#(Blinks) (Fly buzzes past) 5 to go and the last one is short so it basically 4. Ha ha

[calicotisane]

Chapter 2 Page 19

[ay0nha]

The Race That Launched a Thousand Ships: Part 5/?

(Working) Summary & Title: Niki Lauda, the rookie starting his career requests the help of a mechanic,  Margot Lancaster who has a buried past that he’s seemed to uncovered.  

Pairing: Niki Lauda x femme!OC (mechanic)

Word Count: ~3K

A/N: This is a semi-FILLER because ironically enough my car broke down and I’ve been stranded at my cousins apartment.  VERY long story short, I left my phone in the tow truck and just got it back and wrote this on it so please mind the errors lol. Anyways, this chapter is inspired by the fact I wish Niki could fix my car, it has nothing to do with that, but still. Enjoy!

And if you want to be tagged let me know :)) (I hope I got everyone, since I’m on my phone, I didn’t have the og list from my laptop, so bug me again if I missed you!)

Inspired by THIS POST (go take a peek, you won’t regret it!)

Taglist: @scuttle-buttle @creme-bruhlee @hardlyinteresting @ginger-abreu  @livvyshmiv​ @eater-of-corn @apparrio @whatawildone @greeneyedblondie44 @fictionlandslanddreams

Masterlist - Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

"What are you doing here?"

"Don't act so surprised to see me here,"  I smiled when I saw Niki approach me, then asked a rhetorical question, "I work with the team don't I?"

I truly tried to stop the smile from spreading even further on my face. However, it had been a few weeks since the last time I'd seen Niki. With the mark of 1975 racing season officially over, that entailed the winter break. The break was intended for rest, recovery, and some off-season training, however, this time was also reserved for a mountain of charity events. I had always hated the in-between, the impatient waiting before I could properly feel the rush again. I knew Niki related to this like no other. This was our element and it was hard to leave it behind even for a day.

"I stood up Clay last time," I answered sincerely this time, crossing my legs in my seat at the bar to create some room for Niki to stand, "Didn't really have the heart to do it to him again."

"Such a people pleaser."

"It's called being polite," I countered as he just rolled his eyes away from me.

It was partially me being polite, however, the drive could be found in my curiosity about the event itself. I'd been invited to a handful before, as Martin Lancaster of course, but every time I'd decline, never show up, and for some wasn't even invited. Regardless, I'd never been able to fully indulge in the championship life no matter how much I wanted to. So when Clay offered to take me as his plus one, I tried to be as blasé as possible when in reality I was buzzing to attend the brunch. I knew I wouldn't enjoy it, all the podium places schmoozing and giving speeches about the 'toughest season yet' and the wealthy teams showing off their drivers to the people rich enough to attend hoping they'd write a hefty check. That's exactly why I became the fly on the wall near the bar, experiencing the world I'd once been a part of from an intimate distance as if crossing it off a bucket list.

"You look...strange," Niki's bluntness pulled me back to his demanding presence.

"Niki, you have such a way with words," I blinked a few times, feigning amazement to cover my insecurity under his gaze,  "Truly, it's awe-inspiring."

I knew I looked different and I didn't need Niki to tell me that. Him making that comment only fueled the self-consciousness I felt on the way over here. I couldn't remember the last time I wore a dress, let alone something as feminine and floral as this one.  It was brunch-appropriate and oil-stain-free, something that would help me blend in, but it felt so strange and foreign on my body.

"You look strange," I started the conversation again lamely. He too was dressed more casually, but he looked good as much as I'd hate to admit. But he looked strange in this setting, not quite belonging in the same way as the others. The difference between our strangeness was that he did this to himself on purpose. He didn't want to be here and he would never actively choose to be, but I knew it had to be contractual of some sort.

"You prefer my other suit?" Niki asked. His tone took the same form as my previous rhetorical question, however, there was a hint of something new in it that I decided not to question, but to argue.

"No-

"I wasn't asking," His eyes were nowhere but on my own.  

"Then you have some assumptions," I started to glare slightly. For some reason, one that was still a little hazy for me, Niki had been acting different since his win and my drunken night. I expected the days, even weeks following to be awkward, angry, bitter. They were anything but. Niki was more curious now, overall more thoughtful and lighter in his spirit. I chalked it up to his win, anyone in their right mind would be like that after a win. But now, as Niki carried this win with him, he was proving it wasn't just that.

"Are they wrong?"

"Severely."

"Shame," He flirted softly, then gestured towards the bartender behind me for a drink of his own.

I took it as an opportunity to study his expression a little closer than usual. He even looked surprised at his words impulsivity. I  took a small sip from my drink to stop myself from revealing any of my own secrets. I almost threw the entire thing back, but I wouldn't let myself get caught in the trap of bottomless mimosas.  When Niki finally received his own drink he took a few steps forward to receive and to thank the bartender. I thought he'd take those same steps back, but he remained within a short arms reach of me. He sipped what looked like water, ever responsible of him, and surveyed the area around us in our secluded corner. He began shifting his weight on his feet, back and forth, once again, shuffling forward slightly. These few steps were no longer in the realm of my personal bubble as he burst it with a few more steps. I couldn't help but start to get confused about why he had gotten so close, especially since I  thought he would have left me to sit alone at the bar by now.

"Niki, you're starting to smother me," I said pushing him back slightly by the shoulder, the touch automatically making me feel awkward. I added a light flit of laughter in an attempt to seem less stiff with my statement, "I can barely  reach my drink without hitting you with my arm."

"I am not trying to," He  squirmed slightly, coming even closer than he had if that was even  possible, "Only trying to give the caterers room when they pass."

"Whatever," I mumbled, trying to lose his attention before he saw how his proximity made my face warm.

But I was too late, he had already seen how my cheeks tinged pink. So before he could say anything I went on to complain.

"Niki, you're doing it  again," I fussed as he was starting to block my view of the emcee of the  event, "How am I supposed to see what's going on?"

"Don't worry I'll tell you if anything interesting happens..."

"You're not even facing the right way! Now move," I tried again to laugh at the situation and once again moving  to physically push him but only being met with resistance, "What, wait-  Are you blocking me on purpose?"

"No."

"Lying isn't your strong suit, Niki."

"Fine," He caved after a few beats. Annoyed with himself he continued to explain,  "Those people are looking over here.."

I glanced over his shoulder and sure enough, there were a group of tabloid vultures ready to find any roadkill. I frowned a bit, shrinking behind Niki's body again for the moment. I remained confused as to why Niki was acting so cryptic about it, "Alright, so let them look, we can't control their eyeballs."

"I'm not sure that you want those people to know that you're here," He pointed out, "They've already begun spinning a story."

My mind wasn't preoccupied with whether or not they would know who I was, at this moment I couldn't care less as I was too focused on how when Niki was talking I could feel his warm breath next to my ear and on my neck as he leaned over to grab my drink to hand to me without asking. However, the thought of thinking I'd be written up as Niki's arm candy was another thing.

"I'm going to go say something," I started to get up from the high chair, but Niki refused to move. He blocked my legs from even thinking about swinging down to the floor.

"There's no need." He went as far as to reach for my legs and gently push them back to their previous position.

"What does that mean?"  I  searched his face for an answer. I was quick to find one, "You already  said something and that's why you're over here."

"Something like that," He brushed his nose as if it covered up his response. His arm came to rest behind my chair now, practically encircling me and excluding me from the outside world.

"And let me guess, by doing so you've made it worse." His silence answered my previous statement, "Seriously Niki?"

"It wasn't my intention..."

"Then what was?" I asked him but he just let me continue with my next comment, "And here I thought you wanted to keep me company."

"Sorry to disappoint,” He gestured with his hands, but the one behind me brushed my shoulder slightly.

Niki was an intentional man, everything thought out and if it wasn’t, still level-headed. It wasn’t hard to recognize his behavior patterns, he knew what he was doing. His touches were brief and fleeting, but they were there. Experimenting and learning how I would squirm under it. He was testing the waters with me, completely unafraid of exploring waters that he didn’t know the depth of.

"Don't you want to know which team will receive the most funding? Enzo won't be happy if it's not Ferrari,” I shivered as his hand left me.

"No," He answered readily, "All that affection, all those smiles, is a sign of disrespect."

"Disrespect?" I couldn't help but laugh which caused a small smile to appear on Niki's face, "You know what Niki? This is probably the first thing you've said that I  agree with."

He gave me a look to tell me he thought I was just entertaining him.  

"I'm serious. You're right, all the fake smiles, don't get me started on the charities they pick," I scoffed at the idea of the cherry-picked event,  "Fuck dying children, you know?"

"Maybe I should call those reporters over." His lightness was back in an instant.  

"Niki don't look at me like that!" My face burned in what I thought was embarrassment, but I knew better than that, "Not 'fuck dying children'. I'm not heartless...It's more like...'fuck, the dying children'..."

"Because that makes it so much better."

I  was feeling a warmth in my chest that felt strange yet familiar. Niki was different today and him being different made me different. Again, to his advantage, he had nothing to worry about since he had already won and he was in that sweet spot of time where he had a break before starting the next season. But today it seemed like more than that. Something more than he wasn't telling me. Something more  I've been trying to avoid. But the sun hit a little warmer today than before making it that little bit harder to disregard.

"I should go find Clay." I avoided Niki's suddenly heavy gaze.

"I'm sure he's missing your company," Niki made no effort to move, and for the first time neither did I.

"I think I could get away with one more drink."

"Another mimosa?"

"Please."

---

"Welcome back!"

Niki didn't have a second to react before the massive bottom of champagne was poured down his back by the Ferrari team.  As fast as they did it, they ran off in case Niki decided to angrily charge after him. If they knew him any better they would know he'd just stew with anger, which he was already getting a jump start on.

"Don't look at me like that," I put my hands up in defense, at Niki's solid glare, "I didn't know they were going to do it."

It was my idea. I was afraid if I fessed up, we'd stop talking again and that was the last way I wanted to go into the new Grand Prix season. We needed to be on the same page, but I was still going to have my fun.  I laughed as he continued to wipe the sticky liquid from his eyes. While he complained, I took the opportunity to grab one of the towels from the stack for him to dry off with.

"This is not funny," He objected once again as my laughter didn't stop, "I have only just arrived and-

"Here," I threw the towel over his head and started to ruffle his hair through it. This unexpected action for both parties caused Niki to stumble forward slightly, bumping into me. The light touch reignited my laughter once again, another wave of entertainment to ride.

"Margot," I thought I could hear a laugh starting to break through Niki's voice as he said my name. Then he grabbed my wrists to stop my actions. I ruffled his hair one last time and wiped his face gently before fully revealing it. Only then did I start to pull back the towel, could I make out the real reason he said my name.

My actions slowed down exponentially, the towel still in my now nervous grip. If I let go, I wasn't sure I could trust myself enough to know what I'd do next. Niki, though, seemed to be one step ahead of me, trusting himself a bit more in his actions. His grip on my wrists was still firm as he pulled me forward by them, causing the air we breathed to mingle. A once humorous moment quickly turned into something much more intimate than it intended to be.  It was always a look here, a glance there, a something I thought I had looked too far into that I brushed off.  But now, while Niki's hooded eyes flickered between my own and my lips I knew we were on the same page. When he started to lean in a bit further, our lips only a centimeter away from each other, that's then when I snapped back into reality. I pulled my hands back to my chest so I could create some distance between Niki and me, it all becoming a little too much for me to handle.

The butterflies and the blush caught up to me as I walked around the car to make as much distance between us as I could. I couldn't look up at Niki, but I could still see him standing right where he was. I refused to look up so I found comfort in the only thing that could provide me comfort.

"I came in a few days ago, to get started on your car," I was surprised I even had a voice, "The new parts came in, so your tires should be better than your last, and I'm still waiting on the alternator, but we've got time, and uh, and you, you uh were going to kiss me..."

I trailed off with a quiet, nervous sigh. I knew I'd be met with silence, so I dared to glance up at Niki. He too was avoiding my gaze. He used the corner of the towel the wipe across his mouth as if wiping away our nonexistent kiss. Before I had the chance to look away, his eyes locked with mine.

"I was."

"Don't," I looked back down at the car.

"Why not?" He shrugged, not seeing the problem.

"Why not?" I repeated his question with a dry laugh, "I didn't even want to do this," I pointed to the car now, "But here I am. So I'm definitely not doing this." I pointed between him and me now. I looked at him, already regretting my words. His expression looked guilt-ridden, "Niki-

"You don't need to do this," He took a few steps forward to the car, "I'll rip up the contract, it's the start of the season anyways."

"No, you're not going to mess this up," I knew he hadn't meant it as an ultimatum, only responding to my comment, but I wanted him to know where I stood and that I wasn't planning on going anywhere anytime soon, "I just don't do racers. You guys are nothing but bad news-

"You taught yourself how to drive you taught yourself how to do all of this you got yourself to first place don't you ever want someone there to acknowledge your accomplishments?" Niki asked his question over me.  His response told me he was well prepared for this conversation. Clearly, something he's already given thought to.

He was starting to know me a little too well for my liking, he knew exactly what u wanted as if he read it from my diary.  

"You are not that. You don't want to be that," I tried to reason, "You just think that you want this because of my....position...I'm a girl who fixes your car, I may as well bring you a beer."

He gave me an amused look as if saying don't flatter yourself. It was a bit ironic since he and I were pretty on par with each other. However, this wouldn't be the first time someone was attracted to me purely out of the fact I fit into a main, stereotypical male fantasy; women and cars. I was just another commodity that they wanted. I refused to put myself in that position after everything I had been through, no matter how much I wanted to.

"It's just misplaced feelings you're feeling right now so please, just-" I couldn't finish the sentence anymore, "Look, go get yourself cleaned up, I'll start with the car and..."

"And what, huh? Pretend that we weren't both leaning in for the same thing?"

"Yes."

"Margot."

"Niki."

"Don't say my name like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you hate me, hate this," He was now at the car. I hadn't even noticed the steps he had taken to get here, "Because you don't-

"Don't,” I held up my hand as a warning, “Make something out of nothing.”

"Nothing...right," He inhaled a quick short breath through his nose to act as if he was unbothered.

But I'd never seen him so bothered before. At least not like this. Sure he'd be bothered by some of the FIA rules or the errors people would make, he would be bothered though but now he was upset. His hand was running through his hair, his usually collected mannerisms now frazzled, and his stance slightly awkward and unsure of what to do next. I tried throughout the break to bury anything Niki related and now with him standing in front of me, I knew I had messed up. I had jinxed myself. I had put myself back at square one.

"Now, go clean yourself up and I'll get the others to help fit you to the cockpit."

[touyasdoll]

Complicated - Chapter Two

Chapter One: Here

Pairing: Dabi/Touya Todoroki x reader

Warnings: self-degradation/self-doubt

Word count: 2.2k

A/n: Gonna rework this and ditch the first person POV, jsyk.

A/n pt. 2: This story does contain spoilers for the show/manga. The dates/ages of characters are going to be shifted around a bit.

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

It's been two days. Is he gonna call? Text? Completely forget I exist?

I sigh, trying to expel the anxiety balled up in the pit of my stomach.

Why would he call? We talked for, what, five minutes? He seemed older too. You were in your damn school uniform, idiot. He's obviously got more important shit to do than chat up a schoolgirl who can't mind her own fucking business.

"Ugh," I groan to no one but myself in my apartment. "I'm really just the biggest fucking jackass, aren't I?"

Flopping down on my bed, I let out another weighty sigh and bury my face in the plethora of pillows piled beneath me.

Relax. Maybe he'll text. Maybe he won't. And if he doesn't he's just sparing you the embarrassment that you would inevitably bring upon yourself.

A yawn escapes my lips as I feel a wave of drowsiness wash over me. Glancing at the clock, I could see it was hardly 5 PM.

Fucked up sleep schedule, here I come.

The familiar comfort of my bed allows me to quiet my thoughts enough to fall into a shallow sleep, until I'm startled awake by a vibrating sensation coming from underneath my chin.

I blink against the harsh light emitting from my phone, squinting to see who was disturbing me.

What the--oh shit!

It was an unknown number. Recognizing that it could be him, I sit up faster than I have ever managed to after a nap and fumble the phone into my palm, eagerly sliding my thumb across the screen to accept the call.

"Hello?"

My breath hitches and I bite my lip in anticipation as I wait, eager to hear his deep, silky voice on the other end.

But the pause on the other side of the line seems just a little too long. Something is off.

Is this him? Is it..just some creep? A prank? What the hell?

"We've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty."

My eyes slam shut, a shake reverberating through my spine as a cocktail of anger and embarrassment wash over me.

That's it. Hope is off limits from now on.

"Fucking great."

I tap the end button, half ready to throw my phone out the window.

Instead, I decide to check and see if I missed anything else while I was out.

Hope is off limits.

I shake my head, trying to erase the little embers of hope that persist, praying that maybe he did reach out.

To my surprise, there's a text from an unrecognized number.

Unknown: You free tonight, doll?

Holy shit.

Looking above the message, I see: Today 6:58 PM. I wince as I dare to look at the clock, which mercifully reads 7:26 PM.

Tapping the text box, I don't give myself the chance to overthink this opportunity.

Me: For you? Sure thing.

Tossing my phone onto the bed, I nod my head, processing the sudden burst of confidence I seem to have found.

I'm not like this. What is it about this guy? He's just that--a guy. One that I don't know. And now I'm just gonna meet up with him?

He's literally a stranger. Who the hell do I think I am?? Is my vagina just running things now? Gonna run out and meet up with some strange dude, because he's pretty and charming?

You know who else was pretty and charming?? Ted Bundy.

That's right, you said it. This is dumb, logically. This is everything everyone’s ever warned you about.

My phone buzzes and my heart rate spikes in response, tearing me from my spiraling doubts.

Unknown: Our spot. 30 minutes. See you there.

A noise that I've certainly never made before eeks past my lips as I process his instructions.

Fuck it. The possibility of this guy being a serial killer has been assessed. I'm going, risks be damned.

You're an idiot. You're an idiot. You're an idiot.

I sigh for the umpteenth time today, waging war in my own mind.

I don't know what it is about him, but I have to see him again. Nothing bad is going to happen. It'll be fine.

That's what I tell myself as I exhale, until I catch my reflection.

My hair is disheveled, my mascara askew. I didn't even bother to take off my uniform before I passed out.

As if I weren't flustered enough, now I gotta make myself looking somewhere near presentable and get down there in time.

Here goes nothing.

Fifteen minutes fly by and I think I've managed it as I step back to look myself over in the mirror once more.

The shortest pair of high-waisted shorts I own, paired with a low-cut black crop top and my favorite slip-ons. My make-up doesn't look perfect and there's not much of it, but it's touched up, and my hair is at least brushed.

Okay, no turning back now.

Grabbing my keys, I tuck my phone in my back pocket and make my way to the meeting place.

+++++++++++++++

Our spot. The man is smooth and I think that he knows it.

I re-read the last message he sent for probably the thirteenth time in the past five minutes.

The clock in the corner of the screen reads 8:02.

Maybe he won’t show. Maybe this is a joke. He and his buddies with come around a corner and laugh as they speed off.

Damn, can I chill? No. He’s going to be here. And I’m going to act like a human fucking being. A normal girl. Someone he could like; I’m capable of that.

Aren’t I?

Scanning my surroundings yet again, I take in the scenery. I never really get out at night, but the city looks so pretty this way. There’s not too much traffic, especially considering that it’s a Friday night, but there are some people milling about up and down the sidewalk. Some look like they’re on their way home. Some look like they’re on their way out for a night on the town.

“Hey there.”

My eyes are quick to follow the sound of his voice. I look up and he’s strolling up to the bench where I’m seated, the same one where I bandaged his arm the other day.

His hands are shoved in his front pockets, thumbs pushed through the belt loops of the tight, black jeans he’s sporting. His white t-shirt dangles off of his frame in a way that suits him, offering a glimpse of his muscular chest. A black coat completes his ensemble and he certainly looks the part of the typical bad boy.

But, damn, does it look so good on him.

“Hey, there. How’s the arm?”

I scoot over a bit, allowing for ample space between us if he were to take a seat. To my surprise, he sits towards the middle of the bench, so that his thigh brushes against mine as he settles.

I tuck my hair behind my ear, glancing down and covering the noise I want to make with a quiet clearing of my throat.

“It’s good. You do make a pretty decent nurse, sweetheart.”

He grins and pulls his coat sleeve back, revealing the still bandaged wound.

“Wait, have you changed that?”

You’re such a mom. You better hope he’s into MILFs, because otherwise this ain’t gonna get you where you wanna go, girl.

His brow furrows in an expression that tells me all I need to know before he even speaks.

“What do you mean? Changed what?”

A quiet sigh leaves my lungs as I hold out my hand.

“May I?”

His puzzled expression doesn’t falter, but he shrugs and offers his forearm up for inspection.

Carefully, I pull back the tape holding the bandages together and slowly begin to unwrap them.

That is, until the smell hits me. I barely catch of glimpse of the reddened skin before my nostrils detect the scent of burned flesh and excess viscera.

“Oh, dear. Have you even unwrapped this thing?”

Trying not to agitate anything further, I delicately wrap the bandages back around his arm, taping them down once again.

“No, should I have?”

I look up and my gaze meets his, a sense of true ignorance evident in his expression; I try not to laugh. I really try, but a soft giggle escapes nonetheless.

“Yes! I mean, if it doesn’t hurt, I’m sure it’s not that bad right now, but you should be cleaning and redressing a wound like that once every 12 hours at the very least. It’s been what, like, at least 50 at this point?”

His good arm reaches for the back of his neck, scratching at it as he dons an apologetic half smile.

“Sorry, I’m not exactly nurturing by nature, doll. I don’t know the first fucking thing about this kind shit.”

I cock a sympathetic smile as I look at him, sitting there looking almost helpless. I guess he is, in a sense. It’s actually kinda cute how he doesn’t seem to have an inkling of how to properly care for himself.

Because that’s absolutely what you want in a potential relationship. Someone to fix, how fun! Why not open up a shop for broken boys? Girl, when will you learnnn??

“Well, I don’t have anything on me right now, but if you don’t mind coming back to my place, I could clean it up there? And I’ll teach you how to keep up with it this time.”

I guess not today, motherfucker.

“Coming to my rescue again. You must be in a hero course, huh, doll?”

His smile is so naturally disarming as he stands and offers his hand out before me.

“I don’t mind, if you’re sure you don’t. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable and I don’t wanna be a burden. I didn’t ask you out tonight for you to have to play doctor on me again.”

He seems so sweet, so genuine. Maybe he is broken, but everyone deserves kindness. He looks like he hasn’t seen much of that. And as cliché as it is, maybe I can help him. Maybe he can help me.

I slip my hand in his, smiling as flirtatiously as I can manage as he pulls me to my feet.

“I don’t mind. I was kind of hoping I might get to play doctor on you again anyway. Maybe you could even return the favor.”

I brush my fingers against his as our hands disconnect, taking a page from his own book and watching his expression as my skin glides against his.

Or maybe we could just do this. This works too. No muss, no fuss. But oh my goodness what if what I just did was weird and he’s not even interested??

His eyebrows rise for just a moment as he chuckles and glances down, still grinning as he puts his hands in his coat pockets.

“Well, sweetheart, I don’t know much about medicine, but I do know how to give a pretty thorough physical exam.”

Something twitched deep inside my belly as my breath caught in my throat and I damn near tripped over my own two feet as we started walking.

Thankfully, his reflexes were quicker than my inate ability to fuck things up and his good arm reached out to steady my frame as he stepped in front of me.

The delicious scent of his cologne mingling with remnant cigarette smoke nearly made me dizzy as my hands connected with his chest, now completely unable to ignore the muscles just beneath his thin shirt.

“You all right there, doll?”

Long, slender fingers find their way under my chin. His thumb just barely brushing the edge of my bottom lip as he strokes it over my chin.

His eyes are practically piercing mine as he carefully lifts my face to his. Who knew being in such close proximity to someone so beautiful could be this paralyzing.

Holy fuck. Forget fixing me. He can break me and I’ll probably thank him for it.

The strong hand on the small of my back threatens to rob me of my breath all over again and I have to fight to keep any semblance of composure in his arms.

“Yeah.” I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear and will myself to break eye contact. “You always have girls falling for you this quickly?”

I pity laugh at my own joke, wishing my quirk was something that would allow me to disappear.

But then he’s chuckling too. It’s melodious at first, but then it morphs into a deep reverberation that sends all the right chills down my spine as I level my eyes with his again.

He looks like an enigma personified. His eyes look so gentle and warm, but his smile reads so sad. The words that leave his lips sound like both a warning and an invitation to my flushe red ears.

“Trust me, princess. You don’t wanna fall for me. I’m no good for you.”

Oh, but it’s too late for that.

[marshmallow-phd]

Healing Touch

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

Summary: Medical school abroad was the last line on your to-do list before starting the rest of your life. Everything was going according to plan. Everything, that is, until tragedy strikes your campus. In the wake of a professor’s untimely death, you’re partnered with the cute boy with a breathtaking smile in the newly combined labs. You find yourself unable to resist the dimples and shy glances, but his life is here with no plans of leaving. Will you continue on as planned or will you accept the hand that Fate had dealt you?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Final

**

The door to the bathroom slammed behind Yixing as he plastered his back against the cinderblock wall. The bathroom was empty, thank goodness. His heart was pounding, beating in rhythm to the pawing of the wolf. It growled at him to go back, to find you and claim you. He fought against it. Barely. 

All this time you had been here, on this campus, and he never even knew it. How many times had he come close to almost running into you? Almost had a class with you? How many times had he walked into the student union or a lab or any other classroom and missed you by mere seconds? Having met you now, under these circumstances – it almost felt like Fate was taunting him.

Sliding down to the floor, Yixing let his head fall back against the paint-flaking stone. A small smirk tugged at his mouth. He’d found you. Like a flower blooming for the first time… you were beautiful. Your smiles had been small but stunning. When your hair fell like a waterfall hiding your face, his fingers twitched to push it behind your ear. Yixing had found girls pretty before, but you – you were fascinating. Like seeing a close up picture of a new planet a million lightyears away for the first time. As quiet as you were, he was determined to flip over the stones and discover what lied underneath.

Elation soon gave way to worry, though. Now that the first step was done, he had to proceed with caution. He didn’t want to scare you off or come on too strong. Knowing himself, he could get too excited and push you too far before you were ready. 

And then there were the headaches. And the lost time. He needed to find the cause of it. He needed to understand what was happening to him. Because the last thing he would want is to hurt you.

Pushing himself back up to his feet, he went over to the sink and turn the cold water on blast. He cupped some of the water in his palm and cooled off heat radiating from his neck. Icy droplets rolled down his back and over his shoulders. It helped, sparingly. He gave a single glance in the mirror before turning off the water and walking out of the bathroom.

He knew that going to his next class would be a useless action. Paying attention was out of the question. There were ways that he could catch up in his spare time. Right now, he needed to be in a place where he was both surrounded by people (to keep himself in check), and yet alone for his thoughts. So, he headed for the student union. The buzzing of a hundred conversations hit him as soon as he stepped through the doors. None of them were clear, too intermixed to be deciphered. Perfect. Now he just need to find an empty table in a corner and-

“Hey, Yixing!”

Yixing blinked, searching around for the one who had called his name.

Baekhyun was standing up in his seat, waving an arm back and forth to get Yixing’s attention. The latter sighed. Maybe this was better. Maybe being alone wasn’t a good idea after all.

Sitting with Baekyun was Chanyeol, Jongin, Sehun, and Kyungsoo. Jongdae, Yixing knew, was in class. However, Minseok was usually with them. He must have been somewhere off with his mate. A quick surge of jealous struck through Yixing’s veins, but he tampered it down quickly. Soon enough he would be there, too. Soon enough.

Careful to keep his face as neutral as his facial muscles would allow, Yixing headed over to the others, dragging a free chair over from a nearby table.

“Playing hooky?” Baekhyun teased.

“Just didn’t feel like going to class.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Nor the complete truth. The statement fell somewhere in the middle. Like most things he said these days. 

“Are you sweating, hyung?” Sehun asked from the other side of the table.

Chanyeol sniffed several times. “You still smell like your body wash. Is everything okay?”

Jongin pointed at him. “Your collar’s wet.”

Yixing shifted in his seat. Was it too early to tell them? Was it news that he should share with Junmyeon first? He knew he would end up going to Minseok at some point. Who better to go with for advice than the one person who’s lived through it already? Maybe even Ji Yeon might have a few words of wisdom for him. All five of his brothers were staring at him, waiting for an explanation, fictitious or otherwise, for this out-of-character behavior.

“She’s in my new class.”

“Who is?” Chanyeol asked.

Yixing didn’t reply right away. The words were sticking to the tip of his tongue like fly paper. Maybe he should just say “never mind” and go on with his day. This wasn’t the right setting to share this information. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should have waited until he got back to the farmhouse. He should have discussed this with Junmyeon and Minseok first. As much as he loved Baekhyun, he had a feeling this news would get back to the rest of the pack before he had a chance to tell them himself. Would Jongdae start to avoid him, too?

Before he had a chance to backtrack, Kyungsoo caught on. “Ah. You mean, her, don’t you?”

Yixing swallowed, the muscles in his throat contracting, making the motion difficult. Slowly, almost like a fishing bobber in the water, he nodded.

Letting out an exasperated scoff, Baekhyun hunched down in his seat. “This feels way too fast. I thought we would have time after Minseok until the next one.” He straightened up before leaning in close to Yixing. “Are you sure it’s your mate? Are you sure you just don’t think she’s really pretty?”

Yixing shook his head. “Minseok is right. The feeling is different. And immediate. It’s her.”

“Well, better you than me.”

“But think of the nice excuse it would give you to break up with Daisy?” Chanyeol teased.

“Who said I wanted to break up with her?”

“You did,” Kyungsoo deadpanned. “Last night.”

Baekhyun feigned being taken aback. “W-well, that was last night. I changed my mind. This morning.”

“I hope your mate gives you hell,”Jongin laughed. He turned to Yixing. “Is she pretty?”

Yixing didn’t dare fight the grin spreading across his face. He nodded eagerly. “Yes. Very. Very pretty.”

“So, you gonna tell Junmyeon?” Baekhyun asked.

“Of course. I will tonight. Back at the house.”

“At least we’ll get to see this play out more. I feel like we missed the good stuff with Minseok.”

“It’s not a movie for your entertainment,” Kyungsoo scolded.

Baekhyun simply shrugged, turning his attention back to the food in front of him. He’d gotten his teasing out of the way. Oddly enough, Yixing was feeling a little lighter. He hadn’t kept the secret long at all, but that was what a pack was for. They were there to keep you steady and to lean on when things grew tough. He could go to them for advice – well, some of them. Others were good for a laugh and help ease any weight that was baring him down. Each member had his strength, for which he was grateful. Three additional faces appeared, stopping him for a moment. But then Baekhyun started imitated one of his professors and Yixing was pulled away from the past and back to the present.

However, even as he smiled and laughed along with the others, one thing refused to leave him: Would you be safe? With his current… predicament, he worried about you. If anything were to happen to you – especially because of him – he would never be able to forgive himself.

Silently, he vowed that he would put an end to this rogue wolf – no matter who it was.  

**

Perhaps walking wasn’t the best idea at the moment. It was chillier today; a cold front having moved in from somewhere out west overnight. The jacket you wore was thin, the wind sliding through the threads with more ease than water through a drain. But it seemed silly to take the bus with such a short distance between your apartment and the university campus. Certainly not worth the anxiety it would create.

Yes. It was good to walk. Good to get the exercise. And by the time you make it to the courtyard, you would be used to the cold. For now, you zipped the closure up to your chin and tucked your arms in as close to your chest as possible.

The campus felt like a ghost town when you arrived. Most of the students were taking refuge in the buildings, hiding from the wind between the walls decorated with tutoring flyers and motivational posters. Part of you thought to maybe do the same, to cut through the buildings to get a relief from the depressing weather, but that would take you longer. None of the buildings were straight shots. You could endure it. Or else, you could end up as another frozen statue on the grounds that would occasionally get covered in toilet paper or streamers by pranking students. At least you would actually look like something if that were to happen. Most of the artwork was of the abstract kind.

Not that that was a bad thing. Most of it was quite interesting. But it gave you a headache, turning and twisting your head to look at the statue from a new angle, the picture changing each time. You preferred less complicated, more obvious art. Old portraits or watercolor landscapes were the sections of the art museum you spent the majority of your time in. It didn’t need to be complicated to be art, in your opinion. Every new artist was trying to “say something”, which was fine. It was their art and they were allowed to do with it as they saw fit. You were just the kind of boring person who liked a pretty picture, no added thinking required.

Yes. Boring, indeed.

“(y/n)!”

You stopped walking, confused as to who could be calling your name. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw the new boy from your human physiology class – Yixing. He was jogging up to you, cutting through the grass, not caring if the canvas fabric of his Converse ended up soaked. He was huffing only the slightest bit when he came to a stop beside you. The tiny corners of his lips were slightly turned upward. You’d only met him a few days ago. How could he be seemingly elated to see you? 

“Hi.”

He wasn’t the least bit discouraged by your steely reception. “Are you on your way to class?” He pointed in the direction of the science building. You nodded. Lying would make you have to take a weird, long way to the classroom and even then, you couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t see you in the hall. Besides, after your first class you would be seeing him again, at the same table. “Can I walk with you?”

Those five little words sent a surge through your brain, frying the motherboard and sending you into disfunction. Why did he want to walk with you? Pound, pound, pound your heart was going in your ears. He was smiling broader now as he waited for your answer. Surely, there were better available options in girls to walk to class.

“Why?”

Your hand nearly snapped up to your forehead. Where! ‘Where is your class’ was the question you were meaning to ask. But your brain was too focused on why he was asking you that the signals got crossed somewhere and the wrong thing came out.

The smile faded. “Oh, um… I just saw you and thought that maybe if we were headed in the same direction….” He cringed, his hand reaching behind his head to scratch nervously at his scalp.

“Sure,” you said without giving yourself a prior warning.

The smile snapped back into place. “Okay. Great.”

Neither of you moved. You were sure that part of the idea of “walking to class together” included actually moving your feet, but you didn’t start heading towards the building. Yixing didn’t budge either. He kept smiling at you.

A sudden burst of icy wind picked up. The gust bit right through your jacket, causing you to shiver somewhat violently. Your teeth were still chattering even as it died down again.

“Are you cold?” Yixing asked worriedly.

“No, I’m fi-”

He ignored you as he slipped his bag off his shoulders and removed his much heavier bomber jacket. He draped the jacket over your shoulders and replaced his bag. Now he was left in only a black T-shirt, but he seemed unaffected by the cold. Not even goosebumps gave away if he was uncomfortable or not. “I hope that’s better.”

You were hit with an overwhelming pine scent. Normally you hated the smell. It reminded you of those old car air fresheners that would hang from the rearview mirror. But this particular type… it was a struggle not to breathe in deeper. You didn’t want to come off as weird.

Or, weirder that you already were.

“Thanks,” you said shyly, unable to meet his eye. “We, um, we should probably start… walking.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right.”

The two of you finally headed for the science building. You each stepped in rhythm with the other, falling into the pattern with such a natural ease that it made you curious. Your nerves were on high alert around him, but not in a way that made you scared of him. Not the “he’s going to kill me” kind of nervous. Just… on edge. You weren’t sure why he was interested in you – whether platonically or something else, you hadn’t figured out yet. You weren’t the typical college student in your experiences. Anxiety over social gatherings tended to limit your outings. Not that you minded. You needed to keep up the good grades to get into the university you wanted and the extra time spent studying helped. Your family was your main social outlet, but you didn’t see anything wrong with that.

The bad thing was, you knew how your family reacted and came to decisions in most cases. That sense of familiarity was lost when it came to other people, so you never were quite sure how to read them.

“What’s your first class?” Yixing asked as the building came into view.

“Organic chemistry,” you replied. Not your best subject, if you had to admit it. Biology was more your strong suit. “What about you?”

Yes. Good counter question. A natural one to ask. Right?

A dusty pink bloomed on his cheeks. “Psychology.”

You frowned. Those classes weren’t held in the science building. Those types of classes were the rest of the therapeutic college – several buildings away. Pointing to the doors that the two of you were now stopped in front of, you said, “Then why-”

“I saw you and wanted to say hi.”

Okay, like stated earlier, you weren’t the best at reading strangers. But you could almost feel your aunt nudging you with her shoulder in her cheeky fashion. And you would have to agree with her, it did feel like there was an air of flirtation underneath the innocent sentence.

“You wanted to say ‘hi’?” you repeated

He scrunched up his shoulders guilty. “Yeah. I thought that – since we’re going to be partners for the rest of the semester – that it wouldn’t hurt to get to know each other?” His eyes flickered down to the cement and then back up at you. “Is that alright?”

That simple movement made your heart flutter. “I guess so.”

Not the exact answer he was hoping for, judging by his reaction. He released his breath through his nose and nodded, his lips puckering a small amount. “Okay. I’ll see you in class.” You weren’t given a chance to respond before he stepped around you and headed off.

Now you were the one who felt guilty.

All through class, you struggled to absorb the material more than usual. You felt like a jerk to someone who was only trying to be nice.

No. Nice wasn’t the right word to use. Polite seemed too small a word as well. His interest in getting to know you seemed genuine, sincere. You were the one quick to pull away. You couldn’t help it. And you had immediately regretted it, wishing you could rewind and try a different response. Yixing made you more nervous that usual, which only overloaded your brain even more.

By the end of class, you’d settled on apologizing. You’d practice the speech over and over again in your mind to make sure that it made sense and conveyed what you were sorry for. And hopefully didn’t create a bigger mess.

Since you were right around the corner, you made it to human physiology early. You took your time taking out your supplies and lined them up on your side of the table. Every few seconds your eyes would flicker to the door in eager anticipation. The students who flowed in were never him. Oh. Goodness. Had you made him so upset that he’d decided to skip class altogether rather than sit next to you?

That fear subsided when you saw him walk into view of the open door. A shorter boy was with him. They were chatting in a friendly manner in the hallway, smiling and laughing occasionally. Yixing didn’t seem to still be upset from your earlier send off.

The shorter one, wearing a backwards cap and t-shirt despite the cold (were males really that immune to dropping temperatures?), glanced into the classroom and made eye contact with you. He whispered something to Yixing, who in turn snuck a peek of his own. He nodded to the shorter boy. The latter nodded as well. He patted Yixing on the shoulder and then left.

Oh, wonderful. Now what had you done?

Your entire speech went diving out the window as Yixing walked into classroom and sat down in his seat.

“Hey,” he greeted, throwing you off even more with a smile.

You lifted your hand and gave a rather pathetic wave. “Hi.”

“Did you have fun in chemistry?” he asked. Everything about his mannerisms reflected his earlier legitimate interest. It was almost as if the parting earlier had only been a bad dream in your head and instead had ended amicably, with no signs of awkwardness.

You were starting to relax. That was another odd thing about Yixing. Though your nervous system was on the fritz, you also felt at ease, almost. Already, you were finding appropriate and - dare you say - charming responses to his inquires and jests. “As much fun as one can with unstable molecules.”

“Better the molecules be unstable rather than the professor.”

You laughed, using your hand to cover the sound and wide mouthed expression that came along with it. Yixing dipped his head to hide a proud grin of his own. The professor walked in at that moment. You scolded yourself for not going through your speech before class had started. Yixing had distracted you. It might feel as needed now, but you still felt the urge to say the words. 

And that distraction was continuing on through the period.

He wasn’t doing anything in particular, besides simply existing. Occasionally while taking notes or flipping the pages of the textbook, his elbow would bump into yours. You would mouth “sorry” before dropping your eyes down to the paper. He never looked like he was annoyed or bothered by it. At one point, you wondered if he was doing it on purpose.

Like the last time, Professor Jiang assigned the review questions at the end of the chapter to be completed during the final fifteen minutes. It took you almost that entire time to figure out the answers. You had to keep flipping back through the chapter and skim the passages to find them. You were definitely going to have to make a note to review this later if any of it was going to stick.  

“Are you done?” Yixing asked once he saw that your pencil was down.

“Yeah.” Your confidence in your answers wasn’t as high as last time. To your surprise, though, your answers were more or less the same as Yixing’s. Maybe something did get absorbed during the lecture. 

Taking your paper, he shuffled it on top of his to show you that he would once again turn it in for you. A pattern was beginning to form, but you didn’t want to read into it too deeply. 

Okay. It was now or never. Although, you’d forgotten large chunks of your speech, you were going to go through with it.

“Yixing?” You barely made it above a whisper, but he heard you anyway.

“Hm?”

“I just wanted to say that I was sorry. About earlier. I didn’t mean to make it look like I was trying to be rude or that I wasn’t appreciative of your….” You lost the word you were going to say. The others that you grasped on to made you cringe. Niceness? Politeness? Pity? Thankfully, Yixing didn’t need you to finish.

“It’s alright. I’m not upset. I realize that I might have come on too strongly.”

“No, no, you didn’t.”

“No, I’m sure I did. Next time, if you like walking alone, you can tell me to go away.”

You didn’t like the idea of telling him to go away. You actually kind of liked him walking you to class, now that you’d had time to reflect back on it. The gesture gave you the same vibe that teen romances had given you in high school; a strange fluttering that usually only existed in daydreams.

You weren’t sure how to respond, so you gave a silent reply in the form of a small smile. Yixing took it as a good sign like you meant it to be. Then you remembered the piece of clothing you still had of his. You started to sleep out of the sleeves, but Yixing stopped you.

“Keep it. It’s not going to get any warmer today.”

You could feel your face exploding with heat. What did that mean, exactly? Obviously, you understood the direct context, but was there another meaning behind his kind intention? Whispers erupted behind you before you could really think it through. You peeked over your shoulder to see two girls staring at you as they spoke softly to each other. Their volume was too low for you to make out what they were saying, but their eyes said enough. A few flickers toward Yixing and it was easy to interpret: they were trying to figure out why someone like him was acting this way towards you.

Curious as to what had stolen your attention, Yixing looked back at the girls as well. At their continued whispering, he narrowed his eyes and then shifted his stool closer to you. It felt… protective, almost possessive. Not in a way that made you want to lean away. It was more like he was silently standing up for you. The girls immediately snapped their mouths closed and pulled out their phones. Yixing caught your eye one more time, making you smile. Professor Jiang called time on the period and you found yourself very unwilling to move from that spot. And, it seemed, neither was Yixing.

**

Yixing ran through the trees with pure giddiness and elation flowing through his fur.

Things couldn’t have gone better this past week and a half. You were opening up to him more, talking to him without long pauses in between and letting him walk you to classes, even if they were in the opposite direction of his own. You hadn’t given him his jacket back, but he took that as a wonderful thing. He wouldn’t have taken it back anyway. There were still things that you were holding onto, things that you hadn’t let slip in your conversations. That hardly deterred him. It would take time. These things didn’t just happen. Eventually you would let him in all the way and he would show you his true self. It was only a matter of-

Yixing stopped. Out of nowhere, his vision had blurred, blackspots covering bits of the forest. He wavered from side to side as he tried to regain his footing. The tree shifted back and forth like a teeter-totter. He pushed himself forward. He needed to get back to the house. But only a few steps and his head exploded with pain. He whimpered and, after a minute or so, he fell to the ground and the blackness took over.

[fanfickittycat]

First Glance

TITLE: First Glance

CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: One Shot

AUTHOR: fanfickittycat

FANDOM: Haikyuu!!

CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader

GENRE: Romance/Fluff

FIC SUMMARY: Ushijima doesn't know why the girl tasked with covering the team for the school paper won't leave his mind

RATING: G

AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: I’m putting this below the cut but you can also read it on AO3 here

“Is she back already?” Ushijima didn’t flinch when Tendo joined his side, only nodding stoically in response. He was observing the girl with such rapt attention, that Tendo was genuinely surprised; usually, Ushijima only had eyes for volleyball. Girls seemed to be out of the question. Even when the topic of girls was brought up in the locker room, he never paused to pass comment. In fact, he didn’t look like he was even listening to the conversation, instead methodically doing up the buttons on his shirt or neatly folding his kit.

“I hear she’s from the journalism club” he said, watching his friend’s face carefully for any changes in his features. The day had been so boring, and finally something interesting was happening. “Hmmm”. Nothing. “I guess she must want to cover the team going to the finals.” “Hmmm.” Nothing again. “Maybe she’ll want to interview us?” Ushijima cleared his throat “hmmm.” Ah, bingo. “You should talk to her” he nudged Ushijima in the side “you’re the captain after all.” Ushijima finally broke his gaze, looking down at the water bottle in his hands “I’m not good at talking.” Tendo opened his mouth to say something encouraging; to bolster his friend who always seemed to be confident in all his abilities on the court, but the squabble between Semi and Shirabu stopped him.

“Hey” Ohira said “don’t fight in front of the press, it makes us look bad.” The two setters continued to scowl at one another but stopped bickering. “It’s no way to act in front of a girl” Tendo added, slapping a hand on his teammates backs “especially a cute girl.” His eyes trailed over to look at Wakatoshi who’s impassive face was betrayed by the way his hands mindlessly fiddled with the blue bottle in his hands. “I guess she’s cute” Semi agreed “if you like that kind of girl.” “What kind of girl is that?” Ushijima asked, making his teammates look up at him in shock. “W-well you know…” Semi struggled to come up with the words to describe her “she’s clumsy, did you see the way she almost tripped coming in here?” “Yeah, but she got up again with that super determined face” Shirabu interjected “like she was so nervous she was overcompensating.” “She seems energetic” Ohira said “and tenacious.” “Those are good traits” Wakatoshi said offhandedly. “They are” Tendo agreed, egging him on “and she has pretty, long hair. I usually like short hair on girls but even I have to admit that it’s very becoming on her. Right, Miracle Boy?” Ushijima looked up at her again, observing the waves of thick, dark hair that flowed past her shoulders. She tucked a strand behind her ear as she continued to speak to Coach Washijo and note down the things he said in her notebook. “Yes” he agreed “it is.”

Ushijima continued to think about the mystery girl as he got changed. Who was she? Tendo had said she was here on behalf of the school paper, but usually whenever they were written about, it was a sandy haired boy who came by. Why had he never seen her before? He idly put his jacket on, pondering what the feeling in his chest was. A sort of warmth and tenderness. He hoped he wasn’t getting ill.

“Before you all go” Coach Washijo said, stopping the boys from leaving the gym “remember we have practise on Saturday, and I expect you all to be there bright and early at 6am. No excuses. Also, we’ll have a member of the journalism club with us this week so watch your mouths.” He looked pointedly at Semi, who’s cheeks flushed red, much to the enjoyment of Shirabu who nudged him. Ushijima wanted to ask what her name was, but they were dismissed in the next instance and it seemed pointless.

The girl stayed on Ushijima’s mind. That evening he had several hazy dreams all involving her. In one, he just remembered her looking at him and smiling so brightly that he managed to miss a relatively easy receive. In another, she was interviewing him, and he was struggling to answer coherently. He didn’t remember the last one very well, but in it she was holding his hands. He woke up with her phantom touch still on him. He turned his head to squint at his alarm clock. It was almost five am, way too early for him to consider rising. He closed his eyes again, but sleep didn’t find him. He took his phone off charge and looked for Tendo’s number to text. He had insisted that he get a phone, but he didn’t use it much.

U: Tendo, are you awake? I have a query. 4:58am

He didn’t expect to get a response and instead went to take a cold shower to focus his mind. The cold water was a welcome distraction, and he felt his body leave the dreamy warm state it was in. Today he had practise until noon, but nothing especially pressing to do afterwards. Perhaps he’d take a jog before dinner. He knew he should probably make time to review some tapes from their last practise game too. Despite him concentrating on his own schedule, his mind once again wandered to her. What would she do today?

He left the shower, padding back to his room with a towel around his shoulders. His phone buzzed.

T: What query could you possibly have at 5am??? 5:08am T: Lay it on me, Miracle Boy 5:09am

He picked up his phone, struggling to come up with a coherent sentence.

U: The girl has remained in my mind. I think I must be getting ill, should I tell coach today? 5:12am T: Sounds like love sickness to me ;) 5:12am U: I’m not familiar with that illness 5:1am T: -_- It’s a good thing you found volleyball 5:14am U: I don’t understand 5:14am T: We’ll talk about it later 5:15am U: Ok 5:15am

“She’s here” Ushijima blinked at the girl, standing before them. She looked sleepy, clutching a thermos as she greeted the volleyball team members. Her hair was tied up into a ponytail, which Ushijima didn’t like nearly as much as her hair being out. Still, there was something admittedly quite cute about seeing her like this; dreamy eyed, red cheeked, and cosy in her fluffy jumper. She shouldn’t be out here in the cold, watching the boys do laps, she should be tucked up in bed with her hair being petted gently. The thought made Ushijima flush. He resolved to himself that he was going to concentrate on practise and not on this girl, whose name he still didn’t know.

“So, lover boy” Tendo teased, as he shrugged off his track jacket alongside his friend “you like her?” The boys had entered the gym now to do some routine stretches before doing drills, and Tendo had taken the opportunity to speak up. “I don’t know her.” “But you think she’s cute?” Ushijma paused and swallowed “yes, I suppose so.” “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.” Tendo winked at him and Ushijima frowned. Surely, he had his back? In their current formation he tended to be behind the Guess Monster. He shook his head free of the thought and went to join the others.

“Take a twenty-minute break and then we’ll do three on three!” “Yes, coach!” The lapse in practise was a welcome one, and Ushijima wiped the sweat off his brow with his towel, grateful for the moment to breathe. “This is your chance” Tendo sang, jutting his chin out at the girl who was speaking to Semi. “It’s rude to interrupt” he said, feeling a sinking feeling in his chest as she laughed at something Semi said. What was this? He felt something brew in his chest that made his teeth clench in annoyance at his teammate. He gripped the water bottle, turning away to drink. “Don’t be angry” Tendo chided “I’ve found out her name…”

*** You stood, trying to follow the game but it was difficult to really grasp what was happening. The ball was shot back and forth with such ferocity that you worried it would hit you. How embarrassing you cringed, picturing yourself getting smacked in the face with the volleyball. You took a step back for safe measure, trying to remember what Haruki had told you.

“The piece is about emotion as much as it’s about sport.” “What kind of feelings can hitting a ball possibly inspire?” You said skeptically. Haruki smiled apologetically “I’m sorry you have to take over for me” “You didn’t ask for a family death” you said, feeling sorry “I���ll do my best.” “You’re a talented writer. Just put your own spin on it, like you always do. I promise this is the last time you’ll have to write a sports piece.”

You had to admit, that despite the dread and the unmistakable sinking feeling in your gut from being out of your depth, you were also in awe of the players. The way they were able to make split second decisions that ensured the ball’s return to the other side of the court; the constant movement… It was actually impressive.

The red-haired boy – you still didn’t know them by name – had an almost eerie gift for knowing what the opposing side was going to do. You scribbled it down, annoyed when you dropped your biro.

“Look out!” Your head tilted up to see your worst fear coming true. The ball was flying towards you and you felt like you had frozen, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. You braced yourself for impact, lowering your head again but the hit never came. You heard a scuffle near you, and you opened your eyes to see the tall one with the olive hair hit the ball away. He met your stunned eyes with his formidable ones. You’d heard of this one. Ushijima the captain of the team. Haruki had assured you that despite his daunting exterior and intimidating manner, he was nobody to legitimately fear. Unless you were on the other team that is…

He looked away first, running back to the court to be alongside his teammates without a glance back. You felt winded. Whatever had just happened felt so intense that it was strange to believe that it was only a couple of seconds long. The sound of a whistle blowing, and the shouts of the demon coach did nothing to snap you out of it.

“Are you alright?” you looked up again to see the captain looking down at you. “Um, yes” you felt your hands go clammy “thank you.” He nodded at you and a silence followed. “Is it always so…” you looked for the right word “dangerous?” The corner of his lip twitched upwards “sometimes.” “Why do you play it then?” He hesitated, looking wistful “I’m good at it and I like it.” It was a terribly blunt answer, but it made you smile. “You’re funny” you said which made him cock his head to the side. “I’ve never been described as humorous before.” “It’s a special kind of humour” you said, rewarded with a faint blush colouring his cheeks. “How is your article progressing?” He asked, clearing his throat. “I think I found my angle on it” you looked up at him “but I need to do more research. I don’t really know too much about volleyball.” “You can ask me. I know about volleyball.” You felt flustered “are you doing anything after practise? Maybe you could help me clarify all the technical stuff?” He nodded “I’m free.” “Cool.” “Yes… cool” he nodded at you, excusing himself to run back. You felt your heart race as you watched him go back to the court. For the first time since you’d been assigned the piece, you felt excited about volleyball.

[sarah-sandwich]

"I need a hug" please and thank you!

Hi friend! Here it is! Remind me to never commit to a fic a day for an entire week again lmao

Happy last day of National Storyteller Week to everyone who creates or consumes stories! Jump over to my ao3 for 5 ridiculous parkner fics 👌✨💛

Peter, no

He probably should have clued in sooner, a lot sooner.

Him and Peter have been attached at the hip for three years, ever since Peter ran into the lab in the middle of a video call with Tony, shouted something about an arm-wrestling tournament with the Avengers, and begged, “You gotta come trash talk them for me! Please, Mr. Stark! No one roasts as good as you!” Then, after receiving Tony’s resigned agreement, exclaimed, “I’m gonna dislocate Captain America’s shoulder!” turned tail and sprinted back out, ignoring Tony’s, “Peter, no!”

It was over in under a minute but he was bewitched.

“Who was that? And why haven’t I met him?”

“I’ve been avoiding this day,” Tony said in a world-weary tone. “You’re either going to hate each other or get on like a house fire. Either way, I’ll never know peace again.”

In usual Tony Stark fashion, he was right.

He thought he’d seen every side of Peter there is. He’s seen him soft and sleepy under the blue glow of the television. He’s seen him wired and manic as he pursues a project on little to no sleep. He’s seen him broken and bleeding in more ways than he cares to count. He’s seen him laughing until he cries, crying so hard the only thing he can do is cry with him, too exhausted to feed himself, too angry to speak, and he’s been there when he’s on the cusp of dropping dead from embarrassment (usually pointing and laughing but hey, somebody’s gotta keep him humble).

He knows him like he knows his sister, like he knows his mom, like he knows himself.

His point is, it shouldn’t have taken this camping trip to put the pieces together. Realization shouldn’t have hit him like a log to the face when Peter rolled up the sleeves of his borrowed flannel and suddenly he couldn’t breathe for wanting to kiss him stupid.

Well, stupider.

A moment later, Peter picked up the bag of tent poles like they weighed nothing and somehow managed to dump them all over the side of the road like a can of pick-up-sticks.

It’s gonna be a long weekend.

~*~

“What’s this thing for again?” Peter asks, raising his arms high over his head to hold up the long swath of fabric two times his height.

“It’s a rain fly, Peter. It keeps out the rain.”

“It’s not supposed to rain. Trust me, Aunt May checked the weather like 50 times before she would let me leave.”

“We still need it.”

“But why? We could sleep under the stars.”

“It traps in heat.”

“Sounds like another tally in the cons column. It’s hot as fuck, dude.”

“Not tonight it won’t be. Temperature fluctuates a lot in the mountains, especially when the sun goes down.”

“Temperature fluctuates in the mountains,” Peter repeats mockingly.

Harley stops what he’s doing. “If you really wanna sleep under the stars I don’t have to share my tent. Enjoy the skeeters.”

“You love me too much to leave me to sleep with the wildlife,” Peter says, voice muffled from under the rain fly as he attempts to drape it over the erected tent.

His heart skips. Does he know? Has he been that obvious even while oblivious to his own feelings? Did Peter figure it out before he did? Has he been graciously not saying anything about his huge undeniable crush while—

Peter squawks and tumbles forward, the tent collapsing under him with a snap that echoes through the trees. The rain fly flutters over him like a burial shroud.

“Please tell me whatever just broke was a part of you.”

“Uhh, sorry.”

He sighs. He’s in love with an idiot.

~*~

The tent leans a little to the left when they’re done with it but he’s pretty sure it’ll hold up through the night. Just in case, they limit how often they go in and out of it (which, in his opinion, is the way it should be done regardless).

A breeze rustles the trees, scattering pine needles as birds chitter and small unseen wildlife scurries around the underbrush. He breathes in deep, savoring the scent of dirt, pine, and fresh air. He’s been in the city far too long.

Peter stands with his hands on his hips, dirt crusted on the knees of his jeans, his borrowed flannel pulling tight across his chest as he watches a puffy white cloud scoot by with a befuddled expression.

He turns to Harley. “So umm, now what?”

He shrugs. “Whatever you want. You’re the one who’s never done this before?”

Peter stares at him blankly.

“Right. Forgot who I was talking to.” He shakes his head and walks over to the car with a sigh. “This way, city boy. It’s time you learned to fish.”

“Sounds smelly.”

“Mmm.” He pops the trunk and pulls out two fishing rods—one old and dinged up, the other brand-spankin-new—and he passes them to Peter so he can grab the tackle box and a white plastic bucket with a lid on it.

“And slimy,” Peter continues, wrinkling his nose at the bold ‘WORMS’ printed on the side of the white bucket.

“That it is, but there aren’t any rats and no one has pissed on the place you need to sit so it’s automatically better than anything the city has to offer.”

“We’ll see about that,” Peter grumbles.

~*~

“Y’know,” Harley drawls lazily, eyes half-lidded as he watches Peter jump from rock to rock along the shoreline, “usually when people are lookin’ to catch a fish they cast their line into the water rather than leavin’ it on the ground.”

“Oh is that how it’s done? I had no idea,” Peter says, stooping down to peer into a small pool sequestered away from the rest of the body of water. “What do tadpoles look like?”

“Uh, little squirmy guys.”

“Very descriptive, thank you.”

“Mhmm. Anytime, darlin’.”

Peter looks up at him, eyes narrowed and he jolts under the sudden scrutiny.

“What?” he asks. He always calls him darling. It’s just a thing he says—a southern thing. So what if over the years he’s stopped using the name for anyone else? It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not weird.

“Are you falling asleep?” Peter asks.

“Pfft, no,” he says. The sun is deliciously warm, seeping into his skin and turning his bones to butter as the katydids buzz and birds sing. A warm breeze ruffs his hair and he finds himself blinking slowly.

“Dude, you’re totally falling asleep.” Peter grins playfully and hopscotches across the rocks back to him as he teases, “You know, usually when someone wants to catch a fish, they do it while they’re awake.”

“I am awake, dummy.”

“Not for much longer.” He comes to a stop at his side and tweaks the brim of his hat. “Look at you. You’re like an old man falling asleep in his recliner in front of the big game.”

“Napping is a perfectly respectable part of fishing,” he argues.

Peter throws back his head and laughs. Backed by blue sky and thickly forested mountain, sunlit from above, he’s never looked better.

Should he tell him? Is now the time? He can’t imagine living like this—knowing how he feels but bottling it up and keeping it a secret from his best friend.

Then again—

His fishing rod dips and he sits up with a start, hands already moving for the reel.

“Woah, is that a fish?” Peter exclaims, peering into the lake.

“Sure hope so. Can’t imagine what else it’d—,”

“Can I pull it in?” Peter asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excitable puppy.

“No, you if wanna get a fish you have to put in the work.”

“What work? Laying around half-asleep?”

“Yeah, exactly. I’ll let you take it off the line, how ‘bout that?”

“Eh, that’s okay. I’m good.”

He wrestles the fish out of the lake, a bass about two hands long, and then holds the flopping fish, hooked through the lip, out to Peter.

“There you go. Just pop that puppy off the hook and toss ‘im back in.”

“Wait, you don’t even keep the fish?”

“What would I do with a fish?”

“…eat it?”

“That’s a whole song and dance I ain’t got the tools or the patience for. Just grab the fish, Pete. Preferably before it suffocates.”

Peter makes an unhappy sound in his throat but reaches for the fish. Just as his fingers brush the scales, the fish gives a mighty wiggle and Peter flinches back towards the lake.

“Eep!” Peter squeaks and goes into the water with a splash.

Harley hunches over, laughing his head off as Peter sits up, water streaming down his face and dripping from his hair.

“I hate you.” Slipping and sliding in the muck, he makes his way through the mid-thigh deep water, back to dry land, and then keeps walking past Harley and up the hill to the trail that will lead him back to camp.

All the while Harley laughs and laughs, taking a moment to free the fish back into the lake before he sits down and tips his face to the sun, chuckling and committing to memory the way Peter’s soaked jeans and flannel clung all over his body.

~*~

“I still don’t see why—,”

“Shush,” Peter snaps, frowning in concentration over the tiny flame he’s been babying to life for the past fifteen minutes.

He sighs. He tried to convince him to wait until supper for a campfire meal but Mr. Eager Beaver insisted on trying his hand at it now. Had they made sandwiches they’d be done by now and could be hiking. But no. Peter wants to play Boy Scout so they’re going to sit here and starve until he gets a fire built just to spend five minutes roasting hot dogs and then have to put it out again.

To make matters worse, Peter’s no longer wearing his shirt since it got soaked in the lake. He’d gotten attached to how he looks in his clothes. Now he’s wearing on one of his standard nerd-pun tees and a wrinkly pair of khaki cargo shorts and he’s going to have to convince him to at least put on long socks before they hike or he’s going to risk getting poison ivy or poison oak all over his calves and ankles.

“There it goes! There it goes!” Peter exclaims, sitting up tall and motioning at him to look at the little flame as it eats up the pile of twigs and tinder.

“Very good, dear,” he says dryly. “Now see if you can keep it going with some real wood.”

Peter cocks his head at him. “Was that a double-entendre?”

“Why on earth would I imply that we should put a part of my human anatomy in the fire, Peter?”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, squatting beside the fire as he breaks up a stick. “Dick jokes are funny.”

“You’re a child.”

“And yet you— Shit!” He flinches back from the fire and falls on his backside.

He comes alert with a spike of adrenaline, rushing forward to— to— pat out flames with his bare hands? He doesn’t know. “What happened?” he demands, checking Peter over for damage and finding nothing, not a burn or singe in sight.

Still sprawled on the ground, Peter looks up at him through his eyelashes with an embarrassed grimace. “I don’t want to say.”

“But you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” he sits up cross-legged and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He stares down at him as he looks down in his lap. “You’re really not going to tell me what just happened? I already saw you fall in a lake because you were scared of a fish. It can’t be worse than that.”

Peter looks up, neck crimped and mouth screwed into an unhappy pucker. “I thought something was on me but it was just the grass.”

Harley stares. “So, you thought a bug was on you.”

“Yeah. I’m starting to think I’m not cut out for this place.”

What has he gotten himself into?

~*~

Peter hasn’t stopped chattering about everything under the sun since they left camp. And considering where they are, there’s a lot to chatter about. From bugs to birds to types of trees and identifying clouds, he’s heard it all. It’s why he’s not paying attention to the path like he should, too busy watching the way Peter waves his hands animatedly as he rambles, the way the sun lights his eyes and makes his hair shine, the way his lips shape the words.

He hasn’t taken in a word he’s said for the past twenty minutes but he’s watched him with rapt attention while his mind churns through his options. He’s not one to ignore something once he knows about it. He doesn’t want to keep this a secret. There’s no reason to. It’s nothing shameful and if Peter doesn’t reciprocate then… well, nothing changes, right? He’s fine with that. Best friends is still good. Great, even.

But if Peter does reciprocate…

His breathing quickens at the thought. How did he not notice this ridiculous crush sooner? It’s like something has been awakened inside him and now it refuses to shut up and go back to sleep. He gravitates towards Peter like an orbiting moon. He’s a moth to Peter’s beam of light. Helpless under the thrall.

Peter suddenly looks right at him. “—you know what I mean?”

“Huh?” His foot lands wrong and rolls over a root. His ankle screams out and then he’s dropping as it gives out.

“Woah!” Peter catches him, one arm around his back and the other fisted into his shirt at his shoulder. His brain goes offline, only processing the way Peter is pressed against him, the way his face is angled over him like he’s on the verge of dipping him into a kiss, the way neither of them moves or speaks, staring instead with startled realization.

He thinks he imagines it when Peter’s eyes dilate but then they fix on his lips and there’s no way he’s imagining that.

Lights flash in his head and he forgets to breathe as they hang suspended in time.

Then Peter bites his lip and his cheeks flush dark pink as he yanks Harley upright.

He stumbles, unprepared, and his ankle gives out a second time.

Peter catches him by the elbows babbling, “Oh my God, I’m sorry! Are you okay? I didn’t mean to—,”

“I’m fine. I…” The rest of the sentence vanishes from his tongue as he looks into Peter’s eyes. He loves his eyes—warm and affectionate, they always give him away. Whether they’re bright with curiosity, sparkling with delight, wide with embarrassment, or narrowed in anger, he’s an open book. That’s why the look in his eyes now gives him pause. He’s never seen it before—or maybe it’s been there all along but he hasn’t noticed until now.

They’re dark and focused like he’s seeing through him into his soul and likes what he sees so much he wants to eat him alive.

His heart thunders as he lifts a hand to Peter’s cheek. This is it. This is the moment he tells him and finds out where they’re going to go next.

Peter’s eyes go wide and he swallows thickly, but then his gaze shifts beyond him and he freezes except to carefully grab his forearm in a too-tight grip.

“Bear,” Peter breathes.

His awareness of their surrounding returns so suddenly it hurts. Birds sing, bugs buzz and chirp, somewhere nearby a creek burbles, and behind him on the path, something scuffs the ground and then snorts and sniffs harshly.

“No,” he says quietly. No, he refuses to allow this to be his reality. This cannot be happening. He won’t allow this to happen.

“Harley, bear,” Peter repeats, grip tightening.

Oh my God, this is happening.

“Don’t run,” he says in an undertone. “You’re not supposed to run.”

“We gotta run.”

“Peter, no.”

“Harley, there’s a fucking bear.”

“Listen to me—,”

“I’m gonna grab you—,”

“—we gotta stay still and—,”

“I’ll carry you and—,”

“—non-threatening so—,”

“I’m going to get you up a tree and then—,”

“—it won’t chase us.”

“—the bear will chase me.”

“Peter—,”

“It’ll be fine.”

“—no.”

~*~

He waits in the tree for over an hour, ankle throbbing, sick to his stomach with worry, wondering if he’ll ever see the idiot he stupidly fell in love with ever again. Even if he didn’t get eaten by the bear, he’s no good out here in the woods. He could be lost. He could be too hurt to move. He could be—

—covered in what smells like animal shit and standing balefully at the base of the tree.

“I need a hug,” Peter says, voice small.

“Did you—,”

“I did what needed to be done.”

“So that’s—,”

“Don’t say it. Do you need help getting down?”

“I’ll figure it out. Don’t touch me.”

“That’s fair. I’ll be in the lake. Will you bring me all of the soap and soap-like products we own?”

“Yeah. Gimme a minute.”

“Thanks, Harley.”

“Peter?”

“Yeah?”

I love you. I’m glad you’re not dead. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come back. My life wouldn’t be the same without you in it. You’re everything I want.

“You’re an idiot,” he says.

Peter nods. “Yeah.”

~*~

“Black bears can run 35 miles per hour,” he says conversationally. They’re sprawled on a blanket while the fire crackles nearby (but not too close, they’ve had enough disasters for one day). His foot is propped on the tackle box, elevating his ankle and Peter is beside him, flat on his back staring up at the stars through the trees, close enough that their arms brush.

“Trust me, I know.”

“They can also climb trees,” he continues reading from his phone. “You should never climb a tree to avoid a bear.”

“Harley—,”

“If a bear notices you, stay calm. Most bears don’t want to attack you.”

“Dude, I get it.”

“Move away slowly and sideways. Do not run. Do not climb a tree.”

Peter snatches the phone out of his hands and sits up. “I panicked, okay? I can’t lose you! I had to get you out of there.”

He goes still, the crackling of the fire and the crickets the only sound in the night.

“Say again?”

“Don’t,” Peter says harshly, still holding his phone far out of reach. “Don’t make fun of me about this one. You don’t get it, okay?”

This isn’t how he expected this to happen. Hyper aware of his heart beating in his chest, he asks, “What don’t I get?”

“I was terrified.”

“And you think I wasn’t?”

“Not in the way I was. I was— It was like— It was like if anything happened to you, nothing would be okay ever again. I don’t—,” He pulls in a deep breath, chest heaving as his eyes shine uncommonly bright in the firelight. “I don’t know. You’re— Ever since we met things have just felt right and good in a way they hadn’t before and I’ve already lost so many people and then you were in danger and I couldn’t do nothing. I couldn’t.”

“Okay,” he says gently, sitting upright and scooting over on the blanket. “Okay.” He takes the phone and sets it aside then takes Peter’s hand in both of his. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m okay.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Peter says miserably, sniffing and wiping his eyes with the back of his free hand. “I think I have been for a long time.”

“Well, that’s lucky because I think I’m in love with you too.”

“You— What?”

“Mhmm. Since at least this morning.”

Peter stares at him. His lips twitch. “This morning? For real? Are you teasing me?”

“A hundred percent serious. It hit me right before you dumped my tent poles all over 36th street. Unrelated, you should wear my clothes more often.” He pauses and then says, “I think today was the universe asking me if I was sure I wanted to be tied down to your dumb ass for the rest of forever.”

“And?” Peter asks, eyes wide in the firelight.

“Yeah,” he says, smoothing a curl away from his forehead. “I’m sure.”

Peter leans in and kisses him, soft and quick. “Is that okay?”

Heart in his mouth, he says, “I think you can do better.”

Peter laughs and smooths his thumb over his cheekbone. “I love you.”

“I love you too, darlin’.”

[rebelwrites]

Chapter Three: A New Home and Revelations

Summary // Chapter List / Masterlist

Join The TagList Here 💜

A/N: feedback is always accepted especially with this as I’d love to know your thoughts.

As Brooke walked through the airport she was glad to finally be able to stretch her legs. She had never been that good at flying so now it was over at least she could take a breath and somewhat relax. To the world she looked like a confident twenty one year old exploring the world but inside she felt like the scared little eight year old she once was.

Finally after scanning the arrivals hall she saw a couple holding a sign with her name written on. It took her a second to start walking towards them but as she did she felt a sense of familiarity about them, like she had met them in a past life. Taking a deep breath she pushed the feelings aside, smiling at them as she walked closer.

“Brooke right?” The woman smiled softly at her.

“Yeah that’s me” Brooke nodded as the guy took her suitcase from her.

“I’m Chris and this is my wife Laura” he smiled.

They quickly sensed that Brooke wasn’t in the mood for talking as they walked through the airport.

The drive to her new home was quiet, which she was grateful for, all she wanted to do was eat and take a nap. It had been a long flight, but she had a feeling that she wouldn’t be able to get a nap for a while.

Looking out the window she watched the trees and scenery as she headed to her new home. Soon enough the car came to a stop at a large set of metal gates. This was it, this would be home for who knows how long. She watched as Chris spoke to the guys guarding the gate. Pulling her headphones out she paused her music to listen to what they were saying but it was all in whispers so she gave up. The sound of a familiar rumble in the distance caught her attention. She knew that sound anywhere. As they drove into the property Brooke was shocked this place was huge, there were bikes racing about and a lot of fit guys. Maybe this place wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Once the car was parked she climbed out of the car, stretching her back, feeling the soothing of her bones cracking.

“Come on, first stop is meeting the president” Chris said as he hauled her suitcases out of the car.

“Is this some kind of democracy? Like you have your own President” Brooke said raising her eyebrow. Where the hell as she.

“All will come clear” Chris laughed holding his lighter out to light Brooke’s cigarette as well as his own “I have a feeling you are going to fit in perfectly”

Soon enough they were standing in a room that looked like an office, Brooke looked around seeing all of the pictures lining the white walls. Wherever she was, it looked like a big family.

"Prez this is Brooke her family sent her to live with me and Laura" Chris said nodding at the blonde who smiled, awkwardly waving a small wave as two more guys appeared.

One of them definitely caught her attention, and she couldn’t help but smirk. His golden hair, bright blue eyes and bulging muscles covered in tattoos. He was definitely a god and definitely Brooke’s type. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad living here with the eye candy she thought. Before mentaly scolding herself for practically drooling over the blonde god.

She was in a complete world of her own so she didn’t realise that the other guy was staring at her rather intently.

“Urm mate take a photo it lasts longer” she sassed “in fact scratch that I don’t know what the hell you would do with it.” All the guy could do was smirk which annoyed her.

“I mean the sass is there” he chuckled as he studied her face a bit harder. “Wait, it can’t be. Please tell me this isn’t a joke”

“Urm” Brooke said, extremely confused as everyone stared at her. To make matters more confusing everything and everyone seemed so familiar. Like she had been here before. There was something about this place that felt like home.

“Please tell me you actually brought her home” the dark haired guy said on the verge of tears.

"sorry don't know what you are on but I've never been here in my life" Brooke snapped as she fiddled with her lighter in her pocket.

“Yeah it’s definitely her Bro” Blonde god grinned.

“Can someone just tell me what the fuck is going on” Brooke huffed. She always hated being kept in the dark. Before she could process what was going on she the air was squeezed out of her in a bone crushing hug.

“I think you need to take a seat as we have some things to explain” Blonde god said, the power that radiated off him made Brooke want to submit to his every word. “Where have you been all this time?”

“Long story short, living in London, like causing trouble. Caused said trouble and my adopted parents sent me to live here and now I’m hella confused and I don’t like it” Brooke said as she played with her thumb ring, the one this she always did when she was nervous.

Around two hours had passed and Brooke learned that the dark haired guy was James, her older brother and blondie was Xavier. She was part of this family before she was kidnapped when she was around eight. Which tallied up with all her memories of the foster homes and that time she didn’t like to think about let alone mention. Every question or piece of information the boys have her made her head spin even more. She had so many questions but had no idea where to start. Whether it was from the confusion or lack of sleep she felt her eyes get heavy before everything went black.

The lads watched as Brooke’s knees gave way, without a second though Xavier was by her side wrapping his arms around her waist so she didn’t crash onto the floor. Adjusting his grip he laid her on the sofa that was in the office. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The last time her saw her she was the shortest sassiest little eight year old known to man. He was honestly speechless as the woman laid in front of him.

“I can’t believe it’s her” he mumbled as he ran his hand through his hair. “I didn’t think we’d see her again” he took in her features but a couple of things caught his eye as her jacket slipped off her shoulder revealing some nasty scars, most of which looked like burns apart from the six inch scar that was definitely from a knife. Anger ran through his veins as his blood boiled, this was his bumble bee and he was ready to find the bastard that did this to her and make him pay for laying his hands on the girl.

“Xav” James called “now isn’t the time to be thinking about revenge okay, we need to take things slow this is a lot to take in”

“Yeah you are right” Xav sighed, pushing himself to his feet. Before walking out of the office, he needed some air.

“Xavier please tell me my eyes aren’t deceiving me and that was actually Brooke I saw go into your fathers office” hi mum smiled.

“Yeah mom it is” Xavier nodded.

“And you aren’t happy about that no?” She said softly knowing the internal battle her son was having.

“I couldn’t protect her mom” he sighed not making eye contact as his mind filled with the events of that day “that day was the worse day ever, I told her I wouldn’t let anything happen to her but I didn’t follow her and she’s been through god knows what”

It was Brooke’s eight birthday party, the compound was buzzing with excitement, as they were getting everything set up for the princess of the club.

Xavier barged into Brooke’s room to find her sitting on her bed colouring some unicorn.

"Bumble you wanna to come down to the pool with me and James" Xavier grinned watching her green eyes light up causing her to drop her crayon.

"get out of my room then you big oaf" she giggled trying to push him out of the room.

Xavier grinned even though he was 5 years older, everyone knew he would do anything for Brooke, their bond was like no other and she always went to him is she was upset or needed a cuddle after having a bad dream. Within five minutes he felt a small hand grab his before being pulled towards the pool.

“Last one there smells” Brooke shouted already running off, with her panda bear safely tucked under her arms, before reaching the edge of the pool, dropping the panda on the lounge chari and jumping into the water, not wasting any time.

The hours passed and the place was filled with giggles as the three of them messed about in the pool, until Brooke was growing tired and climbed out of the water.

"I'm going to go for a walk" she grinned pulling her dress over her wet bathing suit and grabbed her panda.the bear she took everywhere since Xavier won it at the fair for her last year.

"OK B stay where we can see you" James smiled as he tackled Xavier dunking him under the water.

After about 20 minutes that’s when there was an ear piercing scream that could be heard around the compound making everyone freeze. That was Brooke’s scream. The boys clambered out of the pool so fast running over to where the scream came from but they couldn’t see anything and were soon ordered by their fathers to go wait in the clubhouse.

Xavier sighed as the memory replaced in his mind.

“I should have followed her, I should have been there to protect her. I broke my promise to her” he said blinking back the tears that had formed.

"Hey you didn't know son" his dad said putting his hand on his son's shoulders.

"The thing is she doesn't even remember us, that’s what’s killing me more than anything, she doesn’t remember her family” Xavier snapped as the tears threatened to fall. "I'm going on a ride" He muttered leaving the room. He needed to clear my head, he was future president of the Blackstar Mc and he couldn’t let people see him like this. See him so weak.

One thing caught his eye as he stood on the main steps to the club house. A perfectly white kawasaki ninja pulled up the drive but he didn’t recognise the bike nor the number plate. He was so caught up over the bike he didn’t even realise that James was now by his side.

"Xav we need to talk" James said. Xavier knew what this was going to be about. "I'm talking to you as my best friend and not how a future vp would to his future prez right" he said running his hand through his hair.

"Ok bro fire away" Xavier nodded, sparking his smoke.

"I know how much you are tearing up right now, but we all are. We just found Brooke after so many years” James said “but I know that look Xav, that’s your I want this girl to be mine look”

“I can’t help it” Xavier sighed.

"I know bro, I know" James sighed "I just want to say I am fine with you being with her and couldn't think of a better person to be with her, but please protect her and don't freak her out because there are a lot of things we are going to have to explain to her." Xavier knew where James was coming from at the end of the day she was his blood.

[ais-for-alex]

The Scars of Our Past: Chapters 4 and 5

Alrighty, so chapter 4 is kinda short so I’m doing these two together. Hope y’all enjoy =) 

Chapter 4:

This isn’t weird, this isn’t weird. Logan told himself as he climbed the stairs leading to the upper levels of the stadium. I am a professional athlete, this is my workplace, I have every right to be here. Quietly he settled into one of the hard plastic seats and slid down just a bit in hopes that no one would see him skulking up there. Logan glanced down at the phone in his hand, it was the same time he had run to the rink the day before, his heart seemed to beat a little quicker at the memory.

“Lo?” suddenly Logan’s heart was racing for a completely different reason as he looked up to meet Finn's big brown eyes where he stood on the steps next to him, “What are you doing up here?”

Logan drew in a sharp breath, “Um… I-“ he glanced down at the ice then back up at Finn's questioning look, “I wanted to see the stadium from up high, you know see the rink the way the fans do. Wait, what are you doing here Harz?” Logan asked, turning the question back in an attempt to deflect from his own shaky answer.

“Oh, well…” Finn stammered, “Same as you. Wanted to see things from a new angle.” With that, he flopped into the plastic seat next to Logan’s own, grimacing slightly at the hardness. Logan scoffed a bit at that but chose not to respond, instead, he let his body fall forward, elbows braced on his knees as he peered down to the blinding white ice.

Only a moment later, a figure began gliding forward, the two of them were too far up for Logan to make out the man’s facial features but he could still very clearly make out his height and the mop of blond curls on his head. For just a moment he paused there, in center ice, then he seemed to take a deep breath exhaling slowly before he finally began.

“Fish,” Logan couldn’t help but gasp watching the way his body moved.

“I see. I see him Lo,” Finn said a bit breathlessly, his voice taking on that deep timbre Logan so rarely heard. He felt Finn's hand slide over the curve of his back, palm settling warm on his neck as their eyes followed the man sailing around the rink.

Logan felt hypnotized by his movements. He couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to look away. No, he wanted this man in his arms. He wanted to feel the strength of the muscles he was using to fly, under his palms under his fingertips. He wanted to feel heat flushed skin pressed against his own. God, Logan wanted it.

And that scared him.

Logan sucked in a sharp breath and tore his eyes away, he stood up abruptly causing Finn's hand to fall from his neck.

Finn. Logan wanted him too. He wanted so much, for so long. But he couldn’t have it.

“We should go,” he said quietly, avoiding looking down at Finn’s questioning eyes, “we aren’t supposed to be here anyway.”

“But-“ Finn started his eyes darting back and forth between the man on the rink and Logan.

“You know what, you stay. Watch,” he nodded down at the rink, “I’m- I’m just gonna go.”

Logan didn’t look back as he walked away. He couldn’t. Because he knew Finn had that look in his eyes, it was always there when he walked away. And Logan knew that look, he recognized it as the same one that had settled into his own eyes when Finn had left him all those years ago. He recognized the loneliness, the abandonment, the love. But Logan desperately hoped that maybe if he walked away one more time, it would finally break this thing between them, and he would never have to see that look on Finn's face again.

Chapter 5:

You’re doing it for a friend. That’s it. You didn’t ask to go.  

That’s what Leo told himself while pulling on a clean pair of jeans and a cozy sweater, waiting for Fabian's text. Somehow his rationalizations did little to quell the anxious squirming in his stomach. It had been so long since the last time he had been to a game, since he had even dared to watch one. For over two years, Leo had completely cut the sport and all of its reminders out of his life; it hurt too much to watch and remember. Remember everything he lost when- no!

Leo shook his head and pushed away the memories threatening to creep back to the forefront of his mind. Just then, he felt his phone buzz and looked down to see Fabian’s message, grabbing his jacket on the way out Leo quickly slid into the backseat of his friends’ car.

“Hey Fab, Benji; nice to see ya again,” Leo greeted, buckling his seatbelt as Fabian's boyfriend pulled the car back onto the road. Leo had met Benji a couple of times in passing, whenever he came to pick Fabian up from practice. The man was quiet, preferring to simply nod in acknowledgment rather than speak, but he seemed kind and stable and he perfectly balanced Fabians flair for dramatics.

The drive to the rink was quick and before he knew it Leo was sitting a couple of rows back from the glass, surrounded by the loud raucous crowd. It was overwhelming, noise and bodies pressing in around him on every side.

Leo could feel his heart rate picking up. Feel his hands begin to tremble. Feel his breath catch on each inhale as he remembered; remembered the last time he had seen this scene, he had been on the ice then. Each time he blinked he could see it, could feel it.  The sure way his skate blades dug into the ice marking up his crease soothing away the nerves. The infectious joy and excitement that radiated off his teammates as they warmed up- no!

Leo gasped a breath, don’t you dare think about that night right now. Something else, find something else. Anything else. Leo looked around almost desperately for something to ground himself when finally his eyes landed on the ice. Smooth, and clean, and white. He wished he was on it. He wished he was spinning; letting the color, and the noise, and the memories bleed into a blur of nothing and everything all at once.

Suddenly, the white ice he had focused on was obstructed by a pair of skates as one of the players came to a quick stop as he warmed up. Leo let his eyes trail up as the person stood there shifting his weight from skate to skate until his eyes landed on the name on his bright red jersey; Tremblay. Leo felt a breath fall past his lips as the memory of those beautiful emerald eyes filled his mind, the soft plush lips that had twisted into a smile when he skated closer. He couldn’t look away. Leo barely dared to blink, too scared that he would lose sight of Logan as he ran his warm-up drills. Timing his breathing to the steady rhythm of Logan’s skates, Leo felt the rest of the audience melt away... at least until there was suddenly a plastic cup of foamy amber liquid in front of his face.

“As promised,” Fabian slid onto the plastic seat next to Leo, “Ooo, who ya watching?” he asked in a faux scandalized voice.

Leo blinked and took the beer he was handed, “Ah, thanks, and no one,” he said, quickly finding Logan again amongst the other players.

“Hmm, number ten is it?” he asked, having followed Leo’s line of sight before bumping his shoulder, “good choice. Maybe a bit burlier than I thought you would go for but…”

As he was speaking, Logan skated over to another player and nearly tackled him in an attempt to smack him on his helmet. Leo’s breath hitched as he caught sight of the name; O’Hara.

“Oh, maybe seventeen instead? Another good choice.”

Leo chose to ignore his friend's comment in favor of letting his eyes track Finn as he laughed and pushed back at Logan playfully. Finn was skating around the rink when his attention was caught by some kids waving signs and banging on the glass a few rows in front of where Leo was sitting. A tiny smile formed on Leo's face as he watched Finn toss a couple pucks over the glass, the man bumped his fist to the glass and was about to skate away when he glanced up. Suddenly, his big brown eyes landed on Leo; and the smile that took over his face was so bright Leo had to blink at the sight of it. Finn waved hugely at him before turning to shout over his shoulder and within the next moment, Logan came to a hard stop right next to him. Finn leaned down to say something that made Logan look up at the crowd and lock eyes with Leo. Logan’s grin was breathtaking and Leo felt a flush begin to creep up his neck as they both waved at him again.

Leo let out a light chuckle and gave back a timid wave just before the two of them were called back to finish warm-ups.

“Do you know them?” Fabian asked, leaning closer to be heard in the loud stadium, “Have you been holding out on me? If anything saucy happened, I demand details,” he laughed and nudged Leo.

“No I don’t, and no nothing saucy happened.”

“Really? They seemed to know you.”

Leo rolled his eyes, “They happened to walk in on my practice the other day. We barely exchanged ten words before Madam Maxine showed up.”

“Well, you must have made quite the impression,” Fabian laughed before turning to say something to his boyfriend.

It’s not me that made an impression, Leo thought to himself as their faces flashed behind his eyelids. God, pull it together, it’s not like you even know these people. In all honesty, Leo had no idea why these two men seemed to have wiggled their way so thoroughly into his thoughts, he didn’t know them, they barely even had a conversation. But for some reason Leo felt a pull towards them in the pit of his stomach like an invisible string had leashed him to these strangers before he had a chance to stop it.

Leo felt himself relax just a bit watching Finn and Logan, his anxiety quelled as they played. Something about it was intoxicating, watching the way they moved so sure on the ice, the smooth way they transitioned on and off the bench, Leo felt like he could watch them forever.

Read on AO3

Chapter 3 Chapter 6

[brax-was-here]

Scarlet Briar: The Seeds of Life Chapter 5

Written by: Braxxus

Chapter 5: We Thought You Had Perished

Sometimes plans don’t go as planned 

Sounds of the jungle’s inhabitants buzzed all around Ceara as she travelled through the unforgiving terrain, evading sparce groups of mordrem as she followed the roughly cut path.

“A relic of Mordremoth?” she thought to herself. The vegetation of the jungle slowly diminished giving away to an open area shattered by Mordremoth’s vines

“Why can’t I be rid of him?”  she muttered to herself as she passed by inert thorn covered vines jutting everywhere from the ground. The plateau eventually narrowed to a point overlooking a chasm.

“Well…” She muttered as she looked over the edge of the cliff into the canyon below. “I guess this is the moment of truth.” The breeze whipped past her as she mulled over her choices. “It’s either risking death or…” she turned, looking back the way she came. “Or finding the longest way around.” She placed her goggles over her eyes and looked out over the canyon. She opened a panel on one of her gauntlets, focusing on a ridge on the far wall.

“Feh, not there.” She spat as a small reading came up indicating it was too far to reach by teleportation. She looked at the canyon floor. The same reading came up.

“Thorns.” She tried one other ridge that was closer, but it too was too far away.

“Well…I have my answer.” She reluctantly resigned herself to using the glider Zuma had given her. She breathed in deep as she stepped a few yards away from the ledge, deploying the wings. She pressed a switch on her gauntlet. “Hopefully if I fall, I’ll be able to teleport somewhere to a safe spot…maybe. Anyway, here we go…” She raced to the canyon edge and leapt. She started falling at first, until the wind caught her and carried her away from the canyon wall.

“AAAAAH HAHAHAHA!!!” she screamed as she realized she as gliding down the canyon, her heart racing with excitement. “I’M FLYING!” She hadn’t felt this excited since the first time she jumped through one of her steam portals.

“Cian…” The terrain passed below her as her thoughts briefly drifted back to the sylvari from long ago and how he dreamed of flying with the birds. “I’m sorry…” she smiled as she watched the canyon pass by. “Well, no time to dwell on such things now.” She thought as she slowly descended to the ground. Once again, she stumbled slightly upon landing.

“I’m going to have to practice that landing part.” She muttered as she got to her feet. She turned and looked back the way she came to see how far she had travelled.

“Wow.” She lightly gasped, smiling. “Who knew it was possible? Anyway, no time to waste.” She closed the glider wings and continued her journey through the canyon.

“Mordremoth…” she whispered as she looked up the canyon walls. Giant vines protruded along the route, twisting and threading through the canyon. Her anger simmered at the memories of what he had done to her.

“I wish I could have delivered the death knell myself.” Her lips twisted in disgust as she looked down at the canyon floor in front of her. “That bastard…” she hissed. Drawing a deep breath, she tried to push the memories from her thoughts. Travelling around a bend, she spied the wreckage of a pact airship in the distance, crushed within the coil of a slew of vines. The air was deathly still as she cautiously approached the area, readying her rifle. Only the sounds of far-off jungle birds made any sounds. The debris field around the smashed ship was large, with nothing recognizable, save for a couple makeshift cannons set up on ramshackle supports. There were signs of a hastily built camp, but she could tell it had not been inhabited in a long time. Makeshift weapons were strewn about the area.

She knelt, grabbing a piece of sharpen metal fitted with a hastily carved wooden handle. “They used whatever they could to fend off the dragon’s minions.” She thought to herself looking over the weapon. A slight squeak in the wreckage pulled her attention away. Dropping the knife, she readied her rifle, catching movement through the hull of the airship. She could hear the sounds of scarp metal rattling as something was moving quickly through the wreck.  

“Skritt? Are you skritt? Come out. Now!” A small lizard hopped onto a top of an open container, peeping at her.

“Oh…” a small sigh of relief as she lowered her weapon. Just then more appeared from the wreckage. They wasted no time charging at her.

“GAH!” she gasped as she instinctively dropped her rifle and activated her force shield just as they surrounded her.

“I definitely don’t have time for this nonsense!” she spat as she unhooked the handle of a beam saber from her belt. Igniting the blade, she dispatched the small creatures quickly.

“I’m not your dinner!” She growled as she sliced the last of the small reptiles. “Wonderful. Something else to watch for in the place.” She snarled as she hooked the hilt back to her belt before picking up her rifle.

“Ok, this has got to go for now.” She removed the glider and set it against a pile of twisted metal. “As useful as this glider is, it’s quite cumbersome.” She cautiously climbed through the hull. “Empty containers, improvised weapons…and blood everywhere.” she noted as she looked at a dried patch of what appeared to be blood smeared across a panel of the airship.

“And no remains of the pact members anywhere. Hmm…” she spied a small book laying under a piece of twisted flooring.

“What have we here…A journal of sorts.” She leaned her rifle against a piece of debris as she started flipping through the pages. “It belonged to an asura named Gledde.” She continued paging through it, stopping at an entry.

“Twenty-four hours have passed since we were yanked from the sky by Mordremoth. Half of our sylvari comrades have abandoned us, running off into the jungle following a “call”. The ones that have stayed are doing their best to stay focused. We’ve done our best to fortify the wreck site and set up a camp. We’ve managed to salvage enough supplies from the storage lockers to last a few days, maybe a week, and made some extra weapons out of parts of the ship. Also, we were able to get a couple cannons set up for defense.”

She turned the page. “The mordrem are everywhere. We can feel them watching from the trees. Their attacks are sporadic, and when they withdrawal, they drag the bodies of the fallen with them. It’s a little unnerving to say the least. Are they eating the dead? It’s something I’d rather not think about. Hopefully we’ll be rescued soon.”

“Five days have now passed. Our supplies are dwindling, our numbers are shrinking. We can only light the signal fires for a short time before we have to extinguish them for fear of attracting the enemy. I fear we may not make it back to Tyria.” She paused as a small light blink on one of her gauntlets. “Hmm?”

“Someone’s behind me…” she thought. In an instant she unholstered her pistol and spun around to find another pistol pointed at her face.  She glared at the individual clad in brown leather armor, a scarf and bandana concealing his face, leaving only bright blue eyes staring at her. She glanced at the uncovered arm holding the pistol, blue sylvari skin revealing the identity of her assailant.

“Well…” she spoke slyly. “This is particularly interesting…” she smiled. She dropped the journal, smacking her assailants pistol aside with her own. She pulled the trigger, firing a shot but the blue sylvari was able to sidestep her. He grabbed her arm, locking it in position. Planting his foot behind her, he grabbed her around the neck and tossed her to the ground. She brought her pistol around, but he kicked it away, planting one foot on her right arm and a knee on her left, pinning her down.

“Oooooh, how did you know I like it rough!?” she mockingly squealed. “Just be warned…I never kiss on the first date.” He pointed his pistol at her. She smiled.

“So why don’t you tell me who you are before you have your way with me?” she asked slyly.

“Scarlet Briar…” a deep voice spoke behind the scarf.

Ceara sighed, rolling her eyes. “No, that’s me. I asked you who you are...Harbinger!”

Her assailant paused a moment before pulling his scarf away, revealing the face of a sylvari she had read about in Amaranda’s book.

“Malyck…how nice to finally make your acquaintance.” she smiled.

“Why are you in this jungle?” he asked, his tone very serious.

“Why, I’ve come to pick flowers.” She replied sarcastically. He pointed his pistol at her forehead.

“I know what you have done to Tyria, woman. Do not provoke me.”

“You mean what Mordremoth did to Tyria.” She spat back.

“Mordremoth? It was you who awoke him.”

“He controlled me.” She said, her anger starting to rise. “Now, unless you plan to ravish me, would you be so kind as to remove your pistol and let me up?”

“You are-“ he was cut off by voices nearby.

“I’m sure the shot came from near this wreckage. Probably inside.”

“Ok, you check inside. I’ll stand guard out here and keep an eye out.”

They both looked out and saw two sylvari approaching.

“Nightmare courtiers.” Ceara whispered recognizing their armor. Malyck rolled off her ducking behind a pile of scrap metal. Ceara pushed a switch on her gauntlet, activating her stealth field. She ducked behind a large piece of metal plating.

“Thorns…” she spat as she watched one of the courtiers picked up the glider.

“Someone was definitely here. Look at this.”

“That’s one of those gliding things the frogs had.” The other spoke. “Do you think it’s still here?”

“Not sure. Be on your guard.” They watched as the courtier entered the hull of the ship, his sword drawn. His gaze settled upon Ceara’s rifle. “Whoa…” he gasped, picking it up from its resting place. “What kind of weapon is this?” he turned and hurried out of the wreckage. “Hey, look at this!” he shouted.

“Whoa. That thing is…that is impressive. What kind of rifle is that? It looks like something the rats would make at Rata Sum.”

Ceara’s field faded. Malyck glanced at her before turning his attention back to the courtiers.

“We could kill them easily.” he whispered. Ceara nodded, bringing her pistol up.

“I’m sure Nafiona would love to have this in her arsenal.” One of the courtiers spoke.

“Nafiona?” Ceara whispered. She looked at Malyck, who was bringing his own pistol to bear on them.

“Wait!” she whispered. He looked at her confused. “I have a plan.” She slowly reached into one of her satchels, pulling out two small devices. She pressed a button each, attaching on the inside of the skirt of her armor. She tossed the other to Malyck, who looked at her puzzled.

“What are you doing?” He asked looking at the device.

“It’s a tracking device...” She whispered. “So you can find me.”

“What? Why would I want to do that?”

“There is a frog village to the east with an acquaintance that is looking for this group of courtiers. Head there to get her and some help.”

“Why should I help you?” he protested.

“Because they are both our enemy, and this Nafiona wants some powerful relic of Mordremoth that is in this jungle somewhere.”

“Relic of Mordremoth? What is that?”

“I don’t know, but I have the feeling it’s going to be bad for all of us if she finds it. So please, go to the village and get help.”

“What are you going to do?” he muttered as she pulled her hood up and stood quietly.  

“I’m going with them. To find their camp. Just be ready in case this goes south quickly.” She started moving towards the courtiers.

“Wait…what? Are you mad?” he asked. She gave him a disgusted look.

“Your words hurt, harbinger.”

“Don’t call me that. I am not some harbinger of doom.” He replied back. She started towards the opening in the hull.

“Would you be as so kind to return my weapon to me?” she commanded loudly as she moved through the wreckage, her hand resting on her pistol under her cloak.

“Who’s there!?” the courtiers turned, one drawing her bow, the other pointing the rifle. “Show yourself!” Ceara exited through the hole in the wrecked ship.

“Do you not know me?” Ceara asked, removing her hood. The faces of the courtiers dropped.

“M…Madam Scarlet!?” one asked disbelievingly. Ceara, stifled her gasp, trying her best to hide her surprise at the name.

“You…you’re dead!” the other added.

“Well obviously I’m not! I seem to be very much alive! Now why are you courtiers out here in the jungle!?” she asked coyly.

The duo looked at each other.

“Well!?” Ceara acted agitated.

“Uh…Madam Scarlet, we’re here with Nafiona. She’s on the hunt for something powerful. Something she could use to unite the Nightmare Court.”

Ceara brought her hand up to her face, resting her elbow on her other arm, acting as if she was pondering the Courtiers comment. “What is your name, boy?” She finally asked him.

“Caelan…madam.” He replied, somewhat sheepishly.

“Caelan?” She paused a moment, narrowing her eyes at him. “You were at the nightmare tower…” she muttered.

“Yes, Madam.”

“Are you still catching flies with your mouth?”

“Uh?” Caelan reached up and found his mouth hanging slightly open.

“That’s what I thought.” Ceara snarled at him. “My rifle…now!” Caelan quickly held the rifle out, kneeling before her. She pulled the clip out looking inside of it.

“Hmm…” she raised a hand in the air in front of her, causing a small holographic panel to appear. She tapped a few keys in sequence and another clip appeared in her hand. Plugging it into the rifle, she activated it. The rifle powered up, extending its barrel and projecting holograms around it giving readings. The coutiers were seemingly amazed at it.

“That…that is an impressive piece of equipment, Madam.” The woman said.

Ceara glanced at her with a sly smile, deactivating her weapon and slinging it over her shoulder.

“So, what is your name, girl?”

“Orla, madam.” The sylvari bowed.

“Orla…I do not know you.” Ceara looked at her. “How many more of you are there?”

“Madam, a little over twenty.”

“Twenty? Well, the court seems to have shrunken these days without Faolain to guide it.”

“The court still exists, Madam. It’s just…” Caelan paused. “just that some traitors felt the need to try to control it. Nafiona will make them see the error of their ways.”

“Oooh, so…it’s fractured, you say?” Ceara mockingly pondered the thought. “It seems the warlords are thirsty for power. Where is Nafiona now?”

“She is with the main group, Madam.” Orla replied.

“Take me to her.”

The duo looked at each other before responding. “Yes, Madam.” Ceara glanced over her shoulder towards where Malyck was hiding and gave a slight nod.

“So, I’ll finally meet this Nafiona.” She thought to herself.

Malyck watched the trio leave the wreck site, soon joined by a third courtier member that was hiding in the vegetation. He cautiously made his way to opening, peering out to make sure there was no one else there.

“Relic of Mordremoth…” he spoke quietly to himself as he looked at the tracking device Scarlet Briar had given him.

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

Liathlas slowly stirred as Mabli applied more extract to her wound.

“Ceara, what happen-“ Liathlas’s eyes went wide as she opened them and gazed upon the visage of a giant frog staring at her. “Um..hello” she stammered as she froze.

“Don’t be afraid. I am applying medicine to helping you.”

“Medicine?”

“Yes, you were afflicted by poison from the mordrem. I was able to save you before it was too late.”

“The mordrem? Where’s Ceara?”

“Your friend travelled ahead towards the west into the jungle in search of others of your kind.” Mabli answered, wiping her hands.

“Of my kind? What are…ow…” Trying to sit up Liathlas grimaced as her whole body ached.

“Lay down. You must rest until the poison is removed completely.” Mabli stated.

“I…can’t…Ceara is out there in the jungle and I need to catch up to her.” Liathlas stood up, shakily leaning against her staff as the room seem to wobble.

“you are too weak to travel. Especially with the sun setting. The mordrem are more active at night.” Mabli moved to the entrance to her hut. “Look, the villagers are locking down the village as we speak for the evening.” Liathlas slowly hobbled next to her and looked out over the trees.”

“Oh..my…” she gasped as the realization hit her that the village was suspended high in the canopy of the jungle. Villagers were steadily taking up rope bridges and walkways that lead down to the surface below.

“So we’re trapped here? Until morning?” Liathlas asked. Mabli nodded her head.

“But why are these mordrem still hostile? There were others…other modrem that we met in the wastes that were not hostile. They seemed…remorseful.”

“Not all the mordrem have relented the call of the jungle dragon.” Mabli turned and walked over to a small lantern. “Their minds gone. They still follow what he called them to do.” She reached into a small pouch, pulling out a pinch of a powder that she rubbed in between her fingers, sprinkling it into the lantern flame. She clapped her hands together, causing an ethereal image to appear.

“Your kind fell to the dragon in droves.” Mabli spoke. Liathlas watched as various sylvari were slowly transformed into the mordrem guard, thick plates of rough bark-like skin growing over their bodies, their faces twisting into hideous monstrous forms. Liathlas moved closer.

“Not all of your kind were so easily swayed by the dragons call. These heroes arrived here to defeat the jungle dragon.” Images of battle appeared in the fog.

“Is that…Trahearne? And Faolain?” Liathlas asked. Images of the members of Destiny’s Edge fighting the sylvari filled the cloud. Caithe being chased by a great beast bearing Faolain’s image. Trahearne and others being taken into the jungle by mordrem. Members of the pact fighting, being slain by the sylvari.

“All hope seemed lost, save for the timely arrival of another group of heroes.” The fog shifted, revealing a small group that Liathlas did not recognize, but for two. The Pact Commander and the sylvari Canach. “This group traversed the jungle and found a way to stop the jungle dragon.” The image changed again, showing the mordrem guard. Some dropping their weapons, some screaming in agony, others turning on their own kind.

“Without the call of Mordremoth…” Liathlas started.

“They were lost.” Mabli finished. “Some accepted what they had become. Others still cling to their masters call.”

“And still others try to return to the Grove…” Liathlas spoke softly. The mist faded. Liathlas sighed turning to the doorway. “I’ve got to fin-WHAAAAA!!” She found a blue skinned sylvari standing in the entry way to the hut.

“If you are looking for Scarlet Briar…” Malyck started, holding up the small tracking device. “This will lead us to her.”

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

Ceara followed the group of courtiers through the rocky ravines and ravaged terrain. Giant vines of the jungle dragon towered over head, coiling around wreckage of the pact fleet, holding the twisted shells of the airships aloft high in the air.

“With Mordremoth dead, you would think these vines would weaken and come crashing down.” She muttered.

“It would seem so.” Caelan replied.

“Madam, how did you survive the Lion’s Arch battle?” Orla asked over her shoulder.

“Quick thinking and planning.” Ceara smirked, glancing at the courtier next to her. “I knew they would attack the Breachmaker. I knew I had limited time to do what I needed to do and get out.”

“But the rumors said you were stabbed and killed.”

“Holograms are wonderful things, aren’t they? When used properly, they can fool anyone.” She said slyly, grabbing a mordrem vine and snapping the end off. It crumbled to pieces, disintegrating in her hand.

“The sun is setting.” The third coutier mentioned. “We need to hurry to the camp.”

“Oh my! You do speak!” Ceara quipped. “And here I thought you were mute. What is your name?”

“Odhran.” He replied sharply, keeping his gaze looking forward.

“Odhran.” Ceara repeated. “Well, Odhran, what are you about?”

The courtier cut his eyes at Ceara briefly before setting his gaze forward, never answering.

“It’s ok, courtier. You don’t have to be shy.” Ceara snarked.

“Can we kill this one?” Odhran asked, a hint of agitation in his voice. Ceara stopped, her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. “Her constant rabble is very irritating.” He continued.

Ceara placed her hand on her pistol under her cloak. “I’d watch your tongue, if I were you, boy.”

Ordhran stopped, turning quickly to face Ceara, his hand on his sword. Ceara stared him in the eyes, a slight smirk on her face.

Orla and Caedan both turned to see the standoff.

“What is it, boy? Do you think your sword is good enough to take me?” Ceara asked whimsically, her smile broadening.

“Ordhran, stop this nonsense. Madam Scarlet is just talkative!” Orla stood between them, shaking her finger in Ordhran’s face.

“Orla, you do that again and I’ll be sure to bite it off.” Ordhran glanced at Ceara again before turning to continue along the path. His quickly moved to the front of the group.

“I’m sorry, Madam.” Orla bowed to Ceara.

“Next time, I won’t wait.” Ceara replied to her.

The group continued on, the rocky terrain eventually changing to more of the lush forest. Every so often, the Ceara would spot a marker on a tree along the path.

“You seem to know this area fairly well. Have you been here for a while?” Ceara asked.

“We’ve scouted the area.” Caedan replied. “The camp is on that plateau.” He pointed to ridge not far in the distance. Reaching the crest, Ceara saw the Nightmare Court camp in the distance.

“Aren’t you afraid of the mordrem attacking?” she asked.

“We have ways of keeping them at bay.” Orla said to her.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Mmhmm.” She nodded her head.

Ceara reached under the lip of the skirt of her armor and pulled out the small device. She pressed a small switch on it and placed it against a tree as she walked by. As they approached, she looked over the encampment. Numerous small tents were set up, along with hastily constructed barriers built from the trees near the camp. Various sylvari were busy at work setting up more defenses. Ceara noticed some machinery set along the perimeter of the camp.

“What are those machines?” she asked inquisitively.

“Part of our defense against the mordrem, and anything else that happens that tries to make it to the camp.” Caedan spoke.

“I see.”

The group entered the camp. Ordhran quickly left the group, marching to a nearby tent. The other two took Ceara to a small fire pit near the center of the compound.

“Ordhran is getting the duchess now. I think she’ll be happy to see you!” Orla eyes were bright as she looked at Ceara.

“Activate the field!” a voice called out.

“Activating!” another replied. Ceara watched as the camp was quickly covered in a dome of energy before it faded.

“Was that what I think it was?” Ceara asked.

“An illusion field, like the one that hid the tower in Kessex.” Caedan said to her. “We thought you might like that.” he smiled.

“Interesting…” Ceara looked around the camp.

“Part of our protection from the predators of the jungle.” He added. Ceara lightly nodded, a feeling of uncertainty filling her stomach.

“Something isn’t right here.” She thought to herself.

“Well…if it isn’t Madam Scarlet Briar herself.” A sultry voice spoke from behind. Ceara turned to see a purple skinned sylvari female in dark robes approaching.

“Toxic alliance…” Ceara muttered to herself, noticing the shoulder pauldrons, gauntlets, and boots the woman was wearing. Ceara thinned her eyes at her.

“And here we all thought you had perished.” She spoke slyly.

“I assume you must be Nafiona.” Ceara said sharply.

“You assume correctly. So, tell me, Madam…” Nafiona said in a mocking tone.  “What magic was used to raise you from the depths of the harbor? And without a single blemish.” Nafiona smiled. “I’m sure you tasted rather bitter to the sea life down there.”

“Planning and preparedness is what kept me alive.” Ceara smiled.

“Is that so?” Plans within plans. Always prepared.” Nafiona spoke softly. “Even at the nightmare tower. You had a plan to escape.”

“I’m always ready.” Ceara smirked. “Now what are you doing all the way out here in the jungle. Surely you aren’t here to follow Mordremoth?”

“Of course not. We have you to thank for nearly destroying our people. That was your game plan all along. To awaken the jungle dragon and force the sylvari into slavery. Having that damn voice in our heads nearly drove us insane.”

“You don’t say!” Ceara quipped. “Please tell me about it! Tell me how it took all your willpower to keep focused as Mordremoth filled your head with thoughts that you couldn’t tell were actually your own or not. That something was residing within you. Trying to take control.” Ceara gritted her teeth. Anger showed on Nafiona’s face. Tension was in the air. Ceara steadied her hand by her pistol as she noticed she was being flanked by courtiers.

“They’re up to something.” She thought. Nafiona raised her head slightly, looking down her nose at Ceara. “Now, why don’t you call off your courtiers and maybe we can talk about-“

“Seize her.” Nafiona commanded, cutting Ceara off. The group of courtiers tackled Ceara to the ground. Ceara didn’t fight back, allowing herself to be picked up and held in a kneeling position in front of Nafiona. Her weapons were removed as a courtier grabbed her by her foilage and held her face towards the glaring Nafiona. Nafiona stepped in front of her, grabbing Ceara firmly by the chin.

“You left us there. You promised us power and glory in the new world, and you left us to the mercy of the Lionguard and Seraph. And not just them. The krait also turned against us.” She threw Ceara’s head to the side, scratching her cheek in the process. Ceara paused for a moment, her eyes closed. Taking a deep breath, she slowly opened her eyes, cutting them at Nafiona.

“So now you want your revenge?” Ceara asked coyly. “What are you going to do? Feed me to the mordrem?”

Nafiona smiled. “You are a bright one.”

“Well, I did embarrass all those stiffs in Rata Sum.”

“Heh.” Nafiona smirked as she snapped her fingers. Ceara felt something heavy hit the back of her head before blacking out.

“Strip her, cage her. We’ll get her strung up in the morning before we head off to the corpse grove.” Nafiona ordered. “Are the canisters ready?”

“Yes, m’lady.” Ordhran replied. “Loaded up and ready to be armed once we get there.”

“Excellent.” She turned her head slowly, looking down at the unconscious Ceara.

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

“We can’t just sit here while Ceara is out there with the Nightmare Court. She’s in trouble!” Liathlas protested.

“Travelling through the jungle is too risky. If we go now, we would be overwhelmed by the mordrem. We must wait until morning.” Mabli insisted.

“Hmph!” Liathlas turned to the door agitated. The night sky had fallen and most of the village’s torches had been extinguished.

“If she is as resourceful as I have heard, then this Ceara should be able to handle the Court with little problems.” Malyck spoke. “We can’t run after them unprepared.” He turned to Mabli.  “How many arrived in this village?”

“A group of five. They were asking for information about the land, and certain locations throughout the jungle. They asked about the ‘corpse grove’.”

“Corpse grove?” Liathlas turned away from the door.

“Yes, it is a place of death. Many mordrem are there. We stay away from the area, never venturing close.”

“I’ve seen it from afar.” Malyck stated.

“What is it?” Liathlas inquired.

“It is a tree, grown from Mordremoth. A place where the mordrem are created and grown. Akin to your Pale Tree and her sylvari.” Malyck responded to her.

“Hmm…she is looking for an item of great power. Do you think whatever she is looking for is there?” Liathlas asked.

“That is hard to say. Who knows what the mordrem are holding in their possession?” Mabli stated.

Liathlas sighed deeply. She plopped down next to the wall of the hut, resting her head against the mud and wooden structure before looking at Malyck. “So, Malyck. What is your story? From what I have heard in the past, you aren’t one of us.”

“No, I’m not.” He glared at her. “I came from a different tree. One that no longer exists.”

Liathlas looked at him inquisitively. “What happened?”

He sat down across the hut from her. “When I returned to the jungle, I searched a long time for my home and my patience rewarded me. I was lucky enough to find it. A grand tree, not as tall as your Pale Tree, but majestic none the less. I told my people that there were others of our kind and that we should rise up to help fight the dragons. Then Mordremoth awakened. When he rose, his creatures attacked my home. He enslaved those that were captured, killed those that resisted. He turned them into his mordrem. I do not know how many of us were able to escape. I watched as my home whithered and perished.”

“I’m sorry.” Liathlas said softly as she turned her gaze to the floor of the hut.

“We should get some sleep. We’ll need to be well rested before going after the Nightmare Court in the morning.” He said to her.

[writemywaytoyourheart]

Onrsa- Chapter 5: Lost and Not So Found

pairing: vampire!jungkook x female reader

genre: angst, horror, drama, romance

word count: 1.5k

warnings for this chapter: noooone yet

Enjoy~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been a week since the last body was found.

If anything, the amount of time and no word from the killer has made the pit of anxiety in your stomach worse than it was a week ago. It seems almost like the murders never happened, like someone made up a scary story and all that’s left is the absence of four innocent people that you don’t even know. The air feels different and everyone can sense the emptiness that the poor victims left behind when their lives were unfairly taken.

You and Ga-In haven’t gone out at night since laundry day and going anywhere alone (even in the daytime) is breaking the unspoken rule between you two. You’re pretty sure she’s sick of you by now after being cooped up in the tiny apartment together for seven days in a row.

You drag your feet across the ground on your way through campus, a sluggishness in the air as everyone else seems to be lagging today as well. Some unspoken feeling in the air that there’s no reason to rush, but also a hint of underlying anxiety.

Something is off.

But, no one knows what it is.

You reach the cafeteria and numbly grab a tray, noting that the usual hum and buzz of casual conversation has dimmed considerably. You turn to scan the room and go over it twice, anxiety becoming a pit in your stomach when you don’t see Ga-In at your usual table.

In fact, she isn’t here at all.

You aren’t going to let yourself panic, she’s probably just being a slowpoke coming from her Biology class.

Although, she’s usually here way before you. The only other time she wasn’t was when she was sick at home with the flu.

No, don’t panic unless you have a reason to panic.

You make your way through the people that are all huddling together and whispering, but you really couldn’t care less about their stupid gossip. All you want is for Ga-In to come strutting through those cafeteria doors like the model she is, you’d feel a lot better if she did.

You sit and start unwrapping the silverware to eat your salad when some random boy plops himself down next to you and shoves his phone in your face.

“What the fu-”

“Have you heard the news?” He interrupts your exclamation of surprise and you just stare at him in confusion.

“I- what?” You have no idea who this kid is, let alone why the heck he’s talking to you right now, but when he says ‘have you heard the news’, your stomach twists for the nth time today.

This boy just continues as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, and you two have been best friends for years. “There’s a missing person case now.”

Your heart drops to your feet and your throat constricts painfully, “a- a what?” You stand up shakily even as you’re speaking. You can barely hear his response while grabbing your backpack, your head swimming and screaming at you to run and find her.

She’s fine. You saw her just this morning, you were in math class with her not even four hours ago. She can’t possibly be the one missing.

You keep repeating this mantra in your head, blocking out the kid that keeps talking about……whatever the heck it is he’s saying now. You bow to him and excuse yourself, slipping away and speed walking out of the room that’s now getting louder as people spread the word of the unfortunate soul who must’ve been the next target.

~

You step outside of the building and hold your hand up to cover your eyes from the bright sun; a few students are walking around campus, carrying book bags and chattering away without a single worry except what to eat for lunch, or that paper Mrs. Jong insists is due tomorrow, even though last week she definitely said Friday.

And you really, really don’t care. 

You run as fast as you can to the science building, flinging the door open and scaring a few students when you fly past them. Ga-In’s class is in room 502, so you hurry along the hall; eyes frantically scanning the numbers on the doors. You eventually find the right room and stop short; grabbing the handle and yanking the door open, you see a full classroom of about a hundred pairs of eyes staring at you.

Oh.

This is awkward.

The professor turns to look at you and you scurry inside to his miniature podium, “I- I’m really sorry, but I was just wondering if Kang Ga-In was still here.” The man smiles gently at you and shakes his head, “I’m sorry little lady, she left almost an hour ago after my last class.” You nod and bow, whispering a thank you and another apology for barging into his class, before you hurry out the door and close it quietly behind you.

Now what? What on earth are you supposed to do?

You try to close your eyes and keep a straight head but every time you let your mind wander, you see Ga-In dead in a ditch with two holes tainting her beautiful body and no answer as to who, how, or why.

You need to find her. You can’t just stand here.

At that thought, you take off running out of the science building and back outside where people are now swarming the sidewalks and the randomly placed grassy patches. You spin around, looking in all directions, wracking your mind for any place she might have gone. Someone across the campus grounds watches you quietly, but your mind is racing so fast you don’t even notice them. 

Where could she be?

Where could she be?

WHERE ON EARTH IS SHE?

By now you’re almost in tears.

A second later you jump about ten feet in the air when you feel a hand grab your shoulder. You fling around and position yourself as though you’re about to karate chop the heck out of the assaulter, before you see who it is.  

“y-y/n?”

“Seungwook?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” He smiles and laughs at the position you’re currently in, “what are you doing?” You sit there and blink blankly for a moment before straightening up and miming dusting your arms off, “I’m, uh, just looking for Ga-In. You haven’t seen her by any chance?”

Seungwook looks thoughtful for a moment then nods, “actually, I have. She was walking into the dance building when I passed by a couple minutes ago.” Your heart soars and you grab his hand, bowing over and over again.

“Thank you! Oh my gosh, thank you Seungwook, you’re an angel! I have to go, I’m sorry!” He laughs at your antics and watches with an amused smile when you dart away towards the building he mentioned.

You hurry into the dance building and see Ga-In through one of the windows in a dance room, she’s putting some shoes on and tying them. You throw the door open and run inside; wrapping your arms around her waist and holding on tightly.

“y/n? What’s the matter? What are you doing?” Your surprise attack knocked her a bit off balance but she managed to catch herself. The relief in you is almost suffocating, but then a tiny blossom of anger and betrayal sparks into a flame and you pull away with a scowl on your face.

“What’s the matter with you, Ga-In?? You scared me!” She looks totally confused as you cross your arms angrily in front of her. “Why- how did I scare you?” You scoff and throw your backpack in a corner of the room before turning on her again, “I thought you were kidnapped! There’s a missing person case, and you don’t show up to lunch and your professor hadn’t seen you since class ended!”

Ga-In looks guiltily at you and shrugs, “I sent you a text that said I wasn’t going to be going to lunch today. I thought you got it. I’m sorry y/n….” You huff, the anger already leaving your system at her stupid puppy dog eyes.

“Well, I never got the text. What are you even doing anyway?” She looks down shyly and shakes her head, “nothing.”

“No, no. Tell me~” You whine and pull on her sleeves, knowing when you do this it always makes her laugh. “Ok, ok! Let go of me, silly.” You smile and let go immediately, plopping yourself on the ground and waiting for her explanation.

“I needed a mirror so I could practice my….. -del -alk…”

“You what?” She mumbled the last part and you lean closer to hear her better. “I needed a mirror to practice my- my model…-walk.” Your chest warms at her confession and you hug her long legs, “Ga-In! I’m so excited for you! So, you decided to pursue it?” She nods slightly and you reach out to high-five her- which she responds to by gently tapping your outstretched hand.

What a cutie-

“Wait.”

“Hm?” You look up at her sudden question and the nerves immediately come back at her next words, “what was that about a missing person?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: y’all are in for a twist in the next chapter ;) thanks for sticking with me! I promise Kookie will show up soon, I really do. I just have to get the leading up to stuff over with

[rosemaidenvixen]

A Secret’s Worth

Chapter 5: Barbara

Ao3

Barbara pulled her coat tighter around her and shivered. The air out here was brisk and sharp, but the roaring fire in front of her helped take the edge off. And a good mug of hot tea didn’t hurt either. Still, it wasn’t about to get any warmer. Jim had said he wouldn’t be out long tonight, just a quick walk and back in time to go to bed by eleven. 

 Not that the cold bothered him.

 Wind rustled through the trees around her, autumnal reds and golds rustling against evergreen needles. It wasn’t really that late in the season, but it certainly wasn’t early either. Barbara and Jim usually prefered to do their trips during the more palatable times of year, then again, this wasn’t one of their usual trips.

 She might be oblivious more often than she cared to admit, but Barbara wasn’t blind. She saw the posters printed on orange and black paper hanging on the community board at the hospital. Heard her coworkers talk about all the plans their kids were making together. Plans involving candy and costumes and spending the night out on the town. Plans no teenager would dare turn down without very good reason.

 Like say a family vacation.

 So when Jim called her during the middle of school three days ago, begging her to take the weekend off and go camping, she hadn’t been very surprised.

 Saddened, but not surprised.

 Pulling an impromptu camping trip off hadn’t been easy by any means. Between the lateness of the season and the incredibly short notice, Barbara had barely been able to get the reservations in place, not to mention gathering all the supplies they needed. But she had rolled up her sleeves, dug in her heels, and made magic happen. 

 And now here they were. Sitting in the middle of the woods, pretending that they would both rather be here than at home celebrating the holiday with friends and family.

 A burning sensation built up behind her eyes. Barbara set her mug to the side, if she tried to drink anything now she’d only end up choking on her own tears.

 It wasn’t fair, not to either of them, but especially to Jim. She knew being cooped because of his transformations was hard. Even more so when he had to say no to going out and having fun with his friends.

 On some days the only way Barbara was able to get up in the morning was by telling herself that all of this was temporary. One day she would find a cure and Jim would be free of his transformations, then they both would be able to live their lives without this nightmare. 

 Things might be bad now, but only for a little while, sooner or later it would end. For years she had told herself this and for years it had worked.

 At least until Jim’s last birthday. When Barbara stopped being so sure that there would even be an end.

 She stuffed the dismal thoughts into the back of her mind and tried to force herself to relax in her seat. No point working herself into a downward spiral. It hadn’t worked the first dozen times she’d done it, no reason to think it would be any more productive now. 

 Looking around while pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders, Barbara checked the periphery of their campsite for signs of Jim’s return. She couldn’t see much, the fire was bright but not that bright. The only things she had a clear view of were her small tent, the clear area laid down with blankets on top of a tarp for Jim, the electric lantern behind her bolstering the dim firelight, the ATV they used to get out here, their cooler and chest full of supplies, and just a fraction of the miles of forest around her. 

 No sign of Jim.

 Barbara glanced at her watch, sighed, threw another log on the fire, grabbed a couple of magazines from the stack, and settled in to wait. Jim always told her not to wait up for him, but it wasn’t like she could sleep without knowing where her son was. Better to pass the time with a magazine. Barbara never went camping without a fat stack of them. They could help her pass the time when Jim was out on his walks and could be repurposed as kindling so they didn’t have to haul them back. She always made a point to grab some from the waiting room at work when they cycled the new issues in. 

 Reaching over to the stack at her feet, she glanced between the copies of People and National Geographic before tossing the People into the fire. Gossip rags had never been her thing.

 Yawning, Barbara thumbed through the National Geographic . Hopefully this would keep her more entertained. One of the cover stories looked promising, ‘The Salem Witch Trials: Over three centuries later’ . Sounded better than celebrity gossip at least. 

 Barbara flipped to the corresponding page and started the article using the speed reading techniques she learned in medical school. It was ok, but pretty ho-hum, no more or less entertaining than watching the History channel. Should be an adequate way to pass the next twenty minutes.  

 Which was exactly what Barbara planned on doing until she came to a line that caused the world around her to come crashing down around her.

 Whipping her head to the side Barbara coughed and sputtered up the tea that had gotten rediverted into her lungs due to her shock. 

 She couldn’t have read what she just did, it was impossible, delusional even. 

 But when she turned back toward the page with a pounding heart there it was. A deceptively innocuous line of text buried in the middle of the article.

 The true witch hunt began with the arrests of Tituba, Sarah Osbourne, and Sarah Good.

 Sarah Good.

 The same name tied to the mystery that haunted their family for the past ten years.

 For a few seconds she forgot how to breathe, just sat there staring at the words printed in cheap ink on even cheaper paper. Mouth open, sitting frozen rigid in her seat, gears whiring as her brain processed all the implications of this.

 Was it just a coincidence? Sarah Good couldn’t be that rare of a name, or could there be a connection? 

 It was a stretch, even by the Lake family’s standards. 

 Her fifteen year old son turned blue and sprouted horns when the sun went down and had been doing so for the past decade. Nothing was off the table. 

 She flipped back and began rereading the article with much more intensity, blood rushing in her ears.

 Moral panic, mass hysteria, mob mentality. According to the stuffy old professors that wrote the article there wasn’t anything even remotely magical about the Salem witch trials. 

 But they hadn’t seen the things Barbara had, lived the things she’d lived.

 Was it somehow possible that one of these long ago women was more than she seemed? Had a touch of something that could still be causing ripples centuries later?

 The paper crinkled under her fingers. If there really was a connection, and Barbara wasn’t sure that there was, then this was their biggest break in years.

 As soon as she got home Barbara was going to take this new lead and hit the library, hit Wikipedia, hit anything and everything that might offer her the slightest clue. There was a chance, however faint, that history might hold some of the answers that had eluded them for a decade.

 Her lips parted as she leaned in and skewered the magazine with her gaze, feeling almost feverish.

 A dream, an idea, too lofty and terrifying to imagine flickered to life in the back of her mind, despite her best efforts to snuff it out before her hopes could rise too high.

 Barbara knew first hand how much it hurt when hope was dashed to pieces, but she had forgotten just how intoxicating it could be.

 If history had the answers, then it just might have a cu--

 “Mom?”

 Barbara shrieked, tea sloshed out of her mug and the magazine went flying.

 Jim took a hesitant step back “Sorry, did I scare you?”

 “NO! no-- I just--” Barbara glanced back towards where the magazine had landed “I was just really engrossed in the article I was reading,”

 Jim cocked his head “What was it about?”

 “I-- it….”

 He blinked back at her, wide eyed and curious. 

 “...something about the revolutionary war, how was your walk?” 

 Barbara forced a smile and very deliberately did not look toward where the magazine had fallen. She would tell Jim, but not yet. Only once she had discovered something solid, more tangible. 

 She couldn’t raise his hopes when she wasn’t even sure that her own were founded.

 “Fine,” Jim took a seat at the fire across from her “Moon’s full, that was pretty cool,”

 Barbara nodded and leaned back in her seat, picking up her half-full mug and willing the buzz of nervous energy in her limbs to fade. She reached for the long wooden branch to poke at the fire, only to notice the tote bag at her feet. That’s right, with all the excitement of her discovery she had almost forgotten. 

 “Jim, I have a surprise for you,”

 He perked up instantly “Really? What?”

 “Here,” she lifted the tote and tossed it across the fire towards him. 

 Jim caught it with ease and reached an arm in, pulling out a smaller plastic bag with a look of surprise “Candy corn?”

  “Yep,” Barbara gave him a gentle smile “Happy Halloween kiddo,”

 Jim smiled back at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes “Thanks mom,” he tore open the bag and started popping the orange triangles into his mouth while staring into the fire, expression unreadable.

 They sat like that for a few minutes, the only sounds Jim’s chewing and the crackling of the fire, before Barbara couldn’t bite her tongue any more.

 Normally she would leave well enough alone, but reading what she did in that magazine had set her thoughts a-buzzing like a nest of hornets.

 She didn’t want to corner Jim like this, to put him on the spot, make an already stressful trip worse. But she couldn’t just stay quiet, her own conscience wouldn’t let her.

 For years Barbara had tried , tried so hard to give Jim space. Let him deal with his problems without hounding him every ten seconds. 

 It wasn’t until Jim broke down crying in school that she realized just how poorly that approach had worked out. 

 Jim had shouldered so much by himself, struggling in silence, until one day came the staw that broke the camel’s back. Leaving him a shattered wreck.

 Of course who’s fault was that? A nasty voice whispered in her ear. Who should have been modeling healthy coping mechanisms for him? Who showed up after work every day dead tired and still pasted a smile on her face for years and pretended like everything was fine even when they both knew it that it damn well wasn’t. 

 Who was it that taught Jim to bottle up his emotions until he exploded? 

 More importantly, what kind of mother didn’t notice that her child was in pain?

 Barbara steeled herself even though her stomach still churned with doubt. Even if it meant pushing his boundaries she wasn’t going to let Jim fall into such a bad place, not again, not if she could help it.

 “How are you Jim? I mean really,” 

 Jim didn’t respond at first, merely finished chewing his mouthful of candy and swallowed, but he didn’t pick up any more.

 “Better,” he said after a long time.

 Barbara’s gut twisted with equal parts anxiety and relief. Better wasn’t anything to dismiss, but it wasn’t the same thing as good either.

 The days following Jim’s fifteenth birthday, and the realization that things might not get better than they were now, had been some of the worst of both of their lives, only comparable to the days after James’s departure and the night Jim first changed. 

 And as bad as things had been for her, she knew Jim’s condition was far far worse.

 He had sunk into a deep slump and stayed there for days. Barely speaking, barely eating; not even glancing at anything, video games, vespa magazines, cooking equipment, that had brought him joy just a few days before. Jim had been in such a dark place, and Barbara was powerless to help him find his way out.

 “Better how?”

 Jim twisted the plastic of the bag around his finger “Me and Toby are hanging out with Mary, Darci, and Claire; you know about them, right?”

 Barbara nodded.

 One day in the middle of his depression, just when she’d been starting to worry that her son would never smile again, out of the blue Jim had come home and told her that he was invited to go to the county fair with Toby and some girls from his class. Unsure what to do with this development, Barbara had sent Jim off with a kiss on the forehead and $20 to pay his way, hoping for the best.

 When Jim had come home that night he was smiling brighter than he had in a long time. 

 Those three names had come up frequently in Jim’s gushing the night following the county fair. And for many nights after. 

 “Has being friends with them...helped?”

 “Oh yeah, they’re really fun,” Jim said with a grin “We hang out almost every day after school and during our off period, Mary always has the best ideas about what to do and Darci is a total daredevil, plus Steve never bothers us when we’re with them,”

 That got her attention “I’m sorry, what?”

 Jim’s eyes widened, clearly having revealed more than he intended.

Barbara’s mouth straightened into a hard line “Who is this Steve and how does he ‘bother’ you?”

“A guy in my class, and nothing really,” his eyes darted around the clearing, landing on anything but her “Honestly it’s not a big deal,”

 “Jim.” her voice was iron, and offered no room for negotiation.

 He squirmed but remained silent. 

 Barbara fixed him with a narrowed gaze and waited.

 A minute and a half was all it took.

 “It’s...sometimes he…” Jim stared down at the fire, still unable to look her in the eye  “He’ll...push me and trip me in the hall, little stuff like that,”

 Barbara could practically feel her blood pressure rising “That is unacceptable. When we get home we’re going to talk to the school about him,”

 Jim visibly cringed “You don’t need to do that mom, I can handle Steve, please just don’t make a big deal about this”

 Somehow her frown got even deeper. This was a big deal. No matter the circumstances, Barbara was not going to let Jim minimize someone else’s violent behavior.

 “This isn’t up for debate. You shouldn’t have to handle another student being violent with you,”

 “It’s not that bad, telling will just make things worse,”

 “Has he threatened to retaliate if you tell on him!?” 

 “No! I-- it’s just…” Jim trailed off, his words hanging in the air. 

 The silence as taut as a wire.

 Then he sighed, sounding utterly defeated “Things at school are finally normal again, Steve might give me a hard time...but everyone else has finally stopped looking at me weird,”

 Jim looked up and met her eyes “Steve’s a jerk, a huge jerk, but I can handle him, I just want…” his voice dropped into a hoarse whisper “I just want other people to at least think I’m normal,”

 Her throat was tight. It rankled, more than that, it went against every instinct Barbara had to ignore a bully, and a violent one at that. It felt wrong, hell, that was probably because it was wrong. But could she really make things for Jim more turbulent after he’d finally regained some stability in his life?

 His life that was only going to get more difficult from here on out. 

 Or maybe it wouldn’t.

 Barbara shut her eyes and let out a deep breath “Ok, if you don’t think the situation with Steve needs addressing we can leave it be,”

 Jim perked up.

 “ However , if things start to escalate with him, even a little bit, you let me know right away, got it?”

 Jim nodded “Got it,”

 “Good,” Barbara leaned back and forced herself to take another sip of tea.

 The uncomfortable subject was officially dropped, but things were still strained between them, waiting to snap under the slightest trigger.

 “Steve may be a jerk,” Jim said softly “But I really am doing better,”

 “Are you Jim? Are you really ?” she knew her tone was sharper than it should be, but right now she didn’t have the mental space to worry about that. Right now Barbara was too worried and too scared and too frazzled and too tired. So goddamn tired “Because I feel like everytime you say that it’s only to make me feel better. You never tell me when things are bad or that you’re hurting,”

 “I swear I’m not downplaying things this time!”

 “How do I know that? You didn’t tell me what was going on on your birthday, you didn’t tell me about being kicked out of the Mole scouts-- Christ, another student’s been harassing you at school and this is the first I’m hearing about it!”

Neither one of them said anything for a long time

“This-- this isn’t like that!”

“Well I don’t want the next time that I find out you’re struggling to be when one of your teachers calls me because you broke down crying again!” 

 Her mouth shut with a click. She’d gone too far, way too far. Barbara should not have said that. But now the words were out there, and she couldn’t take them back if she tried.

 The stunned look on Jim’s face told her that he hadn’t been expecting her to go this far either.

  “There’s social media,” Jim finally spoke up in a quiet voice “Mary practically forced me to make seven new accounts so I can follow her on everything,” he gave a weak smile “So even if they move away we can still stay in touch,”

 “Jim…”

“And Darci’s dad’s a cop and Claire’s mom is a politician, so maybe not all of them will move away...” 

 Jim straightened and raised his head towards her. The look on his face, uncertain but so so determined, tore at her heartstrings “I really am doing better,”

 Barbara got up from her seat and walked over to him, reaching out and laying a hand on his shoulder “And I’m happy for you, I’m glad that you’re doing better and I’m sorry I snapped at you like that. It was wrong of me to say what I did and I promise I won’t do that again,” 

 She gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze “I’m glad things are better for you now, but if they get bad again...please don’t hide it. Talk to me, share how you feel so it doesn’t build up,” 

 It was a testament to how tall he was getting that Barbara barely had to kneel to look Jim in the eye even while he was sitting “I know you think you’re protecting me when you hide your problems, but remember, we’re a team. And I can’t help you if I don’t know that something’s wrong,”

 Even with the tusks she could see his lip start to quiver “We take care of each other,” Jim’s voice was thick with emotion “Right?” 

 Her own eyes brimming, Barbara pulled him into a hug “Right,”

 Their embrace lasted a few more seconds, long enough for both of them to sniffle their unshed tears away, before Barbara gently pulled back, Jim releasing her willingly, and went back to her seat.

 She took a few more sips of tea and he munched on his candy corn while the fire cracked and popped between them, the silence much more palatable now. 

 Her tea was almost gone when Jim spoke up again.

 “Actually, there is something…”

 “What is it?” Barbara forced herself to stay calm and not jump down his throat with a dozen questions. Jim was putting himself out there, now she had to do her part and let him speak.

 Jim shifted uncomfortably in his seat “You know Claire? One of the new girls I’ve been hanging out with?”

 “Yes?”

 “I...like her...as...more than a friend,” even as he said those words he slumped back in his seat, like a puppet with the strings cut “But I can’t...date her or even tell her as long…” he sank even lower “As long as I’m like...this,”

 A dagger to the back couldn’t have hurt her any deeper. Jim’s transformations had taken so much from him already and now he couldn’t even...

 Barbara was keenly aware of the magazine on the ground behind her, blazing like a hot coal from just beyond her vision. 

 In that moment she vowed that she would chase down whatever possible leads this new discovery offered her. Run to the ends of the earth, leave no stone unturned. Do whatever it takes to find a cure. Barbara would find a way for her son to live a normal life, with all that entailed.

 No matter how many decades it took. 

 “Thank you for telling me,”

 Jim managed to crack a smile before going back to his candy corn.

 Finally able to relax, they settled in to just enjoy the rest of the night and each other’s company, accompanied by the soft glow and crackles from the dying fire. The hour slips away, Barbara finishes her tea and Jim polishes off his candy corn and eats the bag to. 

 Eventually Barbara stood up from her chair “I’m going to bed, be sure to take care of the fire before you go to sleep,”

 Jim yawned and stretched “I think I’m gonna turn in to,”

 Barbara raised an eyebrow “Aren’t you still hungry?”

 “Nah,” Jim appeared to only be half listening while he spread the coals around with the stick.

 She frowned, glancing at the crumbs of orange sugar on the ground. Even by his night-food standards that wasn’t a very nutritious meal “You should have more to eat than just candy,”

 “It’s ok, I ate earlier,”

 She looked over at their cooler full of food stores, all of it untouched “What did you eat?”

 Jim fidgeted and looked away while pouring their used dishwater over the glowing ashes “I...uh...a fox,”

 “A fox?”

 “Yeah...I saw it on my walk...it was dead when I found it...so I figured why not,”

 Her blood ran cold “Do you have any idea how it might have died?”

 “Old age?”

 Barbara slowly walked over and grabbed the electric lantern, now that the fire was out they needed the extra light to see each other “How long ago did you eat it?”

 “About two hours ago?” Jim’s voice was small, some of her anxiety starting to leech into him.

 Two hours. Which meant it was probably too late to make him vomit it out.

 “Mom, what’s wrong?”

 Barbara took a deep breath and willed herself to stay calm. The were in the middle of the woods miles away from any kind of civilization; panicking wouldn’t do either of them a damn bit of good right now “That fox might have died from a disease, like tularemia or bru--”

 “Or rabies…” Jim finished, blue face growing pale in the lantern light.

 Barbara grimaced, her thoughts exactly, she’d wanted to avoid scaring him by saying so out loud but it looked like he’d put it together himself “It’s ok, it’s only two hours back to the rental place and one to the nearest town big enough to have what we need. We can just say a fox bit you, that should get you all the shots you need. If we get up at six we can get there before ten,,”

 Barbara walked over to Jim and squeezed both of his shoulders “Don’t worry,I’ve seen rabies exposure cases before, people have received their initial rabies shots almost 24 hours after they’ve been bitten and made complete recoveries. Ten am tomorrow is plenty early enough,” 

 Even if she was battling her own fears Jim needed to hear those words from her right now.

 She managed to smile and pat him on the cheek “You’re going to be fine,”

 His expression wavered before solidifying into enforced composure, he nodded back at her.

 With that they separated and set about preparing to retire for the night, despite the fresh undercurrent of panic.

 Soon pajamas were on, teeth were brushed, and the lantern was out; the only light coming from the small flashlight she held. And once Jim was bundled up on his tarp and Barbara was cocooned in her tent that was extinguished too. She shut her eyes and settled into the sleeping bag, determined to get a full night’s rest.

 Barbara was just starting to nod off when she heard Jim whisper from outside. 

 “Are you still awake mom?”

 “Yeah,” she replied with a yawn “What is it hon?”

 “We’re going to tell the clinic that an animal bit me and that’s why I need the shots, right?”

 “Uh huh,” 

 “Then...won’t it look weird if I don’t have any bite wounds on me?”

 Her eyes shot open. 

[dface]

5 times peter found new mentors + the 1 time he has his old one back

chapter three : sam 

Two months after Tony's funeral, aliens attack New York for the fourth time. 

It's a Saturday, which means Peter is at Stark Tower, training with Wanda. After the compound was destroyed in the battle, Pepper bought back Stark Tower, to be a temporary space for the Avengers– or whomever is left. Peter tries to spend a few days a month bonding with the team– mostly to get away from May's worried glances. At least if he wakes up with nightmares, his room at the Tower is soundproof. 

He's sparring with Wanda with Bucky as a watchful eye, when they get a call from Captain Marvel. The comms message goes in and out, but the attack incoming is clear. Sam tells everyone to suit up and then the sky explodes. 

Sam doesn’t say anything, just grabs his shield and jumps out of the window. 

​“Team, do you copy?” Captain Marvel says.

​“Danvers, you better have a good reason for this,” Sam says, sounding an awful lot like Steve.

​“Does needing backup count as a good reason?”

Peter flips out of the Tower, shooting a web at the building across from him. The air is crisp, though he can’t feel much of it through the nanotech of the suit. As he swings between skyscrapers KAREN starts displaying close up images of the aliens- insect-like creatures with large, jagged jaws.

“These ones have quite a bite,” Captain Marvel warns, and Peter can hear the exhaustion in her tone. He hasn’t seen her since the battle at the compound, since everything with the gauntlet-

NO. Peter wills the thoughts out of his head. He can’t get distracted, not on a mission like this, not with so many lives on the line.

"KAREN, find me some aliens to web up," he says, and his field of vision lights up with activity, pulling up images from cameras around the city. He swings towards a group that seems to be overpowering Wanda, a few blocks from the Tower. The tech in his suit outlines the aliens in red, keeping Wanda a cool blue.  

“Would you like me to activate Instant Kill?” KAREN says, and Peter falters, landing sloppily on a rooftop. The words are too similar, and for a second his mind flashes back to that brown, bloody battlefield. He blinks and returns to himself, shaking out his hands.

“No,” he says, and shoots a new web. As he swings KAREN is silent, like she knows the damage she’s done.

“Do we know why they’re attacking?” Sam asks. Peter perches on a fire escape above Wanda and starts webbing up the aliens closest to her.

“Maybe they just wanted to pester us,” he says, and is met with a chorus of groans.

“Just focus on keeping them away from civilians, Spider-twerp.”

“Aye-aye, Cap!” Peter chirps. He swings down to land a kick to the last standing alien and then raises his hand to Wanda. With a grin she tries to hide, she high-fives him– and then he's off again, swinging around the corner. 

"I got a swarm making their way up Madison,” he says, shooting a taser web at the new pack of enemies. The aliens turn and hiss in his direction, the sound like coins rattling around in an empty jar. Peter's heart clenches. He finds himself trying to keep his distance, webbing the monsters up against building walls.

"I'm all clear," Bucky says. 

"I'm good too," says Rhodey. "Anyone need a hand?" 

Peter is about to ask for help, his chest feeling strangely tight, when the sky above him splits with the roar. A large black ship comes into view, the lowest point grazing the top of the Tower. Captain Marvel, Sam, and Bucky all curse at the same time. 

 "What is that?" Peter says, but then the ship glows blue and Peter's spidey-sense explodes. He lets go of the web he's swinging on and drops as what sounds like thunder crashes above him. Around him, glass shatters and bricks crack. He hits the ground and runs into an alleyway, dodging falling debris. 

"What the hell–" 

"-the biggest energy pulse–"

"The building on 61st is collapsing–" 

There is so much noise, and it's like Peter's senses have gone haywire from the pulse. Screams of civilians and shouts of his teammates overlap, and his eyes squeeze shut with the force of it. He stumbles, his hand against the brick building, and the jagged edges feel like they're piercing his skin. Everything feels like fresh pain, like a million paper cuts. 

"KAREN, sensory overload–" Peter says, and a moment later the sound around him is muffled. When he opens his eyes, everything is darker, like he's wearing sunglasses. The pain is still there, but Peter can actually hear words again, so he considers it a win. 

"Does anyone have eyes on Spider-man?" Sam says. Peter pulls himself up against the wall. 

"I'm here, I'm fine. I just fell," he says. His ears are still ringing, pin-pointing cries for help around him, magnifying them until he can't hear himself think. Captain Marvel is explaining the alien ship's tech, but Peter can't hear her over the sounds of a baby crying, maybe a few blocks away. Peter can feel her panic. It sets in his bones, vibrating from the inside out. His hands shake as he lifts them to his head, tries to focus on the little girl's wails, to pinpoint her location. 

"Wanda, Peter, Bucky, secure a perimeter and get people to safety," Sam says, and the baby hiccups, as if to agree. Peter stands and follows the sounds of her sniffles, runs down an alleyway and crawls under a fallen sign, to where a young girl is sitting, looking lost. She must be three or four, with curly brown hair and long, wet eyelashes. She doesn't react when Peter scoops her up and starts running again. 

"Perimeter starts at 30th," Bucky says, so Peter turns left and then springs into the air when the aliens spot him. He shoots a web and swings past them, keeping one arm curled tightly around the toddler. Surprisingly she doesn't scream, just wraps a chubby arm around his neck and squeezes. 

There's a cop standing by the corner of 30th and Park Ave, waving crowds of people down the street. She freezes when Peter lands in front of her. 

"Spider-Man," she says. Peter holds out the girl. 

"Found her alone," he pants, "take her for me." 

The officer takes the child in her arms and Peter turns. There are more aliens flying towards them, buzzing wildly. Peter, for a moment, can't do anything but stare at the hoard of them, his heart in his throat. 

Then he hears the little girl whimper, tucking her face into the cop's neck, and he starts running. Shooting webs with both hands, he pulls himself up and over the aliens, landing a kick as he passes overhead. It does what he wants, gets their attention, makes them turn and chase him. Running along the side of a building, he tries to think of a plan to deal with the aliens– and comes up short. It's like his brain can't process the information around him, focusing more on how he's bound to slip, that the aliens sound like they're getting closer– and then something latches onto his leg and tugs from below, pulling him back to the pavement. The alien launches onto him before he can think, it’s pincers digging into his shoulders. It's mouth takes up most of it's face, drool dripping, sizzling where it lands on Peter's suit. 

“No!” he yelps, squirming. The alien’s teeth get close to Peter's neck and he panics, kicking hard with his feet and launching it into the air. The stench of the it’s breath lingers, and suddenly it is all too much. Peter's instincts stop telling him when to duck or what's coming up behind him, instead telling him to run run RUN. 

He listens to it, swinging through the streets of Manhattan without a glance at the world around him, his heart hammering. There is another wave of energy and this time Peter isn't prepared. The web snaps and he falls, landing hard on the pavement. Chunks of nearby buildings pepper the ground around him. He stands and tries to start walking, but he can hardly focus. Everything reminds him too much of the last battle, of the creatures he had killed, of the bullets raining down, of Tony's ashen face– 

A piece of cement hits Peter in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground again. He curls inward instinctively, wanting nothing more than to sink into the ground and stay there, untouchable. All he can hear is his own heart, beating three times too fast.

"Peter, it appears you are experiencing another panic attack," KAREN says. 

"Someone," he calls into the comms between shallow breaths, "I need help." 

"Would you like me to engage the Time-Out Protocol?" KAREN asks. 

Peter wants to laugh, but doesn't have enough air in his lungs to do so. 

Tony had created the protocol long before everything with Thanos, after Peter had a panic attack during a late-night patrol and passed out on a random rooftop. There are two steps: dull Peter's senses so he can focus on breathing, and then call one of his emergency contacts. 

"No," he says.

"Are you sure?"

The only contact Peter had programmed into the system was Tony.

"No one is available." He chokes on dust or maybe a sob, his vision blurry with tears. 

"Mr. Stark added more contacts to the system," KAREN says softly. 

"What?" 

"Most of your teammates are listed as options. Would you like me to choose one?" 

Photos of Rhodey, Sam, and Wanda appear on the screen. There is an empty slot where Tony's picture used to appear, a grey box that KAREN left untouched. Peter's chest pain spreads through his body, like blood oozing from a wound. 

"No." 

"Peter, your conditions are worsening." 

"I don't want any of them," Peter says, pulling his knees to his chest. 

"Does anyone have an extra hand? Getting swarmed over by the tunnel," Captain Marvel says over the comms. For a moment Peter sees her standing over him at the compound, the infinity gauntlet warm in his arms. He can hear people dying, the heart beats stopping abruptly, the moans of wounds and blood. He doesn't know where Mr. Stark is and if he's still hurt from that stab wound Thanos gave him, or why he looks so much older. He's exhausted and scared, terrified at the thought of having to get up and face the world again, and there are so many monsters here– 

"Spider-man, do you copy?" Sam calls, and Peter comes back to Earth. He is curled under a dumpster. There are no aliens near him, just a cat with matted grey fur, staring at him like he stole her spot. 

"Spider-man, are you hit?" Sam says. 

"No," Peter says.

"Where are you?" 

"Um," Peter says. The cat is headbutting his shoulder. 

"Give me a location kid, I'll come to you," Sam says, and this time he is much softer. 

Peter crawls out from underneath the dumpster and hobbles to the corner of the street. 

"41st and 10th," he says, and then sits back down, leaning against the building closest to him. 

After only a minute, Sam soars over to the corner, dropping down to a crouch. Peter shrinks into himself, pressing against the wall. Sam's wings fold in on themselves as he tugs off his goggles. 

"Hey Pete," Sam says, slow and soft. "You wanna tell me what's going on?" 

Peter can’t find the words to explain. He sits and stares up at Sam, fighting for breath. 

“Are you hit?” Sam asks, stepping closer. 

Peter shakes his head. He feels like himself before the bite, when he had asthma attacks after running up a flight of stairs. His mask recedes and the New York air helps slightly, but not much. 

Sam crouches in front of him. 

“Can I touch you?” 

Peter nods. Sam takes hold of his wrist. The suit retracts from his hand, leaving it bare. Sam waits until it’s finished before placing it against his chest. 

“Close your eyes and count along with my heartbeat. When you get to ten, count back down to one.” 

Peter can hear Sam’s heart with his super hearing alone, but doesn’t pull his hand back. The material of Sam’s suit feels nice under his palm, smooth leather and cool metal combined. 

Slowly, the world comes back to him. His shoulders drop in relief when he can breathe, and Sam notices it. He sits on the ground across from Peter, his black boots grazing Peter’s suited feet. 

“Better?” 

“Yeah,” Peter says, “thanks.”

“You ready to talk about it?”

Peter studies the palm of his still-bare hand. As usual, the shame floods through him in waves. As if Sam can read his mind, he nudges Peter’s foot with his. 

“Hey. No reason to feel weird or embarrassed about any of this. It happens. If you don’t want to talk just yet, we can wait.”

Peter glances up at Sam. He’s staring at Peter head on, eyes warm with patience and understanding. He can still hear Sam’s heartbeat, strong and present and grounding. 

"I haven't fought in a big battle like this since–" Peter can’t finish the sentence, so Sam speaks for him. 

"The one at the old compound.”

Peter ducks his head back down.

"Sorry," he says, face flushing. "I should be better at all this." 

"Don't apologize," Sam says, nudging Peter's foot again. "You're dealing with stuff no other kid your age has even thought about. Anybody would have trouble with all of this– and they do." 

There is a moment of silence that Peter uses to wipe at his face as discreetly as he can. 

"Did you know I used to be a counselor?” Sam says. “I helped veterans who were dealing with life after war. It can be really helpful, to have a place where you can talk about all that, with someone who can understand." 

It takes a minute for Peter to connect the dots. 

“Oh,” he says, his eyes wide. Sam smiles and shrugs. 

"If you ever wanted to chat, you could spend some time at my apartment. When I'm not flying around the city, I can be a pretty good listener."

“I think… that would be cool,” Peter says, after another moment. Sam nods a few times, then stands and holds out a hand. Peter takes it and lets Sam pull him up. 

“Guess I should check on the rest of Manhattan now,” Sam jokes– and like it’s planned: 

"Cap, we need a hand rounding up remaining aliens," Bucky says in the comms, and Peter's suit reforms around his hand and head. Sam stops him before he can shoot a web.

"What are you doing?" he says. 

"We have to go help the team," Peter says. Sam shakes his head, his wings unfurling behind him. 

"Why don't you help secure the perimeter, make sure no civilians are left behind." 

Peter didn’t know he would be relieved until Sam says it and his breath rushes out of him in one long exhale. He nods, unable to think of what to say. Thank you doesn’t feel like enough. 

“You got it, Cap,” he says instead, light and short and not like his cheeks are sticky with drying tears, and launches into the sky. Smoke rises around the buildings, but Captain America rises above it all, the white star on his chest illuminated by the sun. Peter trails behind him, comforted by the familiarity of the flying shadow on the buildings next to him. 

That night, May shows him the interview on CNN with the little girl he saved. Peter cries when the camera zooms in on her drawing of Spider-Man carrying her through the air. 

[vincent-frankenstein]

To My Heart and Soul

[ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | you are here | 16 | 17 | 18 | read on AO3 ]

Warnings: major character death, villain/abusive deceit, blood, fighting, panic attacks, creepy imagery

Pairings: logince, hints of moxiety, a tiny smidge of remile and past abusive anxceit

He was halfway to the house when the world exploded.

The sky filled with sickly yellow light, powerful magical energy rushing past him quickly enough to tear trees from the ground and send them flying. But even as it tore up the world around him, the energy didn’t touch him. The first wave passed quickly, dangerously fast, and a beacon of molten gold shot into the sky, blazing brighter than the sun.

Logan mapped out the city in his mind, and wasn’t at all surprised to find that the beacon was coming from his old house. His feet carried him towards the light before the terror in his lungs could freeze him, and he held the weapon even tighter, face hardening. People rushed around him, panicked, terrified, and they paid him no mind.

The weapon thrummed in his hands, a deep, steady hum, melodic and comforting as it urged him on. He ran a finger down the hilt, his thumb catching in the hole. It was barely half an inch deep, with grooves dug around the side, as though something was meant to slot inside. A key, maybe?

Oh.

Oh.

His feet didn’t slow, even as his mind reeled with the realization. The weapon was filled with Roman’s magic — his lifeblood, essentially. In other words: his heart and soul. And to his heart and soul, Logan held the key.

Mind racing, he pulled his wedding ring from his finger and held it up to the hole. The sizes matched up perfectly; it would be a perfect fit. Could it be that easy, that poetic?

Of course it could. Roman had designed it.

A shaking breath fell from his lips as he slipped his ring back onto his finger, bold determination sparking to life in his gut. It didn’t feel like he was marching towards his own death anymore; rather, he felt like he was marching towards someone else’s. He’d cracked the code, solved Roman’s puzzle, just as Roman must have known he would — and now he could give Dorian back every ounce of pain, every moment of grief, that he himself had been suffering with since Roman left.

The house came into view, and he stopped without meaning to, grief slipping, unbidden, into his chest. The windows were shattered, the wood rotten and twisted beyond repair, empty and barren and wrong wrong wrong in too many ways to count. It was only a reflection of the home he once had, he knew that — but that fact didn’t make it hurt any less. Facts rarely did.

Golden light emanated from the attic window, bursting through every hole in the dilapidated roof. Even as it brushed past him, leaving him unscathed, the impossible power of the golden magic sent cold, buzzing fear jumping into Logan’s throat. He’d never felt magic like this before.

With a wave of warmth, the weapon spurred his feet into motion. Dorian was powerful — but the weapon was, too. Logan only hoped it was enough to stop him, once and for all.

He slipped his ring back off his finger and held it up to the hole as he stepped into the wreck he’d once called home. The moment he stepped over the threshold, silence fell over him like a thick, suffocating blanket. His footsteps echoed down the hallways no matter how softly he stepped. His heart pounded in his chest, and for a long, paranoid moment, he wondered if it was loud enough for Dorian to hear, loud enough to get him killed.

He held the weapon tighter.

His feet carried him down the path from his nightmare even as a small, foolish voice in his mind screamed at him to stop, to turn and run and get help. But there was no one who would help him, not without hiding him away first, and he couldn’t, couldn’t be taken from his husband again.

Roman was exactly where he knew he would be, but Logan still cried out the moment he saw him, rushing to his side in an instant. The room swam before him as his eyes began to sting, his hand shaking as he lifted it to hover beside Roman’s face. “Roman,” he whispered, and his voice shattered, shards of broken glass landing on his tongue. Slowly, he brought his hand down to cradle the side of Roman’s face.

And Logan touched Roman for the first time in months.

It burned, it ached — Roman’s skin set fire to Logan’s hand and it raced up his arm, sinking deep into his bones, filling his lungs with ash — and he wanted more. He pressed his forehead up against Roman’s with a desperate, pained noise, his tears burning their frigid tracks down his cheeks.

With a soft, pained groan, Roman shifted, eyes fluttering open. Their eyes met, and Roman’s filled with tears, a desperate gasp falling from his lips. “Logan,” he breathed.

Logan surged forward and pressed their lips together, and Roman’s words died on his tongue. The fire spread between them until they were both aflame — Logan’s hands tangled in Roman’s hair and Roman leaned into him with aching desperation, and they pressed closer, closer, closer —

Roman pulled away with a sharp, pained gasp, pressing his forehead into Logan’s. “What are you doing here?” he whispered, his voice trembling so badly that Logan could barely understand him.

“Rescuing you,” Logan said. “I told you, sunbeam. I’m not leaving without you.”

Tears pooled in Roman’s eyes at the nickname, spilling over onto his cheeks. “Y-You idiot,” he whispered. “You brave, wonderful idiot, you — it’s all happening exactly like —”

“Like I said it would?”

Roman cut off with a choked gasp. “You — you know?”

“I only just learned,” Logan said. “I… spouted a prophecy in the Council hall. Given your strange behavior and your apparent knowledge of the future, coupled with my… my abilities, it wasn’t too hard to determine that I’m the reason you left.”

“Logan —”

“It’s my fault,” Logan continued, and he really, really wanted to stop, but the words poured from his mouth in a deluge of guilt and desperation and every ounce of grief he’d shoved away. “I — somehow, I made you believe that you had to leave, that you had to face things alone, and because of that, Dorian was able to capture you. It’s — it’s all my fault —”

“Logan,” Roman said sharply, and there, there was a hint of his passion, his fire, beneath the grief and the pain. “That night, you predicted that Dorian would come for me. That if you got involved, you — you would die. I thought I could change the future by leaving.”

“I —” Logan’s voice broke. “You could have told me, we could have figured it out together. You didn’t have to leave.”

“I-I know,” Roman said, his voice just barely above a whisper. “I panicked. I couldn’t — I couldn’t lose you.”

 “So instead, you made me believe I lost you?” Logan dragged a hand across his eyes, swiping away the tears that refused to stop gathering. “I — do you have any idea what I’ve been through? How much that hurt? Roman, I though you were gone, I thought I had lost you forever, I —”

“I know,” Roman said, a sob tearing through his words. “I know, I — I regretted it as soon as Ieft, but I thought I was protecting you. And it didn’t even work! Dorian — he knew I was still alive, and of course he knew about you, so it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.”

“I —” Logan cut himself off with a sharp sigh. “It doesn’t matter. Right now, we have to get you out of here. We can… talk later.” He set the weapon on the floor beside Roman and kneeled down behind him, grabbing the chains that bound his hands to the floor. “These don’t appear to be magical.”

“They’re not,” Roman said. “Magical bindings would have probably killed me.”

Logan dug a pair of pins from his pocket and lifted the chains. “There is one thing I don’t understand,” he said as he worked, twisting the pins through the keyhole with a practiced precision. “If your goal was to keep me away from all of this, why did you leave so many clues that only I could figure out?”

“Because I know you, starshine,” Roman said. “The last thing I wanted was for you to come here, but I knew there was a chance you’d find this place — or it would find you. I wanted to give you a fighting chance.  I meant to give the other key to Patton, with a letter explaining everything, so you wouldn’t be the only one with the answers, but… well, you can see why I didn’t get the chance. I ended up giving it to Vir —”

Logan yelped as the chains were suddenly jerked from his grasp, and Roman cut off with a choked gasp, both hands rushing to slap over his mouth. Yellow light flared around the chains and yanked them away, forcing Roman down.

“Such a lovely reunion,” Dorian said softly, his slow claps echoing unnaturally through the room. “It’s a shame I have to cut it short. Hello again, Logan.”

For a moment, Logan couldn’t move. His breath caught in his throat beneath a wall of words and he choked, insults laced with venom dying on his tongue. Something was… wrong. Deeply, deeply wrong. Golden light burned around Dorian’s figure, acrid smoke curling through the air; and with every move he made the light shifted to follow, afterimages searing along beside him. Something flickered around him. Logan blinked and it was gone.

Roman cried out as the chains grew tighter, pressing his face into the floor. Logan didn’t hesitate — he shoved away his terror and grabbed one of the shackles, jamming his lockpick into the hole. Dorian tutted, golden magic swirling from his fingertips to wind, snake-like, around Logan’s limbs, but he fought with all his might against them, and with one final jerk, the shackles fell to the ground.

And Logan was jerked up and away from the floor, coils of magic lashing around his wrists and burning into his skin. Pain flashed up and down his arms but he refused to scream, refused to give Dorian the satisfaction. His job was done; Roman was free, and the weapon was at his feet.

“Let him go.” Roman’s voice dripped with venom, his face contorted with rage. He lifted the weapon towards Dorian, the tip pointing straight at his chest. But Dorian… didn’t look scared. He raised a disinterested brow, waving a hand through the air to draw Logan closer.

“Have you discovered a way to make that thing work without a key?” he asked, smug victory laced through his tone. Roman’s expression faltered; his fingers tightened around the hilt of the sword, doubt flashing in his eyes. “You never cease to amaze me, dear brother. Go on, then, if you’re so confident.”

Logan strained against the bonds with all his might, desperate to reach his wedding ring, desperate to somehow, somehow give it to Roman. A searing golden coil snaked across his mouth before he could cry out, and tears gathered, unbidden, in his eyes.

“That’s what I thought,” Dorian said. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to give me the weapon, and you’re going to give me the key,” he said, pointing to Roman and then to Logan with all the languid ease in the world. “Then, you will either return to your mortal world and leave this one to me, or you’ll die by my hands. Either way works for me.”

“No,” Roman said, lifting his head to glare regally down at Dorian. “I won’t leave this world to suffer. I won’t let you win again.”

“Oh, honey, it’s a bit too late for that,” Dorian said, and the golden magic flowing from the attic pulsed as if to prove his point, washing the world outside in a sickly yellow glow. “I’m trying to spare you. Don’t play the hero, Roman. This world is a lost cause.”

“I would rather die than let you destroy my home,” Roman spat. He stood tall despite his bruises, shifting the weapon in his hands as he shifted into a fighting stance. Logan’s heart stopped; the magic binding him flared painfully. Dorian’s form seemed to flicker — a thousand emotions crossed his face before he settled on a cold, placid rage.

“How noble,” he whispered. “You would sacrifice your own life for your home. Tell me, Roman…” He lifted a hand and Logan drifted towards him. Darkness tugged at the edges of his vision; the pain had begun to subside into a dull, throbbing numbness. Probably not a good sign. “Would you be as eager to sacrifice his?”

Horror flashed across Roman’s face. The weapon lowered; he seemed close to dropping it. Dorian laughed, high-pitched and cruel. “You’ve forgotten who holds the cards in this scenario,” he taunted. With a sick grin, he twirled the end of the magical ropes around his finger. “Tick-tock, Roman. I need an answer.”

“I —” Roman’s gaze caught on Logan and his eyes filled with tears. Logan shook his head. Don’t do it, he pleaded silently. The weapon was their only hope; Logan’s life wasn’t worth it.

“Time’s up.” Dorian closed his fist around the rope — and they tightened so swiftly that colors popped before Logan’s eyes, agony racing through every inch of his body. Darkness sank into his bones and tugged; he was coming apart, coming undone, dissolving under the pain —

And then it stopped. Cold relief dripped through the searing pain, and bit by bit the darkness receded. He was on the floor, cold tiles digging into his face. Someone was talking to him — their voice pitched with panic, their hands shaking as they urged him to his feet. A face swam before his eyes.

“Roman,” he wheezed, his voice haggard and raw. “Where… where is the…?”

He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to; with a dawning horror he realized where the weapon had gone, his gaze trailing up Dorian’s form. He turned the weapon over in his hands, slowly, deliberately, glee sparkling in his eyes. His sclera had begun to turn black, Logan noticed with a start.

“Perfect,” Dorian whispered. His voice echoed through the room, double-edged, wrong. Roman shook, the blood draining from his face.

“You’re not Dorian,” he breathed.

“Of course I am,” Dorian said, tilting his head to the side. “Just not as you knew him, I suppose. You see, I’m not alone anymore.”

He spat his words with such venom and such force that Roman nearly toppled. Suddenly, Logan was supporting him just as much as he was supporting Logan. That horrible something flickered around Dorian’s form again, hideously golden, and it was gone in the blink of an eye.

“Now then,” Dorian said, moving his terrible gaze from Roman to Logan. “The key, if you don’t mind.”

“N-No,” Logan managed. Dorian having the weapon was bad enough; he refused to give him the power to activate it. “I don’t know how to activate it. I — I don’t know what the key is.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, Logan,” he said. “I am not an idiot, and neither are you. You wouldn’t have rushed into this without knowing how to activate the weapon. Give me the key.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to Roman. Roman shook his head minutely, terror painted across every inch of his face. Something was deeply, deeply wrong. Logan clutched his husband even tighter, narrowed his eyes, and spat in death’s face.

“No,” he said again, as forcefully as he could manage. Dorian raised an eyebrow.

“You really don’t know when to quit,” he said, lifting a hand. Logan braced himself — no matter what happened, no matter what sort of pain Dorian could invoke, he wouldn’t give up the key. Yellow light flared and pushed against them like a wall of fire, painful, agonizing —

Until a deluge of purple pushed it back.

[spartanguard]

savage garden, 5/?

Summary: Killian Jones was, by far, the worst, weakest, most ineffectual Dark One ever. (According to the Darkness, at least.) And he was fine with that. He was just a slave, a deckhand—what use did he have of dark magic? And even less want. But the Darkness has vowed to firmly get him under its grasp, one of these days. He finds respite in a beautiful secluded garden—and the amazing woman he eventually meets there. The question remains, though: is it—is she—enough to keep him out of the dark completely? One can only hope…

5.9k | rated T | AO3 | part 1 | part 2 (art) | part 3 | part 4

A/N: HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS TO THE AMAZING, INCOMPARABLE @optomisticgirl!!!! I know you’ve probably already read this chapter but I had to dedicate this update to you—not only for all your help on this story, but for constantly letting me bounce ideas off of you, letting me vent, and being an all-around amazing person and friend. I LOVE YOU, B!!!!

also, the title for this chapter comes from “Gunning Down Romance” by, you guessed it, Savage Garden. and this chapter actually is longer! hope y’all like it!

chapter 5:  I don't think I can keep this monster in

Love is a weakness, you know.

“Maybe; maybe not.”

She’s not worth it—all this effort. Just take what she can give us and move on.

“I make my own decisions, thank you very much.”

For now.

He hated how ominously they said that, but there wasn’t much of anything else for him to focus on during the three-day journey to the castle. The one perk to not needing rest was that he could travel through the night, cutting down the time it took to get there, but that meant no respite from the Darkness and its incessant taunts. He’d packed a book to try to read as he went, but after falling over three sets of tree roots, that idea was abandoned. (He didn’t remember there being so many last time; had it really been that long since his last trek to the castle?)

Also, he wasn’t sure it was love—not yet. He’d only truly made her acquaintance a few weeks ago; it seemed too soon to be tossing that word around, especially given her opinion on the matter. He couldn’t deny the affection he felt for her, which grew each time they met, but it was so different from the only other time he’d been in love that he wasn’t sure it was the same feeling.

His relationship with Milah had been odd, he knew in hindsight, but it was real. He needed someone to look out for him; she needed someone soft and gentle in contrast to her sharp edges. Despite what the crew might have thought him capable of, they did lead a passionate physical relationship as much as they did a supportive emotional one. She was the first person to see him as more than a slave; he was the first to treat her like a lady and more than just a housewife.

It had taken time for their relationship to develop, as most do. It wasn’t the grand, sweeping tales he read about, but how many are, really?

With Emma, it was nothing like that. They were kindred souls, certainly, and he couldn’t explain how or why he was so drawn to her. But he’d changed so much since Milah—or, rather, the Darkness has changed him. Was he even capable of love anymore?

What do you need that for when you have all the power you could ever want?

“Bugger off,” he muttered, carefully stepping over yet another protruding root.

“Well, that’s rude, considering I hadn’t even said anything.”

He froze in place at the unfamiliar female voice, eyes scanning in every direction for its source and finding nothing. He turned around, but still only heard the heavy swish of his leather jacket around his legs. “Who’s there? Show yourself!” The Darkness covered up the fear in his voice, but he still felt it.

“Up here,” the voice said again, sounding annoyed.

His eyes jumped toward it, and hovering above his head was a woman—a very tiny one, with equally miniature wings keeping her aloft. “You’re a fairy,” he gasped.

“Yeah, what of it?” She darted closer to him, nearly in his face—close enough for him to notice her tiny green dress and blonde hair. “Planning on taking my power, too?”

He was taken aback, and blinked a few times in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

A bright light flashed, and suddenly, the little woman wasn’t so little—she looked no different than the average woman, though still on the short side; even with her hair piled on top of her head and the heels on her boots, she couldn’t get past Killian’s nose.

“Don’t play coy with me, Dark One,” she threatened, pressing the tip of her green wand under his chin. “We know you’ve been spending time with Emma. What else could the Dark One want with the Savior but to take her magic and corrupt her to save his own arse?”

Glad someone gets it. If only you did, too.

He ignored that, choosing to respond to the fairy instead. “I don’t want to hurt Emma at all; I only want to help her—I promise you.”

“Yeah, right. The Dark One never does anything for free. What is your price going to be—her magic? Her heart?” She let her wand drift down to his chest, hovering over where his organ was probably decaying. Then she leaned in, and her voice dropped. “Or something even more vile?”

A defensive rage was building inside—how dare she assume the worst of him? “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, fairy, but I can assure you—none of it’s true. I’m not like the other Dark Ones; surely, you can see that, given that this is my first encounter with any of your kind in the century I’ve held the title.”

The fairy clenched her jaw as she glared; he had her there. “You may think you have her best interests in mind, but I’ve seen how darkness can corrupt. I’m watching you. You better be careful.”

“Believe me, I’m trying.” He hoped she heard the sincerity in his admission.

Her expression did soften a bit, but not much; from the way Emma had described them, he had no clue the sprites could be so menacing.

“Just don’t fuck it up,” she cautioned, then disappeared into a cloud of green glitter.

He coughed a bit, some of the glitter getting in his mouth and the rest clinging to his jacket (and refusing to brush off). But, given that there was no other sight of the fairy or any others like her, he set off again.

Annoying little things, aren’t they? Pretty good on toast, though.

He groaned, but then tuned out as the Darkness ranted about the fairies, instead mulling over something else she’d said: Emma was the Savior, whatever that meant. It must have something to do with the destiny she’d mentioned, though he had no idea why the fairy thought he’d want to pull her away from that. He didn’t even know what it was. He just wanted to help her get her parents back; and if she could help free him of his own curse, then that would just be an extra benefit. And if not, then he’d take as much of her company as she granted.

Finally, after three days of ceaseless walking, the air cooled and the sky grew gray and cloudy. Even the forest seemed to lose its color as the Dark Castle loomed into view, all black stone and dangerous edges meant to keep mortals out and its own sick magic in. The Vault wasn’t far from here, but Killian hadn’t been there since he first emerged from its depths, and he was fine with it staying that way.

The gates were secure on the other side of the stone bridge that led to the castle entrance; the moat was murky and stagnant, with fishbones floating on the surface and a general sludgy appearance that always turned his stomach. He didn’t pause in front of the gate, like most would—there was no guard to open it, anyways (though Killian had made sure to bury the bones he found in the tower long ago). Instead, the air shimmered as he approached and the gate dissolved, letting him walk through, and then solidified again after he passed.

Every inch of his body buzzed once he was inside the walls. The constant chorus of voices got louder, singing with the dark magic that was humming within him. No matter how many times he came here, he never got used to it, and if he hadn’t gotten so good at keeping himself away from the edge of the void, just being here would send him over it.

The tall wooden doors opened slowly at his approach, and the long-dormant torches that lined the great hall lit on their own. The entire keep was still filled with shadows, but the torches helped a bit.

They lit the way to the library—the only place in the castle he liked, even if he’d done his best to move the more innocuous tomes out of it and into his home. It wasn’t as light and airy as the one he’d built, but it had the same slightly musty smell of pages and bindings that he enjoyed.

Many of the shelves had large empty spaces where he’d relocated their contents, but in the back was a set of shelves behind glass doors that he’d never touched: the books on magic. The hinges should have been rusty and the doors covered in dust, but they’d been just as preserved as the rest of the library, and under the extra protection of another layer of magical locks that only he could open. Sometimes he wondered which Dark One cast that enchantment, but the less he thought about the history of the curse, the better.

That goes all the way back to Nimue, FYI. As do most of those books. Just so you know.

“Thanks,” he said emotionlessly, too worried about what came next to really listen. He had to assume temptation like he’d never faced before lay behind those glass doors. “Here goes,” he muttered to himself, needing to hear the motivation out loud, and he stepped forward to pull open the cabinet.

Whatever he expected to happen—didn’t. Nothing did, actually. He expected...well, he wasn’t sure, but something—perhaps bats flying out or the screaming of the undead. It was rather anticlimactic.

They didn’t look much different than the other books; their fabric covers came in varying colors and the gold leaf on the spines was in mostly good shape. The smell was fairly similar, too. But he was still wary.

Hesitantly, he reached toward a book on the second shelf, promisingly titled Curses.

No, that’s not the one you want.

“It’s not?” He really didn’t want to muck this up.

Well, maybe; it is a good one. But there’s so many others you can have fun with, too!

“I’m not here to have fun.”

Are you sure? Because this one here—a narrow blue book on the top shelf began to rattle in place—this one can show you how to control the weather. Imagine that, being able to control storms?

The memory began to play in his head:

He remembered the storm clearly; even docked, the ship was tossed from side to side by the churning waves and lashing winds. He was eternally grateful the captain had decided to stay in port rather than attempt an early start on their next job—no sailor was good enough to stay afloat in this violent squall. He could only hope and pray that Liam’s ship was nowhere near, and since there was no chance of him sleeping on his rocking hammock, spent the whole night praying for his brother’s safety.

News the next morning proved it was all for nought; a pair of wave-beaten sailors washed ashore the next morning along with the remnants of a ship, the Jewel of the Realm—where Liam was a midshipman. Those two were the only survivors.

“No,” Killian barked. “That’s not why—“

Oooh, or there’s this one! This time, a thick tome near the floor began to slide out. This one has the cure for every disease.

He closed his eyes this time, but he could still see it behind his lids:

The wracking coughs that rattled his mother’s bones shook him equally to his core. He may have still been a wee lad, but he knew what that sound meant, and it was nothing good. Nor was the wheezing, raspy way she was breathing, or the cloth she kept bringing to her mouth and taking away with more red spots on it. If there was a cure, it was far out of the family’s budget.

“Killian, my sweet boy,” she told him, her voice straining even to whisper. “I love you so much; keep your good heart—always.”

“I love you, too, Mama,” he sobbed, as another violent attack of coughing took hold and then—worse—stopped, and her with it.

He was wiping a tear from his eye as the Darkness continued its cruel game.

No, no, no—this is it. A red book fell from the middle shelf, falling open to a page with a hand-drawn border of hearts. This one can make anyone fall in love with you.

“No,” he gasped.

The scene the Darkness played was hazy and smudged, but he could see himself and Emma, arm in arm in the garden with smiles on their faces—but something was off, like the grins were forced.

It morphed to them touching, kissing, caressing in an indeterminate state of dress. But everything was too dark, too heavy—too obviously an illusion.

He didn’t want to see any further. He didn’t want that at all—if it wasn’t real, it wasn’t right. “That’s enough,” he commanded, and the vision dissolved.

Suit yourself.

The Darkness went uncharacteristically silent as he moved through the books, searching as quickly as possible for anything that might help, including the first book. There were some written in foreign languages and others so old that the ink was faded, but he did find a handful that held potential. Hopefully, Emma knew enough more about these kinds of things than he did to make sense of it.

All told, he was probably only there for an hour or so—much less time than the days it took to get there, but the shorter his visit, the better. As quickly as he’d arrived, he just as hastily closed the cabinets and left the library.

He was nearly out the door when something in another room grabbed his attention, prickling that built-in magic detector he’d eventually gotten used to. It was like...someone was there.

Given that he’d never explored the castle—the magic had always led him right to the library—he had no idea what lay behind the doors he was now pushing open. More torches lit inside as he did, but it was still dank and musty, and he could see the thick drapes that covered the far wall. And one was moving.

“Who goes there?” He called out in a warning tone. How on earth did an intruder get in? And how would he face them?

Trespassing equals murder—that’s how you handle them.

Killian doubted he had that in him, but still approached the shifting curtain. Once he was close enough, he prayed he had the element of surprise on his side as he yanked it back, revealing—nothing. Again. Perhaps he’d read too many gothic novels over the years.

All that he uncovered was a window, partly open and likely by the strong winds coming off the cliffs. There were no scuffs or other marks of a forced entry or escape, and even if there were, the potential thief likely would have perished on the rocks several hundred meters below, or drowned in the crashing waves—which were not unlike the violent sea at his home. Clearly, the ocean had it out for the Darkness in all places.

With the crisis averted, Killian latched the window and replaced the drape over it, then began to leave again.

Until something on the other end of the room caught his eye—something sparkling. Several somethings, actually. As he neared, it appeared to be a jewel case, with all sorts of baubles on display—tiaras, necklaces, broaches, even some unfinished opal still running through rock.

Really? All we had to do to get your attention was put something shiny in front of you? Goodness, you really are a child.

But what really caught his eye was a large pendant centered in front. It’s setting was square-ish, with metal rays streaming away from the stone—which by itself was impressive, almost too large to wear. But it was a clear, pure color, and perfectly cut to reflect both that fact and any beam of light.

Thinking of a gift for your girlfriend?

“No,” he immediately replied, blush rising on his cheeks like he was a schoolboy with a crush.

No? Just imagine how stunning that would look on her neck—how she’d grin at you in response; maybe even more.

He wouldn’t expect that, but Emma did deserve something as beautiful as she was. She’d once mentioned having to sell family heirlooms to get by; maybe this could make up for that. “Am I allowed to?”

Of course; it’s your castle, so it’s your stuff. Go ahead—take it.

The case unlocked with a tiny click as he carefully pulled it open. The gem was calling to him now, begging to be picked up and taken somewhere else, somewhere it’d be appreciated. He wrapped his hand around it and lifted it out.

But his extra sense went off immediately, his instincts sounding alarms—this item was drenched in black magic. His veins burned as he held it, until he couldn’t hold on any longer and threw it back in the case, slamming the door shut so hard he feared the glass would shatter.

“What kind of bloody trick is this?” He yelled in the silence.

The Darkness just cackled in glee.

“You led me here on purpose, didn’t you? What, to trick me into hurting her?”

Guilty.

Enough; he’d had enough of this dark castle and it’s cold walls and bloody magic. He waved his hand and transported back to the forest.

Funny that you hate this, until it’s useful.

“I don’t care,” he seethed.

Yes you do. And the sooner you admit it, the easier it’ll be.

Things fell eerily quiet as he marched towards home, but keeping a brisk pace helped him calm his racing heart. But the sun had fallen from noon high to sunset by the time he reached any semblance of peace, and the stars were bright overhead when he finally relaxed.

The sad truth of it was that he’d been relying on the Darkness far more than he cared to admit—not just what happened in the castle, but so many times over the past century. He’d taken it for granted that he healed from injury and never fell ill, and that he had all the time in the world in front of him to pursue whatever he wanted. He thought he’d spent most of his time fighting the Darkness’s advances—but had he really? Or had he just been accepting it more and more as time went on?

Early the next morning, he stopped at a spring for a drink of water that he really didn’t need, but the cool water was refreshing down his throat and on his face. He sat hunched over the small pond for a long moment afterward, watching as the rippling water relaxed to its previous still state.

When it did, he was faced with his reflection—but not the one he wanted. Rumpelstiltskin was staring back at him again. His leathery face wore that creepy grin, and there was a knowing look in his eyes that Killian found far too upsetting. Worse, it was what he fully expected to find mirrored back, and he wasn’t sure what that meant.

“Oh, you know...you’ve always known, dearie,” Rumple taunted.

Briefly, anger flared in Killian and he slammed his hook into the water, disrupting the image, and he stormed back off, nearly forgetting the sack of books in his haste to get away.

He headed back to grab them, pulling the sack up to his shoulder with a jerk, and then turned to continue on his way—but nearly ran straight into someone.

“I saw all that, you know.” The green fairy was standing in front of him.

He sighed and hung his head. “Of course you did.”

“Hey—I just wanted to tell you that I believe you, okay?” There was still a hint of annoyance in her tone, but he could tell she was being sincere. “Honestly, I’m not sure I could have said no to that temptation. I don’t know what all it is you’re going through, but...I’m on your side.”

He looked up, surprised. “Seriously?”

She nodded. “There’s not a whole lot I can do to help you—fairy dust and dark magic don’t exactly work well together—but I can see how hard you’re working, and I know your heart is in the right place with Emma. So, if you need another ally, you’ve got one.”

He blinked and swallowed a few times; a complete stranger was supporting him? Frankly, he was suffering from emotional whiplash after his revelations from what had happened at the castle and now this, so if he got a little teary, that was why.

“That means more than you know.”

“No, I do,” she said with a slight smirk. “Believe it or not, I’m older than you.”

He snorted a bit at that. “What, are you my fairy godmother or something?”

“If I was, I’d have done a piss-poor job of things. Don’t let the past dictate your future, mkay?”

“I can try.”

“Good.” She reached out to squeeze his arm through the leather of his jacket; he felt his magic react a bit at the contact, but not violently—that must be what she’d been talking about. “Oh, and I almost forgot—the name’s Tinkerbelle.”

“Killian.”

“I know,” she said with a wink. “Take care, Killian—and take care of Emma.”

“I plan to.”

“She does, too.” Again, he was blushing; it still amazed him that he could, as old as he was. “G’bye!” And with a flash, she was tiny again and flitting away.

He was truly at odds with himself now. The fact that a fairy had put her trust in him meant he must be doing something right, but he could still feel the darkness humming in his veins, only amplified by her presence. There was really only one solution: he needed to get back to the garden, as quickly as possible.

He’d never walked quite so fast in his life as he did over the next day, sprinting through trees and over streams until the familiar walls of the garden came into view that evening. Despite days in the forest, he felt like a drowning man finally coming up for air, so he took several long, deep gulps, eyes closed to savor the feeling.

“Killian!” His eyes flew open at Emma’s address. “I had no idea you’d be back this fast.” She was kneeling in one of the flower beds, work gloves on and a spade and trowel nearby, as she sat in front of a patch of freshly turned soil. “Come here! I want to show you something.”

“Of course.” He hurried over to her while she stripped off her gloves, and when he got closer, she cupped her hands over the dirt.

“Okay, watch.” Nothing happened at first, but then those dancing balls of light that comprised her magic began to twirl in the air before burrowing in the earth. Almost immediately, tiny green shoots popped up, and continued growing rapidly into a small, wide-leafed shrub; Emma guided the growth with the movement of her hands, magically pulling it up and bringing it to life.

Killian saw the buds on the plant sprout and then bloom in a matter of seconds, revealing dense, rose-like blossoms of bright pink petals all over it that released a light, sweet scent.

“It’s a middlemist,” she explained, wiping her hands on her trousers once it was done. “Alright, now, take off your glove,” Emma instructed, standing up next to him. “And then pick one.”

“What?” What was she thinking—did she want him to destroy it, after she’d just brought it to life? “Emma, you know what’ll happen; I don’t—I couldn’t—”

“Okay, okay—calm down,” she told him softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I just want to try something; I tried to place a protection spell on it. Middlemist are extremely rare and have magical properties, so I thought if maybe I amplified them, then you could touch it without killing it.”

He was honestly speechless—she’d created this incredible thing of beauty...for of him? That didn’t seem possible, or right, and yet—here it was. He looked down at it, if only because he couldn’t take any more of her hopeful, proud expression without either crying or doing something equally rash and emotional. The plant appeared to be glowing; everything in the garden had its own sort of incandescence as a result of Emma’s magic, but this one was positively luminous. He could feel the still-sparking blackness in his veins react as he stood by it.

“Go on,” Emma encouraged, giving him a supportive squeeze.

Well, if she thought he could, then he could at least try. Wordlessly, he complied with her request, bringing his hand to his mouth and tugging the leather glove off his fingers with his teeth before pocketing it. He knelt by the bush cautiously, and then reached toward it. But even inches away, he could see the reaction in the veins of his trembling hand and pulled back.

“I don’t want to harm it,” he said quietly.

Well, I do, the Darkness complained.

“Here, then.” Emma bent down next to him and grabbed a stem, pulling until it was broken off. Then she turned to him and held the bloom out. “Try this?”

He swallowed and prepared for disappointment. Gingerly, he reached a finger out and brushed an outermost petal. It was velvety soft under his touch and—to his shock—didn’t wither away. He gasped in disbelief.

“Told ya,” Emma said, smirking, green eyes alight.

A slow smile was taking over his face, he could feel, as he took the stem from her. And nothing happened. He brought it to his nose to inhale, the petals tickling his nose and making him grin. When he pulled it back, he noticed that the blossom had wilted a little, but nothing compared to what usually happened.

“Thank you, Emma—thank you so much. It’s...amazing. You’re amazing”

She shrugged nonchalantly, but her cheeks resembled the middlemist in color. “It’s nothing; I’m just glad I could do this for you, especially after you went to all the trouble to help me. I should be thanking you.”

Yes she should, snarled the Darkness. And more!

“No, it’s fine,” Killian said, though he wasn’t really sure who he was replying to. But he picked up the sack of books, careful not to crush the flower still in his hand, and held it out to Emma. “I just hope there’s something useful in there.”

Her arm gave out a bit at the heft of the bag when she took it from him, so she set it on a nearby bench and looked in. “Wow,” she raved, pulling out the top one. “I’ve never seen books like this.”

Poor thing, so deprived—now she’ll get to see what real magic is like!

“Be careful,” Killian warned as she started to open the cover. She halted at his voice, then looked at him, confused. “Just...those have been in the dark castle for a long, long time; I don’t know what’s hidden in them.”

“I will,” she answered solemnly. “And don’t forget—I know how to feel for the worst of it. This one feels...okay,” she assessed, and then opened the cover.

A warm breeze came through the garden as she did, blowing dust off one of the first pages. It began to swirl in the air, dancing in a spiral and then spreading out as it took a form. But Emma didn’t notice it. Killian didn’t doubt in her powers, but whatever this was, it was invisible to her.

And a moment later, he realized why, as the dust took the shape and visage of Rumpelstiltskin. “Oh, it’s so nice to be free of your head,” he hissed.

Killian wanted to tell it to go away, to leave them alone, but he didn’t want to alarm Emma.

“And why not? Afraid your precious princess will think you’re crazy and cast you away?” The phantom drew closer; it wasn’t entirely corporeal—Killian could see through it—but that didn’t make it any less terrifying and real. “She won’t fall in love with you then, will she?”

“Stop it,” he said as quietly as he could muster.

“Killian, did you say something?” Emma asked from behind him, but he didn’t move from his place between her and the ghost.

“Oh, looks like it’s too late for that, then,” Rumple tutted. “May as well seal the deal, then. What’s your price going to be?”

Price? What price?

“All magic comes with one,” the specter explained in a low voice. “She needs to pay.”

“No. I won’t do it,” Killian bit back.

“Is someone there?” Emma’s hand was on Killian’s shoulder and she was peering around him, at what he assumed was empty space to her.

“If you don’t make her pay one,” the former Dark One started, sauntering closer, “we will.”

“Leave it alone.”

“Killian, is everything okay?” Emma sounded worried now, and the lights in the garden began to flicker—but he couldn’t tell if it was in reaction to her magic or his. There was definitely a growing static charge between them, though.

The image of the reptilian man was fading, but his voice was not. “Alright then—you leave me no choice.” And then he burst back into dust.

This time, the tiny dust storm was much more direct, and barreled straight for Killian, hitting him in the chest. Everything around him grew dark and dusky as he buckled over, and then it felt like he was a passenger in his own body, watching as it stood straight and turned to Emma.

“All magic comes with a price,” he said, but it wasn’t quite his voice—it was lower, more sinister, and he could see Emma’s eyes widen in fright.

“Killian? Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine, love,” he leered. “Best I’ve ever been, actually—and you can make things even better.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, darling,” he purred. “Just making sure fair’s fair. You have what you need; now it’s my turn.”

“Your turn?” Emma was getting angry and backing away from him—and rightly so. He wanted to tell her to run far, far away. “I thought that’s what the middlemist was for.”

“Is that all your parents’ lives are worth to you?” He stepped back into her space, relishing in the mixture of fear and confusion on her face.

“Killian, what is happening? Talk to me.” Her tone was soft and she placed her hands on his shoulders, worry etched in the furrow of her brow. Her eyes were darting between his, looking for something; he hated to think what she was finding.

A thump-thump sounded in his ears, louder than almost anything else, and his eyes followed the sound to Emma’s chest. Her heart! Her heart would be the perfect price, the Darkness called from within, and he felt his hand start to move of its own volition.

“Uh, eyes up here, buddy.” Emma’s tone was annoyed but her expression said she was still confused. “Hey—where did you go?”

“I’m right here.” Inside, he was screaming it, even though the Darkness said it as seductively as possible.

She placed a hand on his cheek, and for a moment, the world cleared as he leaned into her palm; he hadn’t felt that kind of caress in so, so long. His hand was still reaching toward her heart, but he was able to wrest away just enough control to grab her forearm where it rested on his chest, anchoring himself to her in the only way he could find in the moment.

His vision darkened again almost immediately, and the electric tension that had been building began to spark at their point of contact. His hand burned and Emma winced, but he couldn’t let go—the Darkness was enjoying itself too much, and Killian couldn’t tell where its euphoria ended and his own disgust started.

Until, finally, the mounting pressure exploded, sending them both flying away from each other. Killian was thrown against one of the walls, falling in a heap into a thorny rose bush that scratched at the exposed skin of his face and chest.

He couldn’t be worried about himself, though, and as soon as he had even a modicum of his senses back, he jumped out of the now-dead bush to check on Emma: as he could see all too clearly now, she’d landed in an adjacent flower bed, thankfully not far from where they’d been standing, and was sitting up, a hand pressed to the back of her head.

“Emma, are you—” he started, but the frightened, wide-eyed look she gave him when he spoke made him stop. Instinctively, she put her hand between them, and he could see the glow of her magic in her palm ready to strike at him if needed.

It was just like when that little boy stared at him in terror all those years ago, but worse: this was the one person who hadn’t run from or left him in his life, and now the Darkness had turned even her against him. How had he let that happen? Or was his own control over this malevolence waning?

Regardless, it meant one thing: he needed to leave—now.

“My…my sincerest apologies,” he told her as his heart broke again. “Goodbye.”

He let the magic carry him home because he couldn’t take the fear on her face anymore.

The balcony beckoned as soon as he arrived. He could still feel and see the inky black magic pulsing in his veins and had a rage building in his core, though he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Haven’t you done enough already?” he shouted into the night. “You’ve taken everything from me; why her, too?”

To remind you.

“Remind me? Of what? How you killed the only other woman I’ve ever loved? How everyone else has abandoned me?”

Precisely. You don’t need anyone; why would you...when you have us?

“I hate you.”

Keep telling yourself that.

His anger finally found an outlet in the window behind him; he smashed his hook through it and watched as the shards of glass fell, jagged and sharp, on the wood floor inside. But before they could completely clatter, they paused midair and reversed their trajectory, piecing themselves back together until the pane was whole and seamless again.

He stared at it in confusion for a long moment until he realized his hand was outstretched toward it, fingers moving as he fixed the window without thought.

“What the hell?”

Don’t look at us; that was all you.

The crashing waves below him were the perfect noise to that revelation. “I—I didn’t; I couldn’t—”

Oh, but you did.

“That’s impossible.”

Clearly, it’s not. For someone who hates this so much, you’re really coming to rely on it, aren’t you?

“No.”

Suit yourself. But we certainly won’t complain when you give in.

With a yell, he destroyed the window again. It took conscious effort, but he made sure it stayed that way before he headed inside.

On the floor, withered but still pink, was the middlemist bloom—a perfect, beautiful, depressing symbol of his life right now.

The Darkness had more than an edge over him. What the hell was he going to do?

thank you for reading! And go send B some birthday love!!! tagging some other lovelies: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @selfie-wench @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @queen-mabs-revenge @killianmesmalls @distant-rose @sherlockianwhovian @effulgentcolors @laschatzi @welllpthisishappening @nfbagelperson @the-captains-ayebrows @stubble-sandwich @killian-whump @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @wyntereyez @lfh1962 @bmbbcs4evr @therooksshiningknight

[chaoskirin]

Fanfic -- A Temporal Folly -- CHAPTER 5

Fandom: Queen Genre: Sci-fi/Horror Rating: R Chapter Title: Detached (Chapter Five) Word Count: 2265 (oops!) Chapter Summary: Same thing, with 100% more Roger! 

How we all mourn the broken Holding onto the slimmest ledge Our fingers slipping by the second Drawn to the inexorable truth That to change the fates of the never-ending masses Is to destroy the fabric that binds us all

2019

Roger crashed into his vanity, upended his chair, then fell to the floor. Winded, he fought against gravity to regain his feet, momentarily blanking on the logistics of up and down; in the end, he succeeded only in rolling onto his side.

What was he doing in his dressing room?

He was too fucking old for this shit!

Roger would admit that, unlike Brian (whose feet were firmly on good ol' Terra Firma), he often had his head in the clouds and had no qualms about breathing the vapors. So he wasn't surprised when his mind skipped past every logical explanation like dreams or hallucinations and went straight to alien abduction as an assured reality. It sure felt how he imagined an alien abduction would go, although the completely empty dressing room unnerved him a bit, and the blue light oozing out of the walls like a thoroughly squeezed snail was an odd touch. Had he acquired the good shit?

It said a lot about him that his second guess was "drugs," Roger supposed.

"Right. Up on the feet then," he told himself. Now that the initial shock had worn off, he reintroduced himself to the concept of three dimensions and peeled himself off the floor. His joints popped and cracked in protest.

As he tried to regain his bearings, he squinted at the weird gecko-like beast, stuck by its little spade-toes up in the farthest corner of Roger's dressing room. As calmly as he accepted his alien abduction, he took this in stride, only partly because his very brain seemed to have short-circuited. The rest was because he kinda hoped he'd made first contact before his dear friend and space nerd, Brian May. Wouldn't that just rankle!

"Where are your eyes?" Roger inquired at the toxic blue creature. It grinned with a maw full of sharp, irritating teeth.

In answer, it shuffled toward him, hissing like a leaky tire. Alas, it seemed he'd have to fight the thing. So much for peaceful first contact! How could he possibly fight this cow-sized creature, though, with its lack of eyes and weird suction-cup toes and its feral, white-rimmed grin?

He did what any blue-blooded Brit would do. He bunched it square in the mouth.

The thing was fast. In the blink of an eye, it had Roger's arm crushed between its teeth. He tried to cry out, but the creature already had itself wrapped around him; consequently, the only sound he could produce was a less-than-intimidating squeak. Every time he gasped, the creature constricted tighter.

---

Witness. ---

1993

The alarm buzzed. John reached over and snoozed it.

Five minutes later, the radio started playing Sinatra, despite John ripping out the FM transmitter just the night before. Grabbing the entire clock-radio, he launched it across the hotel room, where it shattered against a mirror.

Then, for good measure, he sat up in bed and gave the lamp a good solid kick. He'd be billed for it, and probably even kicked out of the hotel. Maybe he'd sleep in a ditch tonight for the thrill of it. None of that mattered, though, since he'd wake up in the same bed, at the exact same time, annoyed once again by Come Fly With Me through a tinny, sub-standard speaker. He glanced at his watch.

"Three. Two. One." As he pointed at the door, somebody rapped on it and called "Room service!" "Fuck off!" John growled.

He'd seen Groundhog Day back in his own Theta-Universe just before traversing the portal. The coincidence wasn't lost on him. Who knew such a temporal anomaly wouldn't be caused by driving off a cliff, but by mucking about in the past!

The most annoying thing was that he couldn't write anything down, because everything would disappear when the day started over. Infuriating! He had so many questions, and limited memory with which to remember them, or their answers.

"What is this," he grumbled, sliding out of bed. "Sixty? Seventy? A thousand?"

Every morning, he made a tick on the wall. The next day, of course, it was gone.

It was at least sixty, though. He knew that. And in those sixty days, he'd pursued every opportunity to speak to Freddie, but this universe's version was reclusive and distrustful. Once, frustrated with the lack of positive response, John tried to drag him off so they could talk, and ultimately ended up in jail.

It didn't matter. By then, he knew he'd wake up the next morning safe in the hotel bedroom.

Today would be different, though, John mused as he brushed his teeth. Humming a cheerful ditty that was definitely not Sinatra, he pulled the hairdryer out of its wall holster and used it to smash the mirror. If his actions didn't matter, if everything would reset in 24 hours, why shouldn't he take out his frustrations on inanimate structures? He spit the toothpaste out in the middle of the floor. "It's a glitch," he told himself. John often spoke to himself now, since he had no friends in this universe. He technically didn't exist in it, which meant no one recognized him, which meant he had no friends. "We fucked up the code. It was too much. We shouldn't have--" Today would be different.

Over the past few weeks--relatively speaking--John worked on finding the key to fixing everything. By the very nature of time-space, the machine he and his other self built also had to exist in this world. He should have entered into the Iota-Universe at the machine's location, but the glitch interfered and spat him out elsewhere. After triangulating all possible points of interest, he found it in the basement of an abandoned school only a half mile away from the hotel. The proximity made sense. And if he was right, which he'd find out today, the location of the machine, the hotel, and Freddie would create a perfect line.

That revelation didn't matter much before, but now it made sense. It was the continuum trying to correct itself, pointing the way to solve the problem. If John could get Freddie to the machine, his presence would act as a battery, activating it and allowing everyone to go home. He had to. At this point, he teetered just on the verge of madness. Living the same day over and over couldn't have been healthy for anyone.

--- Today, he'd try a different tactic. Today... Today it would work.

It was sad in a way, how meeting up with Freddie had become routine. The first few times John saw he old friend, he couldn't even approach for the tears in his eyes. And Freddie looked so whole and healthy. Standing in the presence of Queen's legendary singer made John's heart soar!

But while this Freddie had similar mannerisms and a rather sizable ego, he was reclusive, bitter, and almost hopeless. In the rare occasion John managed to find the right combination of words and platitudes to get this version of Freddie to talk, every word dripped with regret and bile. After Queen failed, Freddie's life folded in on itself. He repressed his sexuality. Settled down with Mary. Lived miserably.

John had doubts about taking this Freddie back to the Theta-Universe, but he still waited in the same park every morning just to catch a glimpse of his old friend. Sometimes they'd talk. Sometimes they'd fight. Today, John intended to test his theory on the machine.

At eleven o'clock and four minutes, Freddie sauntered past the park fountain.

As casually as he could, John pushed himself off the bench, falling into step just behind Freddie. He tried his best to act as if he had somewhere to go and just happened to be traveling in the same direction.

Astute, though, Freddie glanced over his shoulder. "Are you following me, darling?"

Every day the same question.

"Yes, actually," John replied. Before Freddie could get angry, though, he regurgitated a bit of trivia Freddie gave him just a couple days prior: "I saw you at the Itherian last night. You sing, right? Was that you?"

Yesterday, the spiel was too desperate and overstated. Today, John reined in his anxiety and evened his tone.

It worked. Freddie's face lit up, every trace of doubt vanishing. "Hey, yeah! I don't remember seeing you there."  

Damn. A new variable. He could ruin the entire day if he answered wrong. Crossing his fingers in his pocket for luck, he tried, "Oh, I don't like to be around people. I kinda stay toward the back when I go to those things."

"There were only eight people there, dear," Freddie replied, arching an eyebrow.

"Eight too many," John muttered, trying his best to let his anxiety float to the surface.

"Oh, you've got it bad, haven't you? Poor dear. Well, did you like the set?"

If John continued along this conversational path, Freddie would ask which song John liked the best, and John had no answer for that. At that point, Freddie would see right through him and the day would be a wash. "Loved it," he said. And before Freddie could ask the wrong question, he quickly added, "I actually have a little place in the basement of an old school just down the block. I could use a regular. You want to see?"

Was that too creepy? It sounded too creepy. He'd have to work on his delivery for tomorrow.

To his surprise, though, Freddie said "Lead the way!"

---

"Interesting that you had to break the lock," Freddie grunted as John led him down the steps. Every one of them creaked underfoot with a squeal that sounded like each board was about to snap in half. Had they been that loud the other times John came down here? They must have been. He was just nervous and his senses were playing tricks on him.

"Ah, it's a work in progress," John said, whisking the dust-discolored sheet off the machine. His heart hammered as he turned to Freddie, who was staring at the contraption with a mix of disgust and curiosity.

"Is this what you intend to use for music?" Freddie asked. "Good God, is that a broken television set?"

"Actually, the truth is..." John fiddled with the dials, clicking the calibration from 6-2-5 to 6-2-6. It should have turned it on, which would give a heaping portion of credence to John's story. Shifting the sub-space translator node into the low-mid position, he said a quick prayer...

Please work. Please work. Dryly, Freddie scoffed, "Did you build this yourself?" as nothing at all occurred. "It's liable to belch dust before it creates music."

"I'm gonna explain, I promise. It's just that I'm from an alternate universe..." The truth slipped past his lips has he re-calibrated, trying 6-7-6 instead. Normally, that would be too high, especially with the translator node where it was. Maybe too high was just right for the Iota-Universe, though? "I was going to show you--hoping to take you back... There's this place where Queen made it, Freddie."

"Oh dear," Freddie drawled.

"Give me a minute," John snapped.

It had to work. It had to!

"How do you know about Queen?" Freddie asked. John briefly looked over his shoulder, to find Freddie peering down his nose. "I've not told anyone about the name. You've been breaking into my house. Looking at my sketches!"

The stray thought that this Freddie was also paranoid touched on John's thoughts as he tried to troubleshoot. "No, you must have told me--"

"I don't even know you!"

John sighed, resigning himself to another failure. He could try another approach tomorrow, of course. And the next day if he had to. And then the day after that. He started to wonder if perhaps he'd have to rebuild the machine! That'd give him an excuse to see if remaining awake for multiple days in a row would allow him to move past the same stretch of twenty-four hours, but was it worth the trouble?

He wasn't sure he liked this Freddie.

As John fiddled with the calibration, something slammed into the side of his head. The force caused him to spin around in a half circle and collapse onto the dead machine. As he lost consciousness, Freddie raised the two-by-four in his hands for another attack...

That was the first time John died.

Then his alarm buzzed.

"Ow," John grumbled. Sitting up and kicking off his sheets, he rubbed his unbruised temple, gritting his teeth. Though the pain was gone, the memory caused more than a couple tears.

He never bothered Freddie again.

---

2019

Roger could no longer struggle. Though his lungs reflexively tried to suck in just the barest hint of oxygen, he could no longer breathe. Though not one for giving up, he had to admit that this was over.

All he could think about was how wrong it felt to see that glimpse into John's mistake. How could he possibly have lived the same day over and over without going insane?

And Freddie...

That monster wasn't Freddie.

You wasted your time, Deaky, Roger lamented. You should have stayed.

You have witnessed,

the creature said, squeezing Roger tighter and tighter until his ribs cracked and snapped. Choking with pain, Roger's vision closed in until the lack of oxygen dragged him into a surprisingly peaceful demise.

[whatwewrotepodcast]

Of Life and Death

This is a super old story of mine that I recently came across. My writing style is very old and there are a LOT of adverbs in there, but other than that I feel like it’s held up surprisingly well. Although there are a lot of Australianisms in there that I usually try to tone down. It’s not a bad premise I don’t think. It was originally going to be a Trilogy, but I only got as far as the first book.

From what I can remember there is an eternal war between the God of Life and the God of Death. Each God has a demi that they appoint to help fight their battles. The God of Death is responsible for mass destruction, plane crashes, natural disasters, accidents. Katren, the demi of Life must fight to keep the death tolls from rising.

Enjoy!

~ez

To look upon the world, one would think it simple. Normal. Billions upon billions of people, living, dying. Each individual has a past, lives the present, and looks forward to a future. Of course, there comes a time when there is no future, a time where it must end. Some have more than others. Some are barely even alive before they are dead. There is no controlling it. People try, of course. Hygiene, education and scientific experiments. There are vaccines, cures, doctors, and nurses. Anti-aging creams, botox, lipo suction, plastic surgery. All stem from a want to extend life, to keep on living, no matter the cost. Some claim they deserve it, some just want it, and others don’t like to think about it too much.

  Truth is, everyone dies.

         And there isn’t anything they can do about it. Because it’s not their choice. It’s not their decision.

 It’s ours.

The rain thundered down like there was no tomorrow. It hit the ground so hard that the droplets would jump up again, so high that it became hard to differentiate between what was going up and what was going down. People ran to and fro, huddled under umbrellas and buried deep within their coats. As if that would help keep them dry, as though their feeble clothes and materials actually stood a chance against the sadistic wind, hurling sharp knives of the rain in under the umbrella’s soaking even the most water resistant fabrics with in seconds.

Katren walked through the scurry of people, head bowed down, collar drawn up around her neck. She didn’t bother to hurry, didn’t try to battle with an umbrella. There was no point, she’d get soaked through no matter what she did. She drew her coat closer, in a vain attempt to keep the wind from biting her tender flesh. She didn’t have far to go, but in weather like this, it felt as though she’d walked miles, where in actual fact it was only a few meters.

She sighed in relief when her apartment came in to view and she quickened her pace. Ducking her head, she made it to the door in one very soggy piece, and shouldered it open roughly, clutching her sodden bag to her chest. Once in the foyer, she stood still for a long moment, holding her arms out by her sides, panting slightly, blinking through the drops that slide down her darkened side fringe and into darker eyes. She heard a chuckle from afar and looked up and around, searching for the source.

“Bit wet?” the girl asked, smirking. Janie was tall, taller the Katren, with loosely curled hair that twirled to well below her shoulders. She had bright emerald eyes that were set in a fine featured and pale face that just completed her essence of beauty. Sometimes, Katren hated her best friend.

“Just a touch.” She answered a little coldly, peeling off her soaked coat and shuddering. Janie laughed again and Katren approached her casually before flicking off her hat and shaking out her hair like a dog. Janie squealed and flinched away from her, holding her hands up as if to protect herself from the flying droplets that sprung from her hair.

“Bit wet?” Katren returned tartly, brow arched. Janie scowled at her and rolled her eyes before turning and heading for the lift. Katren followed, head held high, despite knowing that she looked rather like a drowned rat next to an earthed goddess.

“What kept you so long?” Janie asked as the lift opened with a welcoming chime. They stepped in and Katren keyed in her card before stowing it back into her bag.

“You know what it’s like over there. You’re just about to finish up then suddenly you get a dozen “Before you go” requests.” She answered a trifle bitterly. Starting out in a simple temp position, she had risen through the ranks of the large firm till she had achieved the optimum position of head executive. It paid well and it was a respectable job, her mother was proud and she lived a good life.

Generally speaking.

“I tried to buzz up, but Rick didn’t answer. “ Janie continued reaching back to make a lazy show of tying up her hair. It looked perfect afterwards, of course. Katren wondered briefly how she did it, before realising that Janie was waiting for a response.

“He must have been in the studio or something.” She answered, shrugging idly. Rick was Katren’s somewhat eccentric room mate. He considered himself a budding rockstar, and while his music was easy to listen to, he never seemed to actually sign up for gigs or get his music out there.

The elevator slowed before stopping completely. The doors opened with another happy chime and she walked in to the small foyer. She fished out her other key and opened the door, shouldering it open and stepping in. Janie followed closely, shouldering her bag into a more comfortable position.

“Thanks for letting me stay, Kat.” She said as she moved for the lounge room. Katren smirked at her over her shoulder.

“I was hardly going to leave you out on your arse, was I?” she returned rhetorically. Janie snorted quietly.

“I dunno. I’ve seen the cold glare of yours before. Wouldn’t put anything past you.” She called as Katren escaped into her room, already peeling off the layers of wet clothes.  She changed quickly, putting on a plain white t-shirt and a pair of black leggings, comfy clothes. She went into her bathroom and snatched up a towel, beginning to scrub viciously at her hair. It was long and straight, falling down to her mid back, and a light golden colour, or it was, when it was dry.

Satisfied that she wasn’t going to catch pneumonia, she went out into the lounge room, slouching down beside Janie.

“What are we watching tonight?” she asked as Janie flipped over the channels to the AV channel. It was Friday night and, as a rule, they often got together to watch a movie and catch up. Janie was staying the night this time, however, as a power outage had struck her street and she’d been without power for two days now. Janie could do with out light, but to go without coffee or a hair drier for 48 hours was virtually impossible.

“Not the news. It’s never been more depressing.” She mumbled, casting an eye around for the dvd remote. Katren nodded her agreement. Although it was rarely anything major, there had been a steady rise in unforeseeable accidents lately. Things like trees falling on houses, even though there was little wind to be had, and people falling through faulty balconies. A strange number of people were often killed in these feeble accidents.

“Let’s start with the 5th season of Gilmore girls, and work our way up from there.” Janie suggested, finding the remote with a satisfied trill and slouching back down into the couch. Katren settled down beside her, snatching a pillow and hugging it to her chest, settling her chin on it comfortably.

Around halfway through season 5, Rick emerged from the small studio out the back of the apartment and looked in the lounge room with an amused expression. He stood in the door way with short dark hair, tanned features and dark eyes. He wore simple clothes, t-shirt with some unknown logo and loose jeans.  Katren arched a challenging brow at him that clearly gave him two choices, sit down and shut up, or become scarce. After a moment, he chose the former, sitting down on the floor, leaning back against the couch next to Katren’s legs. She gave him a half hearted kick and he grinned at her over his shoulder before settling in to watch the t.v.

 “I’m hungry.” Rick whispered. Janie leant down to whack him across the back of his head. He cried out in surprise and pain and rubbed it whilst looking over at Janie reproachfully. Katren shook her head, throwing the pillow at him before pushing herself up to her feet.

“I’ll go get the usual.” She suggested, heading for her bedroom once more. She fished out her pair thickset boots, a jacket, scarf, beret and a coat. She donned them all and headed out for the door.

“I’ve got my phone with me. Don’t get any blood on the couch.” She warned. Janie waved to her over her head, engrossed with the television. She’d seen the season a hundred times or more, and yet she was glued to the screen as though her life depended on it.

Once outside, she drew in her coat close around her. It wasn’t raining as heavily as it was previously, but the steady drizzle still had a knack for seeping in and down her neck. She grumbled briefly to herself, wishing that she had never totalled her car last summer. It hadn’t been her fault, but she hadn’t had any insurance, which was ironic, considering the company that she worked for. So now, more than three months later, she had a dicky knee and no car.

She headed quickly down the street, the slap of her feet on the wet foot path echoing against the tall grey buildings. She didn’t understand how people could think a city was beautiful. Where was the grace in a hunk of cement? Where was the beauty in the smog that loomed threateningly among the very highest of peaks? Every tree had to be planned, nothing grew because it wanted to grow. Just like people, the nature was simply ordered. Don’t grow there. Grow here. Why? Because we want a new condo development.

It wasn’t that she hated the city. She loved it. There was always something new, something unheard of around the corner. There were always new people to meet, new people to scorn at. There were shops and markets and an alarming array of food. She was still trying new foods, even after five years of living there.

“Wait.” A sharp voice cut through the air suddenly, coming from the alleyway. Katren gasped, her heart leaping up into her throat, the sudden surge of adrenaline making her head sway alarmingly as she wheeled around to face it. She barely had time to catch her breath before she heard the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked and the explosive bang of it being fired.

At first she thought it was a prank, someone shooting blanks at her. But then there was blinding pain and she felt her knees give from beneath her as she crumbled to the pavement, gasping in pain. She heard footsteps moving back down the alleyway. They were slow, calm and deliberate, the footsteps of someone who had completed a task. A job well done.