to aid the collapsing Ruggieri until he waved them off, wildly swaying up from his knees with his bible clenched under his arm.  The brown old skeleton doggedly rose to his feet and continued the exorcism, shaking in his robes, sweat pouring down the troughs in his face.  The nameless man just laughed and laughed, a rapping sound like a fissure tearing open the ground or a mammoth wave slapping a stone shore or a shimmering bolt of lightning shredding the clouds, low pitched and decrepitating.    

“Da locum Christo, in quo nihil invenisti de operibus tuis; da locum unam, sanctam, catholicam et apostolicam ecclesiam, quam Christus acquisivit Sanguine suo pretio..”

Give place to Christ in whom you have found none of your works; give place to the one, holy, Catholic and apostolic church acquired by Christ at the price of His blood..

“Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei; contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine Jesu, quem inferi tremunt..”

Stoop beneath the all-powerful hand of God; tremble and flee when we invoke the holy and terrible name of Jesus, this name which causes hell to tremble..

“Cui Virtutes nomen istud et Potestates et Dominationes subjectæ sunt caeli, hoc indesinenter quem Cherubim et Seraphim..”

This name to which the virtues, powers and dominations of heaven are humbly submissive, this name which the cherubim and seraphim praise unceasingly..

“Dicentes: Sanctus Sanctus, Sanctus..”

Repeating: holy, holy, holy..

“HAAAHAHA HEHE AHHHHAAAAAAAAHAHA HEHE!.....”

“Better save your prayers for decent folk, Padre. This one here is just a few heel clicks away from feeding the worms at the bottom of an unmarked grave.  I don’t reckon we’ll hear his sorry squawks when he’s buried six feet under being dragged to hell by goblins and ghouls. Why don’t you give it a rest son? What would your momma say, seein’ you up there spittin’ an’ laughing like a mad-man, carrying on so shamefully, right before you meet your maker?”

“Oh I don’t know if my mother would have much to say in the matter.  She sort of lost her voice when I was born, as well as a heap of internal organs. What can I say; I was a very needy, grabby infant.  But I’m sure it made for an eventful day for the country doctor at the county courthouse, a birth certificate and a death certificate all in one wagon ride!”

“That’s enough young man.  No sense in speakin’ ill of the dearly departed now that my gavel’s swung and your noose fitted.  The big judge sittin’ up there in the sky probably has enough scorned testimony marked against your spoiled soul as it is.”

What perfunctory sympathy he usually felt for those he’d sentenced to capital annihilation had completely eroded within the judge at this point, soured in his gut like green meat.  This man was nothing to him, horse-shit stuck to the heel of his boot, malted hogwash foaming in the sun.  Yet how could ultimate justice still feel so inequitable? Tragic pawns, passive hosts of death reproducing itself.  Putting down vile men for vile acts leaves their stench on you, their skin under your fingernails, their curses echoing your ears.  After being the eminent lawman, judge and jury with a chrome peacekeeper for nearly twenty years in this township, ghosts with bullet holes in their heads followed Yama around.  If he looked over his shoulder he knew he’d see them standing there, garbed in caked blood and charnel dirt, forgotten children grown up.  “Another for the spooks,” he’d tell the barkeep each night.  With whiskey on his breath he’d sing to the sunrise, silky phantoms surrounding him. “There's blood on the saddle and blood on the ground, and a great great big puddle of blood all around; a cowboy lay in it, all covered with gore, and he never will ride any broncos no more..”

The sun beat down, acquiescing its focal zenith, heightening the midday heat.  Its rays dissolved the gruesome gaggle’s shadows like the razing eye of god, whitewashing the hillcrest in solar bleach.  High noon aproacheth, the awful hour of death.  A brazen beam struck Yama’s copper badge, ricocheting off into the prisoner’s soggy iris, branding it like a blacksmith’s white-hot nail. The scorch only magnified as the lawman took limped steps towards the disheveled captive, his spurs and leather speaking softly.  Nameless and noosed, the damned man recoiled at the brilliant bright, squirming in his chains, insulating himself under clinched eyelids.  

“The time is nigh, boy.”

From behind the wiry judge approached the town doctor, a shriveled cob pipe pinned under his icicle white mustache and a hand restraining his charcoal bowler against the pull of the wind.  His slacks brushed through the ankle-high wildgrass until the accused hinged faintly within arm’s length. Dhanvantari, the wizened backcountry surgeon, reached up as he had at countless executions to examine the machine of death.  In a far off lifetime, or only what seemed to have been, Dhanvantari was a merchant ship’s doctor, operating on deck with rusty instruments in turbulent seas, pulling the captain’s teeth by crinkling wicks of sperm oil lanterns, sweeping puddles of blood into the sea.  Those decades spent marinering the open ocean made his fingers as fluent with knots and lashings as he was with the braids of the spine or with tensile ligament musculature. This man had lost many lifetimes to the sea, swallowed by brine, swept overboard by swells, but somehow it always spat him back out, after due restitution.  How many times had he thought he’d seen the sun for the last time as the waves closed around him and the surface fell away?  Six? Seven?  Perhaps he was still there now, drifting to the salty bottom and this, an illusion in the last rays of light, an eternity in an escaping air bubble.  Regardless he thumbed the noose knot, testing its competence, ignorant of the murdering intimidation ensnared within it.  He examined the loop, stretching it across the man’s Adam’s apple in strangulation simulation.  By his determination death should be nearly instantaneous with the fracturing of the epistropheus.  Dhanvantari removed his hands.

“Whaddaya say Doc? Humane?”

“Too humane.”

“Oh I wish that was up to me, hell I’d have him drawn and quartered already, each arm and leg’d be draggin’ through the desert in opposite directions by streakin’ stallions by now.  But I suppose a bullet in the temple would get the job done too. No time to waste with slaphappy daydreams, we’ve got to adhere to the distinguished code established by our competent elect, those Washington monkeys and their executive goon.  Is it whats-his-name Rutherford or wha-cha-ya ma-call-it Garfield after the last one of their confounded dog-and-pony-show elections? God only knows.. How’s about we get on with it?  Next the accused is to be read their offenses but I’m sure all of us gathered here and now can well attest to the horrendous acts of brutality this man has committed.  No sense in speakin’ of such evil since his deplorable deeds will undoubtedly torment our waking hours forever.  But I won’t deny the prisoner his last words.  Even an infernal devil can sequester some semblance of penitence from the Lord in his last hour if his voice holds even an ounce of goodness. What say you, rogue? Bless thy tongue and utter thy last words.”  

“I have nothing to say to you people or your forlorn humanity.  I was birthed among you but sever our kinship thereafter.  Your bastard race of mutant hominids is the scourge of existence. You ungraciously tout your dubiously predominant intellect with one arm raised in self-admiration while the other quashes down your stricken brother, stepping on his pleading face and bruised throat.  You feed each other into the teeth of the meat grinder for a few pieces of silver, sealing the audacity with a smile and a kiss.  You’ve the blood of your father Ares and the fury of your mother Lyssa. Such horrific worm-like abominations of filth, I want no part of you unless you’re disinfected, dismembered, dissected and freeze-dried.  But you have taught me much, much barbarity.  Because of your imprint I am what I am, the distilled essence of your misanthropy, hate tincture.  I am the anti-soul, the maneater, the devourer of fire and light, the siren of the necropolis, the falling reaper, Death’s dragoon.  I am the one to whom the wolves howl and in my company volts of vultures and cackles of hyenas.  Draped in my cape of babies’ bones and crown of thorns I have blistered the nightmares of the fearful since the dawn of man.   In my wake spite suicides and human husks, desolation and brimstone. You cannot kill me, I am already dead.”

His taunt a command, Yama reduced him to mindless thrashing with a decisive toe-kick to the fruit box, sending it tumbling off before stepping back and affirming his capital judgement.  Gasps ran through the crowd as the knot was tested for capacity for the first time, the charred branch held strong under the burden of the man’s now disintegrating ego.  He expended his life force in feral flounders of wild muscle contractions, as if parasitic monsters within him wrestled to escape from their host’s diminishing body, spinning himself around haphazardly like a broken whirligig despite his wrist and ankle restraints.  Clearly his movements were involuntary, spastic seizures of shocked nerve endings triggered by raging lightning storms of neuronal firing as distressed organ systems desperately faced shut down and annihilation.  His already unsightly appearance became even more revolting in the absence of mental dispensation.  Cloudy eyes pinched in their sockets, bulging outward in masses of crimson jelly as the blood vessels ruptured around flaked lids. Indeterminate sloughs of foamy fluids composed of various pasty consistencies, textures and hues leaked from his orifices, drooling off the dripping points on his face like subterranean stalactites.  A scarred sliver of grey tongue draped from within his chapped lips.  Eventually the jittery agitation ceased and the stillness was broken only by the swivels of his vacant body.  His grizzled neck was crumpled in the noose, disjointed disks of irregular vertebrae pressed asymmetrically against the inner walls of his skin in nauseating bulges of obvious malformation.  

In the crowd a woman began to wail, her immediate elicit reaction to the majority of external stimuli after such loss as befitting a victim who had been made widow by the now deceased bane.  She pulled her black bonnet down over her eyes and reached for her threadbare handkerchief.  Now what? A question she posed to herself, the fates, townsfolk, anyone who’d listen to her bereaved sobs.  Her maternity scars and her wedding ring were the only remaining evidence of her curriculum vitae, her frontier family and their homestead ambition; stolen like the breath from her lungs.  Somewhere along the wagon trail, abandoned in the gutter like a roadside attraction were the charred remains of her Manifest Destiny, a monument of torched wagon frame and scattered skulls. The thought of which drove her to nihilism. But revenge was an opportune emotional departure from the tragedy her faculties refuted as preposterous, incorrigible, a night terror to be expunged by the waking mind and the ascending sun. But confound it!  There it was! That dastardly conflagration, a gleaming confirmation of calamity, the boiling skies its diabolic domain and drenched in its glow she simmered in survivor’s grief.  Niobe willed the hellmouth open, to stride between its chasmal jaws.  Her ample offerings of woe lured the rabid devils and unclean spirits from their untold ethereal realms but on upon arrival she was already of stone.  A brooding destitute, an aimless golem of flesh and bone and tears.

From within the congregation Anubis stepped forth to dress and prepare the body for burial, a process which his coarse muscles and tired joints knew well.  They were creased by the contour of the embalming tools, sculpted by a mortician’s toil; grave dirt under his cuticles from the raw tomb shoveled out this morning.  He unsheathed a blade from his belt, feet advancing, to cut down the inert cadaver from its moored swing.  Behind him his comrades held the reins of a bridled burro which had ferried the bound prisoner to this hill in life and would now from it in death.  It shifted listlessly in its halter, braying nervously with whipping tail.  He approached the hanged man serenely, detached, his mind distanced by the habitual funerary ritual he’d undergone so frequently this past fortnight with so many hideously slaughtered.  But at rest his morbid vocation invaded the asylum of his slumber.  Within the dreamscape he donned the suit of a jackal breathlessly devouring grisly messes strewn about by Death himself, scavenging meat morsels from innocents slain.  But it was over now, the beast was vanquished and this would be his final burial.  He extended his arms, blade in hand, to cleave the noose when the whiskers on his scruff spiked straight up.    

The dead man frenzied into rampage by the scent of slaughter, riving the lull, summoned to survive by his colleague in chaos the razor blade.  The tumultuous details of the next few moments can scarcely be spoken of, saturated with skirmish vectors and martial artistry but if one simply follows the slashes of the edge, its perforatory operation can be fluently plotted.  In one swift motion his blueish corpse-hand swaddled the knife’s pommel, enveloping Anubis’.  It then yanked upwards, burying the tip just underneath the undertaker’s chin, tickling his brain like a lobotomist.  The next instantaneous flash of dynamism was the stiletto’s evacuation from his greymatter.  It whistled as it arced through the air, tearing into the fiend’s own death-paled shatter-boned neck, sinking in and carving in a radial orbit around its circumference.  In a splitting second the ruined mort had accomplished a series of obscene acts totally unforeseen, completely against the natural laws while still bound in chains, and as such, the throng was baffled immobile.  Aghast with gaped mouth and opaque eyes before such ruthlessness, the man holding the burro’s reins barely noticed as it bolted off. Yama’s hand lunged for his holstered pistol as Anubis finally dropped to his knees.

As the last degree of girth was rent, gravity bisected the possessed’s brainstem, sending his feet to tread the earth and his dislodged cranium to roll it, unencumbering the blood-sprayed noose loop.  At this point fright overtook the cluster and fugue became imperative.  They trampled each other to flee this undead waif, careening down the hillside, never mind the trail with evil nipping at the heels. But one gallant soul delayed, familiar with the company of demons.  Yama leveled his revolver at the headless monster loosing three rounds before it was upon him, lopping off his gun hand, hacking through his throat and spilling open his intestines in one mercurial, clockwise arm rotation of serpentine laceration.  Like a tornado it bucked off Yama’s dead shoulders after trailing fingers relieved the weapon from his amputated grip, tumbling acrobatically through the gap between its next kill.  

Scrambling to escape was Ruggieri degli Ubaldini, sprawling over his tailored robes, clawing the muck for leverage with gold ringed fingers. A cone of destructive force interrupted the priest’s bumbling with a tremendous boom of sound shattering.  The slug pierced his temporal lobe just behind the ear, exploding from the other side in a plume of gore and smoke.  Padre crumpled in the dust but his soul soared skybound on angel wings while cherubim and seraphim beckoned him from their hammocks, the clouds.  Another righteous crusader of light skewered on the flames of evil and so sealed was his heavenly reward, obedient even in martyrdom to the cult he worshipped.   The gates of St. Peter were thrown open upon on his winged approach, the celestial scene frescoed immortal by Nuvolone’s Milanese masterpiece.  But the earth claimed his body, to the victor the spoils.

Twin claps of corkscrewing thunder plowed two more inconsequentials, their flaccid constitution summersaulted down an embankment in snaps of branches, dousing the underbrush with their blood.  The doctor, Dhanvantari afforded a precarious over-the-shoulder peak at the proximate commotion between labored footfalls, just long enough to see Death’s skeleton-hand reach for his face.  And then he was dragged to the frothy underbelly, towed from the shallows to breathless leagues of darkness, to the frigid depths, the domain of the leviathan and its swimming monsters.  His cob pipe floated up to the surface like an epitaph.  

Last alive was the half-hearted Niobe, tailed by her shadow of mourning.  She fled on instinct alone, lusting for a peaceful deathbed to lay her head.  She mused macabre that she’d be visited by twinkling visions of her loved ones, at last reunited in paradise after they carried her from her sepulchral bedstead, off and away into the white light. Her wits were unraveled by the poison of this unfulfilled conclusion, drunk with adrenaline at concept of such unimaginable pain of an undoubtedly savage mutilation.  The tree line broke and a valley of Spring-bloomed wildflowers carpeted her clambering passage with purple street signs of knapweed and rushpink, golden sidewalks of butterfly weed and bahia, creamy bushels of loveroot and turkeypea. She sprinted through their syrupy bells with hiked dress and tapping laced leather boots, soon slathered with aromatic pollen.  Their perfume seeped into her psyche, fumed by her exhausted inhalations, tousling her antediluvian reptilian cortex, the cerebral seat of fear and flight.  The flowers drenched her in a calm, resonant bliss which relaxed her gait.  Suddenly she stopped.  Her shadow had dissipated and she found herself on the embanked edge of the lily field, below a river’s bellowing whitewater scrapped against huge agate boulders.  A slight draft swept through the valley, undulating the buttercups and the tassels of her braided hair.  Where had she lost her bonnet?  She peered down and found it tangled in spines of sagebrush but her reach was interrupted by a blindsiding death.  The monstrosity shoulder tackled her while her weight was unbalanced, tossing them both off the ledge of the cliff.  It stabbed her repeatedly while falling, madly puncturing her face down to her abdomen with glossy lesions.

The white dashing crests of alpine water slapped the hurtling pair, bowing under their load and momentum.  The sacred stream drew them into its clutches, buffeting their languid corpses with jagged rapids succeeding in the thorough pulverization of their now unrecognizable meat mishmash.  Hunks of homogenous human peripherals floated downstream like the foodstuffs conveyer belt in a packing plant.  A few flesh pocked bones flipped and twisted, arrested by the current as its skeletal companions swept by the festivities, a sanguine parade.  Soon they were utterly mired on an outcropping of some rocks, the fisherman’s net of an eddy.  Passing nearby Anubis’ knife head embedded itself in the iridescent quartz-spackled river bottom.  Fast in pursuit, bouncing and bobbing like lost baubles in the whitewater, the two handcuffed fists of the nameless man inexplicably threaded a chain-link with the marooned blade.  That duplicity of hand dangled there for years; shackled, shriveled rotten flesh, palpitating so near the portal to Xibalba.  The subterranean aqueduct portion of the road’s journey began only a few hundred yards downriver, where the river water surged under the foot of the mountain.  Underground, within its cavernous limestone bowels, the freshwater runoff engaged green, salty aquafers from the distant sea.  An apparitional estuary, the nether-door to the underworld.  

Unseeing eyes parted on the decapitated head of the desperado, pealing open the world.  Though his awareness was distressingly limited, somehow the slurred outlines of shape and form came to mean something to him.  A bush.  An uncomfortable bush with prickly thorns and homely desert flowers, this was likely his setting, the bramble hemmed the borders of his peripherals like a picture frame.  Central to his porthole of vision was the simple sky, an impressionist composition of sowed blots of buttercream and torpid sheets of blue.  It was all too much, too weighty, too involved; it swam and swooned before him like a rocking bowl of water, filling him up, pressing him into the earth with its gravity.  From his phantom body, he felt each toe, each patch of skin.  Though he knew it missing, the nervous signals must’ve disseminated from a source, some sensory connection, or his brain seemed to believe so.  The invisible air squeezed his surface area.  Tightened tourniquets burdened him like a full body straightjacket or a collapsing cast.  “A mountain must have fallen on me,” he spoke without lips a sparse cognition.  The clouds seemed to descend from the sky, fused and swirled in milky stripes of fog and spewed into the man’s mouth, nose and ears.  It retarded his lucidity and reason, soon laden with dusty dunes of bewilderment. The world was a mirage of dancing light.

Then the dam began to crack.  He felt crooked fissures snaking across his skull and body like spreading vines, soon he would rupture and there was nothing to be done. Sure enough the bleeding cracks started to sweat the liquids from his body; blood, bile and lymph, and as they leaked they whispered a static hiss. Gushhhhhhhhh.  The noise vibrated through him and up to his ears, he heard it as though underwater; berating, omnidirectional and boisterous.  The gashes grew thick in sinuous ropes of entanglement, infesting ostensibly the extent of his being.  And through them breached torrents of life-water overflow.  The crevices poured out the viscous distillation with the cacophony of a thousand teeming waterfalls.  There was nothing but the thunder, no room for anything else. Its density rose past any measure of volume until it overcame him, overtaking his presence by force of will. Suddenly it crescendoed and was gone, dissolving in a fizzle of diffuse ringing.  The drainage had stopped as well, he was now presumably empty.  He cried out from the hollow of his head but was not heard, his hearing had left him.  What reverberated instead however was fear; a ping of hysteria.  In absent mannerism he desperately reached for his face and found just ruined fragments, quivering lumps of lips and chin, like crushed scraps of a Mardi Gras mask.  Hunks snapped off as his fingertips probed for a landmark, an eye socket, a cheekbone, something familiar to enshrine his ego but there was barely anything left.  He broke his pointer finger off at the knuckle scouring a caved in nostril cavity in his mania.  “Hell, even the Mona Lisa is falling apart.  What do I care?” his internal thoughts illumed apathetically, for his speech facilities were in white corroded shambles.  From his powdered granules of ravaged carnage a breath of smoke arose, the rubble dust twirled up towards the void, suctioned into the lofty abyss where it surveyed from above.  

Then flames reared up like pillars of plasmic light, engorged by the heat of combustion.  Jagged tongues lapped hungrily at the abraded man whose consciousness was amorphous and unsensing, only dimly cognizant of self-presence. An incendiary holocaust raged sensation away.  Every ounce of feeling was expunged in a deliberate eradication, neuronal overstimulation to excess until the connectivity wore through and the atomic structure crumbled in fatigue.  The heap of blanched biologic matter was scarified to complete tactile stupefaction, unrecognizing even neighboring cells.  Then the conflagration expired having extracted the last of its nourishment and his botch of body cooled off.  

First the warmth left the deteriorated boneyard of his extremities, vanishing into ice like the last warm days of Autumn, blanketing the plaster hunks of disintegrating anatomy in inches of snow. Next to succumb to anesthesia was his chest of decrepit organs, frozen solid in their collapsed disrepair, forgotten now in the advancing permafrost of numbness. Last was his mess of frostbitten face, abandoned in paralysis, left to entropy.  A nearly bare mindscape was the man’s totality now, devoid of light and motion, vibration and sound, texture and touch.  His being was only tethered to locality by lingering senses of smell and taste which now dominated his concern.  Driving columns of bellowed air churned in opposite directions within lungs and sinuses that he knew were imaginary figments, apparitional muscle memories, repackaged experiential data.  Astral nostrils flecked with astral ether intake, sifting its contents. Each unlikely breath was a kaleidoscope of pungent samples comingled from various lifetimes and experiential encounters: a fresh peeled apple, steam off quenched metal, damp mattress body odor, a musty draft from the root cellar, miscellaneous tails of perfume on a street corner, etc.  Soon faded had the aromas’ potency, gradually sojourning elsewhere.  The circulations of invisible current also ceased and without its tidal oscillation there was stillness.  But before its last drags a cloudburst of amber sparks, an eruption of fireflies to festoon the sparse canvas of nothingness.  “Where do you lead, oh wavering stars? Abridge this inked abyss.”

That was when an even more extensive purgatory of nothingness descended on his bleak reality of senseless ambivalence.  Abandoned in a crawlspace of the universe, dreary anathema, doldrums of inaction, his operative reality was staggeringly reduced to a naked impression of existing, as if lingering on the threshold of non-being.  His lifeline was taste; last vestige of a world that had all but forgotten him.  His formless presence diffused into the surrounding unknown at uncontrolled random, performing its forsaken duty because the possibility of anything else did not exist.  Stimuli drifted in and out of his localized perception like a filter feeder’s chum, exotic glimpses of a fully realized world beyond this low dimension, rationale for perseverance.  This continued for an imperceptible interval, perhaps ten thousand years, perhaps a hummingbird’s heartbeat.  Over time the meaninglessness came to mean even less to the erratic coagulation of man, now only a remote ancestor of his worldly persona devolved and inbred.  It tongued the grey brittle of its immediacy, probing the filth and cobwebs of its hermitage for traces of vim, for even a hint of neurological input or residual aftertaste, anything to subdue the mental paralysis.  “I’ve no business left here.  Take from me what you will but don’t leave me in this hall of mirrors.” And at long last the candle flame was extinguished, leaving the smoke to dissipate and disseminate throughout the universe, replenishing omission, stuffing lack, becoming again.    

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