#And I got a small slice on my leg that's superficial

[joyfulcollectordreamland]

I'm lucky in the bad luck sense of the way

[songbirdstyles]

whole lotta love.

summary: you patch spencer up after a particularly difficult case.

warnings: pure smut, fluff if you squint

pairing: spencer reid x reader

word count: 4.5k

song inspo.: whole lotta love - led zeppelin

For all intents and purposes, you’ve gotten very used to the less-than-glamorous aspects of Spencer’s job.

Sure, you don’t love when the familiar ding of his phone stops whatever he’s doing in its tracks, whether you two are curled up in bed at 2 AM or pressed against the wall together, your fingers furiously fiddling with the buttons of his dress shirt to get it off as fast as possible. One notification from his phone and he’s wincing, giving you an apologetic kiss and a promise to call you as soon as we land. 

But - well, you hadn’t really had much of a choice besides getting used to that one. And it hasn’t been as bad as you’d initially expected because Spencer never fails to call you every night (calling only, no matter how many times you try to convince him to get a better phone so you two can FaceTime) and it does feel pretty worth it when he comes home and tells you about the case, about a victim the team had saved or an unsub they’d apprehended.

That being said, you still haven’t gotten used to the nights where he comes home looking like this.

“Jesus Christ, Spencer,” you murmur, bringing your palms up instinctively to press to his face. Your thumbs stroke along his cheek where a slash highlights the bone and the black and blue shadow surrounding his left eye. You’re nearly positive there are more wounds you can’t see - you’ll check - but you hate seeing him come home so beat up. “What the hell happened?”

“The EMTs checked me out,” Spencer explains, larger hands wrapping around your wrist and tugging your hands off of his face. He doesn’t like to be doted on and you know that, but it isn’t as though you can just ignore how he looks. “I’m fine. They’re just superficial cuts.”

You furrow your eyebrows, feeling his hands slide down your wrist until your fingers can intertwine with his, palm flush against his just the way you like it. “You look like you lost a wrestling match.”

Your boyfriend laughs at that, taking a step away from you and leading you from the foyer of your shared apartment towards the sitting room. “We saved two little girls, though,” he tells you, and that brings a smile to your face as you tug him towards the sitting room couch. “You know, it was really lucky - 99% of abducted children die in the first 24 hours -”

“ - 75% in the first three hours and 44% in the first,” you finish, pushing Spencer onto the couch just as a grin begins to spread across his face. “I’ve heard you mention it so many times, I may as well remember it.”

“It is useful to know.”

“For you, maybe.” You lean down to press one gentle kiss to his lips before padding off towards the bathroom, pulling open one of the carefully organized first aid drawers to search for what you need. “Just stay there, Spence.”

He merely hums in response and you can imagine him - exhausted to the bone - sinking into the cushions of the couch, surely ready to sleep, but you know you won’t be able to rest until you patch him up. Seeing him beaten up is more common than you’d prefer but it doesn’t mean you have to like it, necessarily - even though you have to say you’ve gotten quite good at cleaning cuts.

Just as you pick up a small rag, turning on the sink to soak the cloth with cold water, Spencer calls from the sitting room, “Make sure you remember the Vaseline. Hydrates the wound and provides an occlusive layer which keeps the wound covered.”

You snort, digging through the drawer until you find the small tub of petroleum jelly that you always resort to when cleaning him up before turning off the sink, ringing out the washcloth so it doesn’t drip on the floor. “I know,” you call back, using your elbow to flick off the lightswitch before crossing the apartment to the kitchen, pretending like you don’t see Spencer’s gaze following you from the couch. “Come on, honey. This isn’t my first rodeo, you know?”

“Alright, alright,” he laughs as you pull open the freezer, pressing the back of your hand to each unopened bag of frozen vegetables to find the coldest one - as it turns out, it’s the peas, buried deep in the freezer, and you pull the bag out before shutting the door once more. 

Vaseline and cloth in one hand and the cold bag of peas in the other, you flash Spencer a small smile as you turn to walk back to the sitting room. One short glance to the clock mounted on the wall tells you that it’s nearly 11 but you’re not nearly as tired as you’d expect, and, as you wiggle your eyes at your boyfriend as you stand between his open legs, you don’t reckon Spencer is, either.

It’s an easy maneuver to climb on top of him, legs straddling his thighs until you’re settled in his lap and your bodies fit together like they were made for each other. You can practically hear his heart thumping through his dress shirt and you’d love nothing more than to lean down and unbutton his shirt, press lingering kisses to every bit of exposed skin, but there are more pressing matters - your own needs can wait until later.

You can feel Spencer’s hands, softly touching the backs of your thighs, fingertips drumming against the smooth skin. Even when you’re so close you can feel his hesitation with being intimate like this, how he’s careful not to press too hard as if he’ll break you and you shift backwards on his lap, deepening his grasp on your thighs and he smiles softly.

(Both of you pretend not to notice the slight bulge in his pants, pressing against you as you raise the cool bag of peas to his black eye.)

“Do you want me to hold it?” Spencer questions, letting his right eye flutter closed as you dab at the slice on his cheek with your cloth, the cool water dripping down the sharp lines of his cheekbones towards his jawline. “The peas, I mean.”

“No,” you’re quick to respond, and you’re sure he’s having no difficulty profiling exactly why you’d rather him keep his hands right where they are. “I’ve got it.”

His voice is hardly above a breath as he murmurs alright, tilting his head towards you as you rub gently at the cut before leaning forward, chest pressed close to his as you lazily toss the rag onto the table sitting behind the couch. Now you can feel his heart beating - or maybe it’s yours? - and when you shift back to your previous position, you can’t possibly help yourself from leaning down, slotting your lips against his and feeling his tongue instinctively slip into your mouth.

Hands slide up your thighs, pausing for a brief moment to grope at your ass before continuing their trek upwards. Your free hand not holding the makeshift ice pack to his eye tangles in his hair, fingertips digging in his scalp as his arms wrap securely around your waist, hips bucking up into yours and that’s when you pull away. Smooth your fingers through his hair, watch the way he swallows thickly, lips moist with the mixture of your saliva.

“Sorry,” you murmur, dragging your hand from his head down to his cheek, cupping his face in your palm as he leans into your touch. He looks almost betrayed, bottom lip perking out in a pout and you sigh. “I have to patch you up, Spence.”

“I’ll be fine,” Spencer insists, sliding his hands up your waist as you work at opening the cap of the Vaseline. Your fingers are still wet from clutching the cloth and trying to do it one handed proves to be useless, and your boyfriend reluctantly pulls his hands from your waist to open the jelly for you with an ease that sends heat creeping up your cheeks before returning his palms back to their spot. “Do you know how many times I’ve gotten cut on the job?”

“I don’t think I want to know.” You dip your finger into the Vaseline and bring it up to his cheekbones, dabbing it gently on the cut. When you’ve finished you rub the jelly off of your finger and onto your sleep shorts, cringing at the slimy feeling before reaching for the bandaid sitting between your bodies. “I’m almost done.”

You fumble with the band aid, pulling both plastic pieces off the ends before pressing yourself closer to Spencer, holding the bag of peas to his eye with your forearm as you grip the adhesive with both hands. Steady fingers press the sticky band aid to his newly cleaned cut, making sure it’s perfectly centered over the injury before smoothing your fingers over it, giving it one light slap to make sure it stuck.

“Voila,” you exhale, sitting backwards to examine your work. “All done.”

“Thank God,” Spencer sighs, and you have just one spare moment of lingering eye contact before he’s pushing his head up, lips pressing to yours so intensely that you’re nearly overwhelmed by it. Immediately you part your lips for him, feeling his tongue slip into your mouth as you arch your back, chest pressed against his as you lean into his touch. The bag you’d been clutching to his eye drops from your grasp, falling between your bodies as you press both palms to the side of his face, grinning against his mouth as he jumps. “Your hands are so cold.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, feeling his fingertips creep up your back, pushing your shirt up until his palms are pressed to your bare skin, a chill rolling up your spine, and a soft whine emits from your throat into his mouth just as his fingers begin toying with the clasp of your bra. “Don’t tease, Spence - take it off, please.”

He exhales into your mouth and you furrow your eyebrows, pulling away from him and dropping your forehead against his. “You’re so impatient.” And then his hands slide back down your back, away from the clasp you’re desperate for him to undo. “It makes sense - you’re always extra needy when I come home from missions. Getting off through the phone isn’t as good as the real thing, is it? Not for you.”

A soft sigh escapes your lips as Spencer leans forward, lips attaching to the underside of your jaw and you can feel him suckling softly on the soft skin, surely looking to leave one of the lasting marks that he loves to examine days after he makes them. Perhaps it’s because of the long distance nature of his job that he enjoys marking you up, making sure anyone with wandering eyes knows that you’re accounted for even when he’s not with you, or maybe he just likes claiming you as his own - either way, you wouldn’t dare to object. “Don’t profile me,” you plead, head tilting backwards as Spencer’s lips pull off of your jawline with a soft pop, thumb stroking over the skin he’d been assaulting as if to assess whether the hickey he’d left is adequate. “Come on, Spence.”

You reach down for the bottom of your tank top, pulling the offending fabric up and over your head without another moment of hesitation. The shirt is discarded, tossed to a corner of the sitting room and you don’t bother confirming where it goes - you just loop your arms around your boyfriend’s neck, leaning in to kiss him again but he stops you, tugging on your bra strap with not nearly enough strength to prevent your movement but you accept the gesture, leaning backwards until your eyes connect with his.

“Can’t you just indulge me?” you question, arching your back into Spencer’s touch as his hands move from around your back to your chest, palms cupping your tits through your bra. “Please?”

There’s another pause, Spencer’s fingertips dipping into the cups of your bra, palms warm against your chest. “Well, since you asked nicely.”

You smile, leaning in to attach your lips to his, teeth gently sinking into his bottom lip just as he pulls down the straps of your bra, letting them fall down your arms so he can pull the cups down over your breasts. Fingertips pinch your nipples and you whine into his mouth, pushing your chest further into his hands as he slips his tongue into your mouth.

For a minute you go on just like that - hands on your tits, groping the skin and thumbing your nipples until you pull your lips from his, gasping in a breath as you rock your hips against the bulge in his pants. “Fuck,” he breathes as your fingers go to the buttons of his shirt, pulling them open one by one to expose more and more of his chest to you, and your head dips down to press a kiss to his collarbone just as you’d fantasized doing before.

When you’ve undone every button you pull both halves of his shirt apart, tugging the sleeves down his arms and he removes his hands from your body so you can pull it off - it’s thrown in another direction much like your tank top and you’re more than grateful to have Spencer’s entire torso exposed to you. Hands smooth up and down his chest, feeling his skin burst up in goosebumps beneath your touch and you watch his mouth part open with pleasure before leaning forward again, slotting your lips against his once more.

“Take my bra off,” you beg, and his eyebrows arch upwards like the request was simply blasphemous. “Please, Spence - please - want you to touch me -”

“I am touching you.” And to prove his point his hands smooth up and down your waist, fingertips drumming your skin. 

Your eyes drift shut as Spencer’s hips roll up into yours, prominent bulge brushing against your clit even through your sleep shorts and you focus your hands on his shoulders, using your grasp as leverage to rock your hips further into his. “Just take it off - don’t tease me, please!”

You’re not sure whether it’s his own desires to strip you down or if he’s not interested in teasing you any longer but no matter - Spencer’s fingers slide up your back, briefly fiddling with the clasp of your bra before undoing it and the cups fall away from your chest, straps sliding down your arms and you pull it off, tossing it over the top of the couch. The coldness of the apartment bites at your skin and a shiver rolls through your spine, the sensation only heightened as Spencer ducks his head down, tongue flicking against your nipple before his lips close around it, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the hollow bud and you throw your head back with a loud cry.

“Take your shorts off,” Spencer mumbles, voice muffled against your tits and you oblige, shaky hands dropping to tug the tie on your shorts free. It’s a struggle to pull them off your legs while straddling him, his arms wrapping around your back to hold your chest to his mouth as you maneuver the fabric until you can drop it over the side of the couch, leaving you only in your panties and he’s quick to take advantage of your new near-nudeness. Hands slide down your back, fingers hooking in the hem of your thong and palms groping your ass and whatever shyness he’d had before about groping your thighs is gone - when things get going he’s fucking unstoppable and that’s what you love. 

You drag your hands down his chest, fingertips dragging feather-light on his stomach before you reach his lap, undoing the button on his pants and pulling the zipper down. His hips buck upwards when your fingertips brush the bulge in his boxers and you bite back your smile, resting your forehead against his once more as you pull the hem of his underwear down over his cock, hand wrapping around his erection without another second of hesitation and Spencer’s head drops back onto the cushion, a low groan emitting from his throat.

His fingers follow the hem of your thong around your hips until he’s tracing the fabric covering your pussy, cloth soaked with your arousal and even just the slightest touch has you whining out, grasp tightening around his cock. “I need to be inside you,” Spencer murmurs, and the words are so filth-laden that you moan out again, feeling his fingers pull your panties to the side until his digits dip through your folds, circling your clit and smirking at the way you tremor above him. “You want that too, don’t you? I can tell - you’re shaking and you keep making those little noises.”

Don’t profile me is what you would say if you were in any other state of mind but the only thing you can think to respond with is a soft moan, dropping your head back as Spencer leans in, lips closing in around your throat again. Your hand pumps his cock, thighs quivering in their efforts to hold yourself above him, and his hand that isn’t holding your panties to the side mercifully slides to your ass, holding you up as you align him with your entrance. Slowly you sink down onto him - for a guy so skinny he’s bigger than you’d expect and you always need to start slow to adjust - and within seconds you’ve bottomed out, feeling his cock buried deeper inside of you than you could ever imagine, and the two of you collectively lean in to press your lips together, moans landing inside each other’s mouths.

“Oh, God,” you breathe, shifting closer to him so your chests brush together and Spencer’s arm tightens around your back, holding you as tight to him as possible. He knows enough to give you a moment’s adjustment period, body quivering as he struggles to stay still but he’d never dream of moving until you’re perfectly comfortable. “Okay - move, Spence - I’m ready - need you to fuck me -”

He nods immediately, fingernails scratching into the sides of your waist as you pull yourself up, lifting until only the tip of his cock remains buried in your pussy before sinking back down, head pulling away from his to drop back in ecstasy at the sensation. Immediately you feel Spencer’s head bury itself in the junction between your neck and shoulder, breath hot and lips puckered against your skin as he presses a permanent kiss to the side of your throat, arms around your body helping you move up and down on him. 

It takes a moment for you two to work yourselves into a groove, feeling Spencer’s teeth dig into your throat as you sink back down onto him over and over again - but once you do it feels fucking miraculous, rolling your hips back and forth so your clit brushes against his pelvic bone. Your palms press to the sides of his face, feeling the light dusting of facial hair beneath your touch and you nearly want to pull his head up, smash your lips together until you’re breathless but the way he’s suckling dark marks around your throat feels so good and you’re not sure you’re willing to give it up - you compromise by looping your arms around his neck, fingernails scratching into the base of his neck.

“God, Spencer,” you moan, your speed picking up as you lift yourself off of him and slam back down, feeling his breathing pick up into your neck as his nails dig so deep into your waist that it nearly hurts but in the best fucking way possible. He loves when you praise him - you know that - and you never have an issue indulging him. “Feels so good - filling me so good -”

And there’s that telltale groan into your neck followed by Spencer pulling his lips from your throat and when your eyes meet his they’re clouded with lust, pupils drowning out the normal chocolate tone of his orbs that you love to see but hell if you don’t adore seeing him like this. His mouth drops open with a silent groan as you grind your hips into his, tugging at the curls at the nape of his neck just the way you know he likes.

Your thighs burn vehemently as you struggle to keep yourself upright, the urge to merely collapse into your boyfriend’s strong arms nearly overwhelming but your desire to prolong the pleasure coursing through your body far outweighs it. Spencer can feel your struggle - it’s the profiler in him, you’d assume - and his arms slowly unwrap from around your body, palms landing on the underside of your ass and using the leverage to work you up and down. It doesn’t do much to alleviate the slight burn in your muscle but you appreciate it and so you lean in, pull Spencer’s face close to yours and close your lips to his once more.

“Gonna fill you up,” Spencer grunts and the words send your stomach turning just as his cock brushes that sweet spot deep inside of you that has your back arching, dropping your head into his shoulder with a desperate sob. “You want that?”

You nod desperately, eyes burning with tears derived from the pure ecstasy afflicting your body as you unwind one of your arms from his neck, pressing two of your fingers to your clit and rubbing small circles into the sensitive bud. Spencer typically always wears a condom - better safe than sorry is his motto - but it never stops him from hissing into your ear every time about how much he wants to fill you up and you fucking yearn for it, too. You need it. “Do it, Spence - please, I want you t - to fill me up.”

His hips thrust up into yours, meeting you halfway as a breathy groan escapes his throat. “I can’t -”

“I went on birth control, Spence, you can.”

He pauses - you lift your head up to look at him, hips briefly slowing down in their relentless rocking against his. “You know, on average the pill is only 91% effective.”

You grin, leaning in to press a kiss to Spencer’s lips as his hips begin to roll up into yours again, his fingertips digging into the globes of your ass. “Let’s take our chances.”

It seems to be a good enough answer to him and so he nods, sweaty curls dropping onto his forehead and you bring your free hand up, pushing his hair back as your other hand focuses on circling your clit, sending lightning bolts of pleasure through your body. You’re so close you can practically taste your impending release on the tip of your tongue and you know Spencer’s almost there, too - can feel his cock, twitching deep inside of you, surely mere seconds away from imploding - and you clench around him just as you pinch your clit between your fingers and -

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder and you never appreciate just how true the sentiment is until reunion sex with Spencer. After nearly a week of not seeing or touching each other your orgasm is fucking miraculous, stars dotting your vision as you throw your head back and your entire body feels like it’s floating, pleasure rolling through your body like a tsunami intent on destruction in the greatest way possible. You ground your hips into his, forcing him inside you to the hilt as your cunt flutters around his cock and you barely hear his loud moan, the noise growing higher as his hips buck into yours and then you can feel him cumming, the sensation hot in your core as he spurts inside of you.

“Oh, fuck,” Spencer groans, smoothing his hands up your back as your hips roll against his, riding out both of your orgasms as you drop your head into his shoulder, feeling his lips land against your temple. “That’s - God, that’s so good.”

Yes, it is. It feels so fucking good, feeling him cumming deep inside of you and it’s all you can do to sit there and take it in, body going nearly limp against his until his arms are the only thing holding you up, his hands massaging your back as you let your eyes shut, focusing solely on steadying your breathing as the aftershocks of your release course through your veins.

There’s a second of silence - only a second, where the only noise from either of you is the sound of your panting, both of you desperate to catch your breath in the wake of it all - and then Spencer leans backwards, your chests pressed together as you press your lips to his cheek, feeling rather than seeing his lips turn upwards into a smile.

“Maybe I should get beat up by an unsub more often,” your boyfriend mumbles, smoothing his fingers through your hair, and you lift your head up to rest your chin to his shoulder, narrowing your eyes.

“You’d better not.” You shift on his lap, the burn in your muscles settling into a dull ache but you don’t have the energy to readjust - it’s a pain you don’t quite dislike, anyway. “I hate seeing you all cut up. I can’t believe anyone would want to ruin this pretty face.”

You raise your hand up, playfully smacking his cheek twice and he smiles. Then his hands grip onto your waist, lifting you up just a bit until his softened cock slips out of you and with just a bit of maneuvering he lies you down on the couch, shifting until he’s spooning you, chest pressed to your back and your heads resting on the cushion. One glance down tells you that this position can’t possibly be comfortable for him, his leg bent awkwardly and the other thrown over the edge of the couch but when he wraps his arms around your body you can’t bring it in yourself to mind too much.

The cool air of his apartment bites at your skin but it’s relieving, feeling the cold wash away the sweat built up on your skin from being so close to him - it’s a contrast you’re grateful for and it’s the reason you don’t tug the afghan hanging over the back of the couch over your bodies.

Well, you suppose that for every shortcoming of dating someone with a job like his there’s a bonus. And this - feeling his arms tight around your body, head pressed back into his chest with his heartbeat in your ears and his soft breathing onto your head - you’d certainly consider it a bonus.

[hains-mae]

Flowers

(Damian x Reader) Soulmate AU

Rating: T

Ages: Damian and you are 16, everyone’s ages follow after.

Summary: Soulmate AU where the wounds on your soulmate turns into a flower tattoo on your skin, if it heals with no scars the tattoo goes away, if it heals with a scar then the tattoo stays. You are just an ordinary girl, with an ordinary life, so one might think it only makes sense that your soulmate is just as ordinary as you. But that isn’t the case. Especially not when your body is constantly littered with flowers. Some of them fade over time, some stay, but one thing is for certain – your soulmate seems to get hurt. A lot.

Notes: Hey there you guys. Recently I’ve been caught up in a Batman fever, and I can’t do anything about it. I ended up creating a challenge for my friend @mrevaunit42​ which was an “Character x Reader” Soulmate AU. Seriously, it was all in the name of fun.

And then I got caught up in it, perhaps a little too much – and created this. I’ve never written a soulmate au before, though I really wanted to. (Now I have! Yay~) So please forgive my writing since I’m a little rusty, and I hope you enjoy.

Stay safe everyone.

Disclaimer: I do not own DC. If I did, I wouldn’t make it as confusing as it is now.

I woke up to a burning sensation on my lower ribs in the middle of night. Hissing in pain I slowly pushed my feet out of the warm covers and turned on the lamp beside my bed. Pulling up my shirt I assessed the damage.

It was purple lilacs this time, stretched across the middle of my torso going horizontally to my side. I winced as the tattoo completed itself and just as the heat came, a cold chill ran through it and down my spine. Somehow it soothed the burn.

God, another one? I frowned at the beautiful flower and sighed. It worried me that my soulmate was prone to getting hurt. Sometimes the injuries made sense, like when I found them on my knees, I could easily chalk it up to falling and scraping – but injuries like these were more difficult to decipher.

How does someone normal get hurt this way?

They don’t.

“Unless they’re a criminal.” One of my friends stated dryly days ago.

“Or a hero!” Another said quickly.

Needless to say, I wasn’t in a rush to find out. Whoever this person was, I knew from the start that they were trouble.

The next time I woke, it was to the early morning rays that escaped my curtains and played a fiery dance on my eye lids. I groaned and pulled the covers up wishing I could sleep in for a couple more minutes, but I knew I couldn’t.

A few weeks ago my school, Gotham Academy, announced that they were holding their annual science fair at a convention centre as opposed to the regular school gymnasium, because surprisingly enough, Wayne Enterprise offered to fund the event.

It was no secret that Gotham’s economy was hitting below the desired margin. Many people don’t have jobs which resulted in an influx of crime in the past years. And so Wayne Enterprise collaborated with Gotham’s Department of Homeland Security (DHS) to raise awareness and encourage young minds to strive for a better, innovative future. They shouldered the expenses needed and created an international affair, to top it off; Wayne Ent. also offered scholarships to future college goers and internships in all their branches.

Which was why I couldn’t sleep in today. I had project to work on. In line with our team of sponsors, I decided to invent a weapon that could help the GPD when catching criminals. A gun that projects thin plastic case marbles filled with a chemical concoction that erupts into a quick hardening foam upon impact. The foam itself is not toxic, but it works with catching and detaining. It turns as hard as stone but there was another type of compound that I was in the process of creating to counter act it as a measure of safety.

I got up and started my day.

“Good morning sweetheart.” My mom greeted as I entered the kitchen. She smiled warmly at me as she placed a plate of eggs and bacon on the table.

I couldn’t help but return the gesture, walking up to her and placing a kiss on her cheek. “Morning Mom, are you working tonight?”

“I have to, but don’t worry I’ll be leaving something in the fridge for dinner.”

I thanked her and took my plate into the living room. Turning on the T.V., I easily found the news channel and watched the latest reports on Gotham’s activities.

Mom sometimes had to work on weekends just to make ends meet, which was one reason why I was so hard to get that scholarship and hopefully the internship as well. The other reason was…

A family picture caught my eye in the middle of the news and I bit back a sigh. My dad, my mom, and me. We all were smiling at the camera.

Dad was part of the Police force and died during a heist. Reports stated he was running after the criminals and got shot before he could capture them. That was another reason I chose this as my project. Dad always wanted to fight for justice, hopefully this invention could help.

I finished up my breakfast and helped my mom with chores before I slipped into science mode and continued tinkering with the project. The projectiles were complete and I was able to make 3 in total, which I stored in a small box encased with extra padding.

It was around evening after my mom left that I got another burn. I dropped the screwdriver I was holding and bit my lip. Gasping for breath I pulled my sleeve and watched another flower blossom on my forearm.

The pain was gone in an instant and the cold tickled the skin that was branded. I sighed and slowly straightened my poster. This person, after all these injuries, they better not die before I meet them. I grumbled to myself when I realised I was short on supplies. Poor planning on my part.

I grabbed my bag and locked the front door before I headed out to the nearest hardware store, careful to keep my marks hidden from view. I’ve lived in Gotham my whole life, and I knew that standing out, even in the smallest way, would lead into trouble.

The walk to the store was short and uneventful, thankfully. There were only a few customers. I manoeuvred my way between the isles and picked up what I needed. After paying at the counter I hauled my goods and ducked back into the streets. I almost wished I didn’t stop when I heard that woman cry out for help. I was unarmed, unprepared, and every cell in my body screamed at me to walk – no – run away from the scene that was unfolding before my eyes.

But she was helpless. Clad in a trench coat and rain boots, she didn’t look like much but her bag was definitely designer. The thieves in question had a knife pointed at her face. There were 6 of them. All were towering and bulky next to her petite frame. Their menacing stares struck a cold shiver in me and my hand involuntarily clutched the projectiles I was working on in my pocket. I had a feeling it would be safer with me than it would be at home, however this was not how I imagined I’d first be using them.

The woman screamed again and I clenched my palm.

I sucked in some air and got ready to shout at the perpetrators – until I felt the wind rush past my ear.

In a flash someone had swooped into the scene and kicked the man holding the knife to the ground. The sound of blades being drawn stole my attention. It was Robin. He took a stance between the woman and the men.

“Run. Now.” He told the lady.

She whimpered and scrambled up to her feet dashing towards me, towards the entrance of the alley. She zipped past and didn’t stop running till she turned the corner. I should be running too. But my eyes were fixed on the fight that was about to happen.

Robin seemed no older than me. In reality there was no way he could win against 6 huge men. But then again, this was Robin. No normal teenager.

“6 against 1.” He mused, the grip on his katana tightened. “That hardly seems fair.”

The one who held the knife, possibly the leader of the gang, growled thickly. “Get‘im boys.”

They all rushed towards him at the same time, hands in the air and weapons ready. Robin whipped his blade and easily knocked two knives down, the remaining used their strength and threw punches that looked like it would strike anyone straight to next week. The masked boy effortlessly dodged all their hits. Crouching, jumping, twisting, exactly when needed and not a second too late. His movements were precise; a quick jab below the rib striking the kidney with the handle of the sword, a sharp slam of his elbow to the chin, and to close the deal with a blunt blow force to the side of the neck. The goon fell like a tree that’s been cut down.

I gaped in awe.

The others rushed to avenge their fallen comrade, but Robin was quicker and used his blade to disable them. He kicked one of them into the brick wall, a sickening crunch echoed as the goons’ head smashed into it, then a howl of pain when Robin sliced his back. I cringed at the sight of the blood. It was a superficial wound, at least from my vantage point. The cut was deep enough to hurt and draw red, but not enough to kill.

The next lunged himself and grabbed Robin’s wrist, the boy growled and kicked him the face, forcing to free himself. He couldn’t see the other one running towards them from behind, the weapon aiming straight for Robin’s back.

“Robin!” I found my voice and screamed. “Behind you!”

He did a roundhouse kick and slammed the head of the one holding his wrist, then using the momentum back flipped and kicked the one who was behind.

I sighed in relief.

“What are you doing just standing there?!” He shouted at me as he readied himself again. “I said run!”

That got all the men’s attention. The ones that fell got back up and huffed angrily.

“Get the girl!” The leader shouted. “We can use her.” His leer sent bile rushing up my throat.

I squeaked as 3 of them started to chase me. Finally my legs listened and I dashed across the street onto the other pavement.

They were too fast though, their thundering footsteps grew closer towards me. My lungs burned as I tried to inhale some much needed oxygen, physical sports like running really weren’t my thing. I nearly tripped on an uneven tile as a scream rippled out of my throat. I braced myself for impact but it never came. Instead I felt a rush of wind across my face and a lightness below me. The ground was getting further and further away.

I realised I was being carried. Looking up, I was face to face with Red Robin.

“God thing I saw you when I did or you’d be dead meat.” He said dryly as we landed on a roof.

“Th-thank you.” I breathed, trying to gulp in as much needed air as I could. “Robin – he –“ But I didn’t know how to articulate. The adrenaline rush was messing with my head, and I could barely think straight.

Yet Red Robin nodded, understanding. He jumped off the roof and shot his grappling hook. I peered down and saw the fight started to move, from the alley to the side walk. The goons cornered Robin into a store front and were relentless as they threw punch after punch. The other 3 that were chasing me were already fighting Red just below the building that he deposited me on.

I watched in horror as the glass shattered everywhere around them. They weren’t just normal gangs I discerned, they knew how to fight. And unlike the birds and bat, they didn’t mind taking a life.

Clutching the projectiles again in my pocket, I brought them up with trembling hands.

“I hope this works.” I whispered to myself and pulled out my elastic hair tie.

Hooking one of the orbs onto the elastic, I aimed for the goons attacking Robin, and pulled as far as the band could go. Willing my hand to stop shaking, I said a silent prayer and released my hold.

Time seemed to go into slow motion as it flew across the air. I held my breath.

It hit the ground between two goons and burst into a big foamy cloud of vibrant cobalt, instantly seizing the men and solidified their prison as the concoction cooled.

Both fights stopped for a split second, as they watched the chemical reaction, which now looking back was a mistake on all parties.

I gasped and thanked whoever was listening.

The leader roared and pulled a pistol. I felt my throat tighten as the gun set a bullet free.

Robin and I cried out in pain as the bullet dug into him. Tears threatened to roll down my cheek as I clutched my burning shoulder.

A birdarang zipped towards the leader, catching his wrist and making him let go of the weapon. With a grunt, Robin kicked him hard across the chest stealing the perpetrators breath and with a quick turn, smashed his foot onto the mans jaw, cracking it before letting him fall with a loud thud.

The fight continued and Robin easily subdued his last opponent. Then he ran across the street to finish up with Red. Both of them moved in fluid motions like well trained dancers as they fought while protecting each others weak spots. They took down the last 3 goons and tied them up just as the police sirens blared within the distance.

I jumped up from my spot and turned to run but stopped when I saw the two Robins in my path.

“You.” The younger one started. “You were the one who shot the…”

I nodded wordlessly, still feeling the adrenaline coursing through my body. A nasty red splotch caught my attention and I believe they both noticed as I glanced at it. My own hand went up and clutched my shoulder unconsciously, a cold sensation rippled through where the bullet was.

“Oh my god.”

---

to be continued...

Part 2, 3, 4, 5 (end)

[naferty]

Also, I'm pretty sure I've read all your aus by now

You have? That won’t do. How ‘bout another? A centaur balto au with a slice of iron dad! 

~~~

The festivities are grand and the spirits are high on this beautiful day. The laughs and smiles are contagious and even Tony couldn’t resist joining in. While the town is small, the festival is impressive. Many tourists come from all over to take part in the fun. The many centaur-themed activities present and the town’s high centaur population is enough to warrant a weekend stay and then more, bringing in much-needed revenue to the town, but the main events, the races themselves, are really the whole reason the town is able to hold the festival in the first place. Twenty-five years running now.  

The yearly racing event of a little old town Tony calls home always got everyone ecstatic, including the town’s own centaur population that helped host a majority of all activities. Tony being included on that list. He had taken part in the jump race on the first day of the festival, winning with little problem and keeping his crown as champion. 

His biggest fan, little six-year-old Peter Parker, cheered for him the entire time. With a fan base like that, how could Tony ever lose? 

Now on the second day, the quarter race is on. Much like a regular horse race, the centaurs are running to a finish line. The difference? Centaurs don’t need riders and they certainly don’t need a track. No, instead the town has a pathway created years ago that cuts through the forest surrounding their town and down the main road of the town itself. It starts at the festival, goes through the main road, enters the forest, returns back down the same main road and finishes where they started. The biggest of the races, many would argue, but not one Tony is interested in.

Tony’s fifteen minutes of fame came and went. Now, he’s a tourist like everyone else, walking with his carer and his carer’s family. Ben is a good carer. Perhaps the best, but that could be Tony’s bias. He couldn’t be blamed for it, however. May is a beautiful woman, for having two legs, and kindhearted to a fault. Their ward, Peter, is downright the cutest little two-legged child Tony has ever seen, and no that isn’t his bias talking. It’s the truth. His boy is unchallenged and Tony is willing to die on that hill. 

At that moment, he walks alongside Ben, May and Peter through the sea of two legs and four. Peter sits comfortably on his back while Ben keeps a hand on him to make sure Peter doesn't fall off. Tony is careful to make sure he doesn't jerk the child, but the extra help is always welcomed. The last thing he wants is to hurt his boy. 

They’re heading towards the ‘smithy.’ The lovingly named building that crafted and sold everything related to racing from harnesses to carts to hats and boots. There’s a present waiting for Peter there. Something his boy has talked about non-stop for the past few weeks and something Ben and May had mentioned to Tony beforehand. With Tony’s blessing, they went ahead and ordered it weeks prior. Long before the festival officially opened. 

Ben quickly goes inside when they reach the building, leaving Tony and May to distract Peter and keep the secret a little longer. Peter has no idea and boy is the child going to be in for a big surprise. 

“Are you having fun, Pete?” May says to the child still sitting on his back. Tony’s height makes it easy for May and Peter to be at eye level and for them both to see the large smile on Peter’s face. 

“I am! Will we see the race today?” Peter starts to jump in place. 

“Of course we will, but behave. Don’t hurt Tony.” 

Tony smiles. He’d love nothing more than to say he doesn’t mind, but the language barrier and difference in vocal cords between them makes it impossible. So he’s left to simply listen and hope his face expresses what he means. 

Ultimately, it does. “Don’t say it’s okay. We both know this would hurt anyone’s back,” May shakes her head. “Behave,” she repeats to Peter and like the good little boy he is, Peter listens. 

“I’m sorry, Mister Tony.” The large eyes his boy gives him would make even the most hardened wild centaur crumble. 

Tony nods, making sure his face shows no signs of anger. He honestly doesn’t mind. Peter isn’t a heavy child. In fact, he’s lighter than most. 

Ben peeks his head out, giving them the signal. 

“Okay, Pete, time to get down,” May says and holds up her arms, meaning to help Peter down. 

Peter pouts. “Why?” 

“We got you something. You need to get down so we can give it to you. Come on.” 

Peter goes down grumbling. Tony knows the boy loves the height and usually fights tooth and nail to stay, but he figures the present will more than make up for it. 

Once on the ground, May asks him to close his eyes. The prospect of a present finally settles and excitement soon took over. Peter closes his eyes, going so far as to use his own hands to stop himself from peeking. 

When they’re sure he isn’t looking, Ben and the crafter wheel out the present. Said present is a carriage. A simple one with a child seat on the front. The special order Ben and May requested meant to cater to Peter. For you see, his boy has taken an interest in carriage driving after watching it on television. Something about the sport caught his boy’s little eyes. The child couldn’t stop talking about it. 

Ben and May had talked to Tony about it. The two own a plot of land but have no animals to call it home. Tony is really the only resident of the place. It fell down on him to make Peter’s little dream come true. He is the one who’s going to pull the carriage after all, but they’d never force Tony to do so. If Tony is going to do it, it will all by his own free will, and how could he ever say no? 

So here they are. The carriage is customized to allow Peter to reach the reins properly. Of course, the reins are really superficial since Tony will be in charge in all manner, but it gave Peter the official feeling he wants. 

Sitting on Peter’s little seat is the harness meant for Tony. The basic breast collar, the girth and the reins themselves. Colored in the most beautiful mahogany that is going to complement Tony’s black coat that Tony’s own champion money paid for handsomely. The best for his boy. 

“Okay, open your eyes,” May tells Peter. 

When Peter opens his eyes and sees the carriage he jumps in joy. He giggles and points at the craft. Excited beyond a doubt. “A carriage!” The child runs to it. The wheel of the thing is nearly his same height. 

“It’s all yours, Petey,” Ben informs him and earns himself a shriek of delight. 

“Thank you, thank you!” Peter hugs both Ben and May, thanks them seven more times, gives Tony’s front legs a tight hug and determinedly tries to climb the carriage to reach his seat. 

“I think he likes it,” May says with a smile. 

“I think so, too.” Ben laughs as Peter nearly makes it to his seat. “Hang on there, Sport. Let me help.” 

“Hurry! Hurry, Uncle Ben.” 

“I’m hurrying. Keep your hat on.” 

A hat plops on Peter’s head. A stylish, little brown cowboy hat. It makes Peter shriek even louder. 

“A real cowboy’s hat!”

An excited child is not one to be reckoned with, so Ben and May work quickly to set up the harness on Tony and get it connected to the carriage. Peter waits impatiently on his seat. His little legs kicking wildly as he watches his aunt and uncle. 

Peter grabs for the reins when it’s all set and ready. Like on the television, he begins to crack the reins, saying words ranging from ‘mush’ to ‘giddy-up’ to get Tony moving. Tony doesn’t budge until Ben and May give him the go-ahead

The two adults double-check everything. When they’re satisfied they eventually give Tony the green light. “Go on, but be careful, okay?” They opt to stay behind and let Peter go on his own for his first try. They’re showing a lot of trust in this decision. 

Tony nods and trots off when he hears a “he-yaw!” from Peter. From the angle Peter moves the reins he’s led back through the crowd and towards the area the finishing line for today’s races are located. He moves at a slow pace and is even surprised when Peter pulls the reins to slow him further or even stop him when families, humans or centaurs, come in their way. A responsible racer in the making. 

When the crowd grows bigger Tony knows they’re near the finishing line. Peter is a fan of all races, and now that he has his own little carriage the child couldn’t resist not going where the excitement currently is. That and perhaps showing off that he’s an unofficial racer. 

“Mister Tony, please slow down,” Peter says when they’re in the middle of the gathered bodies.

Tony does so and looks back to make sure Peter is still safe and okay sitting on his seat. As he does the barrier separating spectators from the running centaurs makes itself known. Tony sees his chance and rushes in to grab a good spot for both him and Peter. 

The crowd cheers loudly. A sign the racing centaurs will appear soon. Tony makes a grab for Peter and sets him on his back to get a better view of the race. They wait for the winner and Peter cheers excitedly for his favorite centaur runner. Peter removes his hat and waves it, trying to mimic the cowboys of the television and their dramatic antics. It’s at that moment a strong gust blew through and took the hat right out of Peter’s hand. Both centaur and child watch helplessly as the hat lands right in the middle of the track. 

“My hat!” Peter cries in panic. A gift from his aunt and uncle, who already struggle with money, about to be trampled by brute centaurs mere minutes after receiving it. Neither he nor Tony could do anything about it. They could only stare at it despairingly as the racing centaurs grew closer and closer, passing each marker as they got nearer. 

That is until a four-legged body jumps over the fence from the inside and joins in on the running. Tony is a little more than surprised when he recognizes the body as Steve. The wild (or feral as some bigots would often call them) centaur of their town. Tony has seen him a couple of times. He knows of Steve. Knows his name. Knows the wild centaur lives in the forest but will occasionally make a trip into town for one reason or another. Ultimately the town lets him be. Steve doesn’t cause trouble and the town sees no issue in his wandering, but that doesn’t necessarily mean the townfolks are welcoming either. 

Eyebrows are raised as the gathered townsmen notice the very same wild centaur running in the race now. A few cry out in outrage. Tony himself is left a little speechless when Steve catches up to the predicted winner with little trouble. Even at a distance, he could see Ty, the yearly champion, glare at the wild centaur and even go so far as to swipe at Steve. 

Steve avoids it expertly by leaping to the side then comes back, pushes further and jumps head of Ty to grab the hat that’s waiting innocently for its impending doom. Steve manages to grab the hat and move out of Ty’s way, skids over to the barriers, jumps over those and disappears into the crowd that scramble to move out of his way in a panic. 

Tony moves quickly to search for him. He doesn’t know why Steve would grab the hat and he certainly hopes it’s not because the wild centaur suddenly grew a desire to wear cotton shirts and denim. Peter holds on tight on his back. Tony is careful not to jostle him too much. Least he wants to catch a falling child. 

The disbanding crowd makes it hard for him to move. So hard that he’s forced to stay put for a solid minute or two as the bodies part way. Something that frustrates him. Peter’s hat is somewhere and Tony can’t do a thing to find it! 

“Mister Steve!” Peter calls behind him. 

Tony turns and sure enough, there is Steve making his way towards them. Hat in his hand. Undamaged and even clean. Tony watches him warily until Steve hands the hat over to his boy and smiles. 

“Thank you,” Peter puts the hat on, thankful to have it back. “What a crazy thing to do, Mister Steve. All to show off to a pretty boy.” 

Caught off guard, Tony looks to his boy and then back to Steve. Oh, he isn’t prepared for that comment. He certainly isn’t prepared when Steve doesn’t deny it either. Choosing to smile warmly at Tony. As if to express it true. 

Unable to keep eye contact, Tony looks down. He’s blushing. He knows he is. Did Steve truly do all that, putting himself front and center, to impress him? 

It’s at that moment that Ben and May catch up to them and Peter eagerly tells them what just happened. His boy talks their ear off as Ben brings him down and May grabs Tony’s harness. They lead him away. Tony nods to Steve in goodbye.

Steve is about to say something when he’s interrupted by Ty, the racing champion, barging in. He pushes Steve away and nearly makes Tony jump. Something he doesn’t want when May is still holding his harness.

“Yeah,” Tony elongates the note. He’s hoping his sarcasm is showing. “Almost as much as you did.” 

“Hey there, Tony,” Ty says in a voice that’s meant to be sultry yet is anything but. The winner follows him. “Did you enjoy the race?” 

“Thanks.” Clearly, Ty doesn’t catch it. “Let’s go celebrate. I know this lovely little spot by the lake. Ditch your carers and come with me.” 

Tony shivers in disgust. “Sorry, Ty. Suddenly I’ve lost my appetite.” 

Ty stops. Clearly he understood that one. He grins. “Ooh, well maybe your taste runs more toward,” Ty looks back, “feral.” 

Tony stiffens. He glares at Ty and he’s ready to give him a piece of his mind, but Peter calls out to him from Ben’s arms. “Mister Tony! Come on, we’re going back home!” 

“Sorry, Ty,” he’s really not, “my boy is calling me.” 

He turns his back and follows after his two-legged family. May is no longer holding his harness, leaving Tony to follow on his own. He keeps up no problem, but the crowd does pose a challenge. At one point he’s farther than what his boy is comfortable with. 

“Mister Tony!” 

Tony follows the voice. His family turns a corner.

“Mister Tony?” 

Tony turns to join them and stops in his tracks when Steve skids to a halt right in front of him. Their noses touching as Tony reels back a little. 

“Oh,” is all he can say when Steve pulls away. His ears are low and his eyes are wide. As if he’s just as surprised as Tony about their situation. 

“Tony - I, uh,” Steve stumbles. He smiles awkwardly. 

“Tony?” Ben calls out. 

“Mister Tony, hurry!” Peter waves at him. 

Tony looks away for just a second. That second is all it took for Steve to disappear. Tony searches, but Steve just outright vanished into thin air. He has no choice but to leave when his family calls for him again, but he does look back one last time to see if he’d catch sight of Steve. 

He doesn’t. 

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Speak No Evil (Part 24)

Got this chapter done, now lets see if I can get the Azula & Alcina one done lol.

She is nearly certain that they are drawing closer to the spirit who now owns her voice; the jungle is growing denser--at points, almost impassably so--and the lesser spirits are tormenting her with more fury than they have in a while.

Her neck is a mess of pinch marks and her legs, arms, belly, and face are riddled with claw marks. She is beginning to fear infection, with so many welts to have to keep clean. She is frustrated to tears by the petty injuries.

“It’s alright.” Seicho reassures softly as she dabs a wet cloth to the princess’ arms. Though the water has come from the spirit pools and their crystalline, pure surfaces, she still doesn’t trust the water. Azula feels as though Seicho is rubbing bacterias into the cuts. Her legs are freshly bandaged and her arms are getting there. But they are running low on bandages, they’d only anticipated a few minor cuts or, perhaps, one or two larger accidents. They hadn’t accounted for a steady flow of superficial wounds.

Seicho sets her other arm down and Azula lifts her shirt. Seicho wrings the cloth out and brings it to the largest gash on her belly. This is the largest gash on her body. She cringes at the stinging flared up by the cloth. Water trickles cool and uncomfortably down her torso. The only worse discomfort comes from the second largest cut, a sharp throbbing on the back of her knee that hurts more and more every time she bends her leg. She is the most concerned about this one, alongside a decent clawmark near her armpit, this is the slash most likely to get infected.

“You doing okay?” Zuko asks.

Azula grits her teeth and nods. She is doing as well as she can. At least she has people to care for her, to help her cleans her wounds. She dabs a different cloth to her cheek and reaches for her parchment. Zhang-Zin hands it to her. ‘I hope that we find it soon.’ More so she hopes that their trip won’t be in vain. Agni forbid they’d come all this way just to be turned away.

She imagines a scenario where the spirit kills her for her audacity to approach it.

“It can’t be too far.” Mai shrugs. “The little ones wouldn’t be chittering this much if we weren’t getting close.” She confirms Azula’s own suspicions.

Azula climbs back to her feet and sighs. She is surprised that she can do even that. Seicho takes her hand and gives it a decent squeeze. This time it does very little to reassure her. With each step she feels that she is growing closer to her own complete and irreversible undoing. Closer to the second biggest mistake she’d ever make.

“That looks like it hurts.” Seicho remarks of one of the scratch marks on her arms. It is leaking quite steadily, three parallel trails of resentment gone unchecked.

‘It is more of an annoyance.’ She writes as she walks, nearly tripping over an unearthed root. It is more than just an annoyance though it isn’t quite pain either. Or perhaps it is and she has just grown used to it.  She has grown used to pain of several varieties and each is as unpleasant as the next.

“Are you sure that you’re going to be alright, Azula?” Zuko asks.

She gives him only a small nod. She is alright for now, though she isn’t certain that, that will be the case for much longer. She pushes aside a curtain of lichen and vine to reveal an enchanting jungle oasis. A dazzling spot where the veil between the physical and spirit worlds is precariously thin.

The water of the swimming hole is somehow purer than the pools that she has seen prior. Crystalline to the point where the ripples glitter and gleam regardless of how the sun hits them or if it hits them at all. At the edge of the treeline, plantlife is mundane, ordinary. It grows stranger and stranger still the closer it grows to the spirit pool. Azula steps over glowing flowers and fungi until she comes to iridescent plants that she has no name for. The smallest of the spirits linger around these plants, either eating from them or nesting within them.

And their music is sweet; their voices like the tinkling of chimes and the ringing of bells. Like the whisper of a breeze through a moonlit forest and the shimmer of the sun on the back of a toad-squirrel. Each sound is lilting and gossamer. Each sound leaves her with a sense of longing. Deep within her soul she knows what she is hearing.

She is listening to the timbre of voices long since stolen. Voices of people who have since come to pass. Voices that have, overtime, become something of nature rather than of humanity. She wonders what her own voice will sound like, what nature noise it will come to emulate if she can’t reclaim it. Or maybe it will simply remain with the spirit that had taken it, a fate iller than the other voices face.

She puts only a foot into the clearing and a dozen tiny heads turn to face her. Almost involuntarily she moves closer to Seicho. She has the decency to feel small in the presence of the spirit that assembles itself before her. Iridescent wisps rise from the flowers, the fungi, the moss, and the pool. They ebb off of the waterfall and coil down and away from strands of ivy. Each and every one coming together to form the tall, sylphlike figure of the spirit.

“It’s beautiful.” Zhang-Zin gasps.

She wishes that she could disagree, but it is. It is sublime, alluring, one of the most beautiful things that she has ever seen alongside one of the most frightening. And it is pretty in its fearsomeness. She finds herself feeling faint but she steps forward to meet it. There is a tingle on her tongue, an itch in her throat.

She wonders if she will be able to talk even if she gets her voice back, having sliced her own tongue so deeply. What if she has ruined herself beyond repair. What if she has always been ruined, broken at birth--destined for some sort of shattering.

The last wisp comes to rest at the base of the spirit’s throat shimmering a vivid golden blue. Her heart aches and her tummy flutters. She touches her fingers to her own throat.

She feels Seicho squeeze her shoulders. “Go on, Azula.” She whispers and Azula creeps away from her, parchment and brushes in hand, though she has a feeling that she won’t need them. The spirit knows what she is here for.

The smaller spirits gather around their guardian, hissing and spitting at her--slowly whittling her bravado and courage away. She has already pushed her luck so terribly far. She wonders if it would really be so bad to live a very quiet life with Seicho. Seicho who has already demonstrated that she is willing to work with and around her mutness.

She puts her brushes to the parchment and tries to work out how best to address the spirit.

She thinks that she has taken too long for its liking because she hears it, charming and chilling all at once--her own voice. Mixed amid several others it meets her ears. “You have come for your voice.” She has never felt such a ravenous longing.  She sees Mai and Zuko shift with discomfort. Seicho and Zhang-Zin don’t know just what they are hearing. And she thinks that they are lucky for it, they can stand idle and unflinchingly.  

She nods at its question.

“Why should I give it to you? What are you going to use it for?”

There are many things that come to mind. She would like to apologize to TyLee, would like to have easier discussions with Mai, would like to test how it feels to let emotion slip into her speech when she converses with Zuko. It dawns upon her that she has never really used her voice to its fullest--working only with careful and level tones and inflections. She wants to know what she can do with her voice. Yearns to know if she can do as much good with it as she had done sinister.

She thinks that these are fair answers, but the one she writes down is quite different. Put on parchment before she can stop her hand. ‘I want her to hear her name on my tongue. I want to tell her that I love her.’ Her fingers brush over the back of Seicho’s hand as she holds the parchment up.

The strand of her voice glints, she thinks that it does so with a degree of mockery. A smile splays over the spirit’s face, “I love you…” the rest of the voices fall away until it is just her own “...Seicho.”

It runs like a shiver down her spine. She feels almost sick. Somehow, Seicho smiles. And when she speaks she turns away from the spirit. She brushes Azula’s hair out of her face and replies, “I love you too.” The princess very nearly weeps, perhaps it handn’t come from her own lips but at least Seicho got to hear it. At least Seicho knows now, how delicate her words could be, what her voice sounds like. At least, in some way or another, she had gotten to tell the girl that she loved her. At least this venture won’t be completely without pay off.

She tucks the parchment away and touches her throat once again. This close to her voice, she feels a beating at its base. She holds her hand out and reaches for the golden-blue wisp. One final gesture of longing.

Seicho gently lowers her arm before she can do it herself. “It’s alright, Azula.” She smiles. “You got to say it.”

Azula nods. Faintly she thinks that she should put up more of a fight.

“That’s it, you’re just going to give up?” Zuko asks.

But he doesn’t understand; it no longer matters. The most important thing has already been said. She gives him a small smile and gently tugs on his arms. Mouthing that they should leave the spirits in peace. Leave before their patience burns away.

“Can you mouth the words?” Seicho asks.

Azula furrows her brows.

“Mouth the words, ‘I love you’.” She requests. At Azula’s nod she turns to the spirit and requests, “say it again.”

It returns with a question of its own, Azula’s voice comes back to her sounding perplexed, “do you love her.” It points at her.

Seicho slings an arm over her shoulder and nods. “Very much.” She pauses. “I want to hear her say it again.”

The spirit stoops down, low enough to be at eye level with her. Azula swallows, the tingling in her throat intensifies. Intensifies until she is met with an urge to claw at her throat to alleviate the itch. The golden blue wisp writhes on the spirit’s neck as it breaks away.

She watches it meander on the soft breeze, shimmering and flashing as it crawls over her own throat. It works its way up like a fingertip trailing up her neck until it slips between her lips. She hadn’t thought that her voice would have a taste. But it does and it is sharp like cinnamon and cool like passionfruit.

There is a beating and a pulsing at the base of her throat, an almost uncomfortable undulation. A new wisp moves to cover the one that the spirit had shed.

She can feel the vibration of her vocal cords but she can’t bring herself to make use of them yet.

[emilyrhymeswithfelony]

Koi No Yokan

This is a Noragami Historical AU I adopted from @bloodredrubymoon with @watchmist1412 with Miko!Hiyori and God of Calamity!Yato based on events during the Hogen Disturbance of 1156. You can always read it on AO3 but I’m still learning to format there, and structure is rather important to my storytelling.

Rated T+ due to death and some adult situations. Historical and A/N at end of each chapter. Musical references will be noted before (if any).

...............................................................................................................................

I hardly know your voice And find that I am hanging on your every word Burned inside my brain And I must stop until we meet again

My Heart Got Caught on Your Sleeve by Lucius

Hiyori had grown into a respected miko, and the beauty of the village. It never ceased to amuse her how quickly adversaries were to underestimate her as an opponent solely on her appearance. Her brother was right all those years ago; she was indeed blessed to be born a woman. For every bandit or rogue samurai that saw her as a gift on a silver platter, she would have another enemy defeated at her feet. She took full advantage of her disarming looks, and hoped she was making her brother proud. 

A couple of Taira samurai had entered the village, and unfortunately began harassing the tavern maids. Hiyori had a boding premonition that morning of pain, and rushed through the town center to the scene, determined to remind these thugs that people were not meant for the taking. Accompanied by two of her sister shrine maidens, the group of rogues came into view. One had the tavern keeper pinned to the outside wall, while two others wrestled with two of the maids, speaking loudly of their disgusting wishes for them. This was not the first time they had samurai harassing their women and bullying their men.  Hiyori was not about to sit around and watch the brute showboating.

“For every honorable warrior, it seems there's always three more pieces of trash claiming the name samurai,” Hiyori spat at them.

“Such ugly words to come out of such pretty lips,” laughs one of the men holding a tavern maid, his hand tucked under the folds of her yukata at her chest.

“Remove your filthy hands from that woman, and show me what it can do with a weapon instead of an unwilling partner, swine.” Hiyori was finding it hard to check her anger at their brazen behavior in public, embarrassing and disgracing the innocent women she knew so well.

“Ha! You’d be so much more attractive if you didn’t speak.” The second thug holding a woman throws his victim to the ground, his hand resting on the area between his thighs. “Come here, and I’ll show you a better use for that mouth of yours.”

The man holding the tavern owner began to cackle. “Let’s show this shrine maiden and her friends how much better we can taste than their god.”

The bystanders watched with both apprehension and eagerness from their hiding spots, ready to witness their divine protector put the men in their place.

“Ami, Yamma, let me handle this. These guys make me sick.” Hiyori grips her short sword, her bow strapped to her back.

“I understand the feeling, Hiyori, but we aren’t going to let you have all the fun. You can have a head start, but that’s it.” They both nod to the focused miko.

“You hear that guys, she wants to dance with all three of us herself. Thirsty girl.”

All three men, having thrown their victims to the side, began to saunter towards their supposed victim.

Hiyori closes her eyes, and breathes in deep. She opens her eyes, releasing her held breath, and begins forward with breakneck speed.  She drops to a spin, catching the legs of the first samurai, swinging her bow down on his head with an echoing crack before spinning back on the ball of her foot to sweep the weapon forcefully up to his groin. She grins, satisfied, as he turns to vomit from the pain. Gracefully, her bow finds it way back to where it began, her short sword unsheathed. The second man was on her, swinging at Hiyori. She falls back to the ground to avoid the strike, immediately springing back as he completes his arc. Her hand brings the blade up with her momentum, slashing the tie to the thug’s clothes and leaving him exposed.“Seems only fair to me,” Hiyori bites out as she blocks a sloppy counter from the man, frantically trying to hold his clothes over his manhood. “Ami, Yamma! This one is yours!” She says with a kick to the half-naked man.

“Ew!”

“You shouldn’t have, Hiyori!” Her friends are on him in an instant, restraining and covering him.

The third man seemed to be the least skilled, waving his sword around as if twirling a baton for show. With the exception of a single wandering man, it was a miracle the rest of the town had stayed far enough away to avoid collateral damage.

A stray strike threatened to take out the man passing by, seemingly oblivious to the fray.  He wore a large brim hat, but surely he could see what was going on around him, or so Hiyori thought. She threw herself into the man’s back, pushing him free of the strike, yet putting herself directly in the swing’s path.  The sharp edge of the blade catches her sleeve, slicing the skin of her forearm underneath. It takes a few moments for the blood to escape the wound. Stunned by both the contact and the gesture, the man fixates on the young miko from his place on the ground, marveling that she had thought to save him. If his mind were running on all cylinders, he might’ve asked her, “Why?” or even managed a small “Thank you,” if not at least an offer to treat the wound she took for him.  Unfortunately for him, the young woman had not missed a beat, and was combating the samurai with more aggression than before. She was before the assailant in a flash, driving her elbow into his abdomen before immediately colliding her fist into his face with a twist of her arm. He was thrust to the ground squarely on his beckside with a fierce kick, and the sounds of a bow being drawn could be heard before another breath could be taken. 

“I think we’ve had enough fun for one day. You’re threatening bystanders now with your inept fighting. I suggest you leave before I start taking you seriously.”

Poised at each man, Hiyori had three arrows ready to finish the brawl for good.

The men began to scramble, hauling each other to their feet, and dragging themselves out of the town. Satisfied with the reactions, Hiyori turns to check on -- “Who was I looking for?” She couldn’t remember why she felt concerned, as if someone had been hurt. Wasn’t a bystander involved in the fight? Looking around, Hiyori furrows her brow in frustration, chasing her fading memory of a wide black hat and savoring the sweet smell in the air.  

“Oh, Hiyori! Your Arm!” As if those words were an incantation, Hiyori finally notices the pain, as she winces and inhales sharply through her teeth. The wound was superficial, not even touching muscle, and made with a clean, sharp blade. She knew it would heal quickly, and barely leave a scar.

“It’s not really that bad, Ami, no need to worry. It just stings is all.”

“I swear, those samurai would try to recruit you if you weren’t a shrine maiden, Hiyori,” a young woman with short blonde hair chimed in.

“Her mother suffered enough letting her train, Yamma, I don’t think she could survive Hiyori riding onto a battlefield,” commented the bespeckled girl with dark hair. Turning with a laugh at her mother’s perpetual dream for her noble-woman-to-be-daughter being shattered, Hiyori couldn’t help feeling as if she was forgetting something important. The girls were fussing over her arm, and began dragging her back to the shrine.  

“At least you won’t have a nasty scar for your wedding coming up this weekend!” Ami teased affectionately. 

Hiyori choked on the laugh she was forcing out. 

“I’ve asked you a hundred times, please stop calling it that! It’s my ascension ceremony, and as far from an actual wedding as you can get!”

Hiyori had completed her training, and that weekend they would participate in the rituals to recognize her as a priestess, a shamaness in full. Technically, there was a portion that imitated a wedding, symbolizing the connection between miko and kami, but Hiyori hardly considered this anything more than an old ritual. 

“I heard in the old days, the newly ascended mikos would claim the next morning to have actually consummated their marriage to their god!”

“Yamma!” Both Ami and Hiyori were completely aghast at their friend’s comment.

“Oh, come on! The way Hiyori holds out on guys, she probably wouldn’t settle for anything less than a god, anyway!”

Ami couldn’t help but blurt out a laugh at the comment. “You know, she has a point, Hiyori. You have never shown interest in men.”

“We aren’t supposed to be interested in guys while training!” Hiyori was desperate to defend herself against this tandem attack.

“Yeah, yeah, but they never said anything about getting something lined up for after training,” Yamma was relentless.

“I mean, we are just looking out for your future, right?”

“Not you, too, Ami!”

“We are merely human, dear Hiyori. Even the gods want to be loved, right?”

Hiyori opened her mouth to refute that statement, but found she had nothing to say. Seizing her opportunity to drive the point home, Yamma threw out the clinching argument; “Besides, even the sun kami, Amiterasu, came out of hiding for a little skin dance.” She wiggled her shoulders, bumping into the other girls as she did so and eliciting giggles from one of the two mikos. 

Adjusting her glasses, Ami delivers the final blow; “Our kagura is based on that story, so maybe you’ll lure a handsome kami out with yours!”

“I don’t know what to celebrate more; Hiyori’s ascension, or her finally finding a love interest!”

“I do not have to listen to this! You two are helpless!” Hiyori groans, eyes rolling as she stomps ahead of her two friends, huddled over in laughter. 

“We’re sorry, Hiyori! Just promise you’ll tell us how divine the touch of a god can be!”

Hiyori lets out a sound of disgust over her friends’ now howling laughter. She storms away while they continue to choke on their own mirth. They were her best friends, but they loved to poke at Hiyori’s sensitive spots. Anytime a new scholar or samurai came across their path, the two girls would try to provoke Hiyori into confessing her interest. It’s not that she didn’t find the men attractive or charming, but she always felt like there was something missing.  She was content just as she was, however, and wouldn’t feign interest for anyone who didn’t take her breath away. 

Hiyori stopped under the torii at the entrance to the shrine. She could see in the distance a twin structure standing in the middle of the water, sunlight bouncing off the arch. She took a deep breath, catching soft and sweet scents in the air. The wind was picking up as the sun went down.  It seemed like it might be stormy that evening. Perhaps her premonition that morning wasn’t regarding their encounter with the samurai trash.

.............................................................................................................................

Hiyori was pulled from her fitful dreams by a force pushing the air out of her chest. She hastily ties back the sleeves of her robe before reaching for her weapons, and rushing outside.  Something was very wrong.  

She feels a heavy force push against the barriers she set up along the edge of the village.  Whatever brought this pressure was not human.  The air hung heavy with the metallic and salty smell of blood.  Mercifully, a breeze picks up, and removes the stagnation, but brings with it something new.  Almost disguised by the smell of gore, something sweet, and mildly familiar lures her.  Following the smell and the source of the pressure, Hiyori runs into the lake and looks around frantically in the moonlight to find the source. Closing her eyes, she focuses on the perimeter of the town.  Her barriers remained intact, yet she could not shake the feeling of the night pressing down on her.  She hears nothing besides her own harried breaths, and the water lapping around her legs and robe. Warm drops hit her shoulder, staining the fabric a deep crimson.  She looks up to the single torii in the water as blood drips across her cheek from the blade of a sword.  Of all the monsters she has purged, and all the phantoms she has purified, nothing felt like his presence. He wore deep midnight robes with black hakama pants. A single sword gleamed in his hands, but she could see the shapes of more on his hip. The wide brim of his black hat shielded the top part of his face, but she could make out sharp features draped in curtains of black hair.  Though unseen, she could feel his eyes locking her in place. She was convinced she was caught in the gaze of death himself.  As if releasing a laugh, another drop falls from the blade onto her cheek, awakening her from the spell. Hiyori steadies herself against the presence above her, yet she does not raise her bow. For all she knew, she was in the presence of a god of calamity. It would be best not to tug on the tail of a sleeping dragon.  She speaks, finally finding her voice.

“Do you seek protection or destruction, my lord?” 

His eyes land on her forearm, exposed to wield her bow.  He sees the bandage, recognizing her wound from the altercation with the samurai scum. She must be the miko who erected the purification barrier, the one who protected this village, even at the cost of her own blood. There was something unnervingly alluring about her, as if the threads of fate became taught whenever she was close. He hadn’t expected her to confront him, but he didn’t mind being caught in her gaze.  

Hiiro had found him earlier that afternoon, shortly after he was knocked to the ground by the woman beneath him, claiming the father of a tavern maid wished for justice for the shame of being revealed before the whole town at the hands of Taira samurai. He didn’t resist this job, having seen the sins himself so recently.  The wish for revenge thrust upon him had been fulfilled, however, and he would expend himself no further.  The other fools clamoring about could kill themselves, and needed no help from him. People died, whether he interfered or not.  He had only ducked beneath the barrier that evening to avoid wasting energy.  He had never expected this fearless miko to peak his curiosity so much.  

“I do not think you wish to fight me, yet you do not grant me an answer.” 

He bites out a laugh at her polite impatience. Such fierceness for such gentle features. He tilts his head back, revealing a sly grin and his electric eyes.

“I’ve had my fill tonight. I merely wish to pass through.” Spring blossoms, he thinks.  That’s what her eyes remind him of. 

The intensity of the blue in his eyes freezes the air in Hiyori’s lungs. Has it been minutes or merely moments since she last took a breath? She takes a cautious step back, content to feign trust in this spirit with a destructive aura, and his promise to spare them in his few words.  She watches as he tips his hat back down, concealing his face once again. Freed from his gaze, Hiyori blinks, but opens her eyes to see nothing but the moon above the arch of the torii.  She lets out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding, feeling almost disappointed to not have those blue eyes on her anymore.  A breeze picks up and plays with the wet ends of her robe and the soft fringes of her hair.  Beneath the salty scent of blood, the wind carried the sweetest smell.  

That night, sleep did not come easily. When it finally did come, the last thing Hiyori saw behind her closed eyes was a flash of blue sending her to sleep with a shiver.

[buckyownsmyheart]

Sorry To Drop In [1/ 2]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 3k+

Summary: When a handsome super-soldier comes bleeding into your kitchen, you cope by not coping at all.

Warnings: Swearing, injuries and one charming Bucko

A/N: This is for @babylevines 4k challenge! Congrats! I’m super thrilled to be a part of it. My prompt was “Where are my pants?”

A loud crash downstairs made you start in your bed. These were the times when you hated living alone, when there was a definite being in your house other than you, and no one else could deal with it, apart from you. The last time this happened, you lay in bed for a few minutes, paralysed with fear. You had decided it was easier to let the burglar take all your stuff, or the murderer to, well, murder you. The noise ended up being the neighbour’s cat, but that was beside the point. 

You sat up in bed and glanced at the clock, 02:42. You had only finished your shift at the hospital at 1, giving you a measly hour or so of sleep, but as a nurse, your body had become accustomed to that. Another bang downstairs pulled you out of your daydream, and you edged out of bed grabbing the baseball bat you now kept in your room. 

You held your weapon up high as you stepped tentatively down the stairs. The first thing you saw when you rounded the corner into the kitchen was blood. A lot of it. Oh god, someone’s been murdered in your house, and your alibi is no where near strong enough for the police to believe it wasn't you. Dropping your bat, you ventured further into the room, avoiding the pots that had been scattered on the floor. You followed the blood and ended up in your sitting room, where you found a tall, dark figure, bleeding profusely onto your sofa. You squeaked in horror and rushed over to him, where he looked up at you in awe.

“Well I’ll be damned, it’s a motherfucking angel.” He murmured, before his head slumped back down onto his chest. 

You switched into nurse mode, flicking on the lights, and putting on some gloves. You grabbed your extensive first-aid kit that you were possibly a little too proud of and ran to his side. You did a quick assessment of his injuries. His breathing was a good sign, no murder charges on the horizon yet, but there was a lot of blood was stemming from his leg. You sliced open his trousers, throwing them across the room where you would deal with them later, and applied a tourniquet to try and ease the flow. His pulse was fainter than you’d like it to be, and his face looked pale. You tried to remove as much of his clothing as possible to see if he had any other injuries, but he was wearing so many layers! Who needs this many! It’s the middle of summer and this man has gone and worn 3 layers. He must really hate the cold. 

After you made sure his leg was the only emergency injury (he had so many other injuries that you needed to categorise them), you began to stitch it together, trying to conjure your inner plastic surgeon. After you finished the superficial sutures, you tried to wipe the excess blood off his leg and placed a large gauze over it. You didn’t have a car, so you would have to take him to hospital tomorrow, but you thought his condition wasn’t critical enough to warrant an ambulance. You did have some faith in your medical skills. To try and make this stranger comfortable, you placed a blanket over him, and sat down on the floor next to the sofa with your hand on his wrist so you could take his pulse. 

If you had been more awake, you would have spiralled into a million what if questions. What if he’s the murderer? And his victim stabbed him in retaliation? What if this was a ploy to steal your TV? What if he was escaping from the F.B.I., and you were now on the ‘Top 10 Most Wanted’ list? However, what you did was fall asleep, with your head resting on the sofa next to Mr. Murderer’s hip, and your hand hanging on loosely to his fingers. That was a problem for future you to think about.

-

Your body was complaining as you stirred awake, your muscles ached, and your bones cracked as you tried to move. “You know, usually when I wake up next to a dame, I at least know one of where I am, who they are or how I got there, but you, sweetheart, are a bit of a mystery.” A voice from above you spoke, jolting you fully awake.

You leapt away from the sofa, scrambling to find words to form a coherent sentence, but before you could make a noise that was vaguely human, he spoke again, “I do, however, have a more pressing question.” He paused, lifting up the blanket slightly and gesturing underneath it, “Where are my pants?”

You still weren’t feeling too confident in your voice box, so you pointed to the armchair that had the now unwearable trousers draped over them. The handsome, and charming, man looked over at them and back at you, and chuckled slightly. You were trying very hard not to find his smile attractive or the way that his eyes clearly spelled out mischief endearing. You would not crush on Mr. Murderer. That was too far, even for you. 

“Please don’t murder me?” You said tentatively, unsure of how else to put it. 

“That would be a bit ungrateful of me, you did put me back together.” You couldn’t really think of anything else to say, so you just nodded, heading slowly in the direction of the door, “Um... Do you want tea? Coffee? Water? I think I’ve got some biscuits…” You trailed off as you entered the safety of your kitchen. 

You slid into a chair and placed your head in your hands. Good going. Only you would get yourself in a position like this one. Who needs a boyfriend when you can patch up mysteriously attractive men in your living room? You yelped as his deep voice spoke from the doorway, but you interrupted him before he could say anything.

“What the fuck are you doing standing? You should be lying on the sofa! Trying to recover from severe blood loss! You nearly died!” You pushed him by the shoulders, ushering him back towards the couch until he was safely sitting back down. Then very aware of your hands on his shoulders, you patted them a couple of times before taking two large steps back, and looking around the room, not at his now very amused face.

“Sorry, doll,” he grinned, “Do you have a phone I could borrow? Then I can get out of your hair.”

“Yeah, uh, let me just-…” You didn’t bother finishing your sentence and scampered out of the door to grab your landline. After a few steadying breaths, you went back in with a smile, trying to appear grace and beauty, and not a flustered scrambling mess. You handed him the phone, and then tried hard to slowly walk away and give him some privacy. 

What were you doing! You had no idea who this man was, yet you were giving him everything he asked for. You decided to put the kettle on, because tea fixes everything and that’s a fact. You made him a coffee, because any man that looks like that is going to be a coffee drinker, probably black and bitter like his soul. Not that you had given hot beverages to murderers often.

As you walked back into the room carrying both mugs, the man was saying, “Yeah, I chased him, he got a few nicks in, but we’re going to need a clean up down the second path on the right.” You froze. Oh my god, he was a murderer! And the guy he was calling was going to dispose of the body. Did that make you an accessory? He was using your phone after all. His voice cut through your spiral. “Hey, would you mind speaking to my friend, he wants to thank you.” As much as you didn’t want to be involved, you felt a little rude saying no, so you handed him his coffee in exchange for the phone.

“Hi,” you squeaked, yeah that’s good, real strong don’t-fuck-with-me vibes sounding like Mickey fucking Mouse. 

“Hi Ma’am, this is Sam Wilson.” A wave of realisation hit you. Captain America. You weren’t going to die! Better than that, you had helped Captain America! Your mum was going to be so happy, she crushed on the Captain way too hard. You looked back over to Mr. Not A Murderer as he was reaching for the sugar to put in his coffee. 

You were vaguely registering the thanks Sam was giving you, but you could only look at the face of the man on your couch, trying to process that you had patched up the Bucky Barnes. You didn’t know how you didn’t recognise him before. He had had a haircut since the picture you had seen had been taken, but the piercing blue eyes, combat jacket, and now you’re looking for it, the metal arm should have been a slight giveaway. It’s amazing what panic can do to people. You suddenly realised that 1) You were still staring at him in a creepy way, and 2) The Captain America was still talking in your ear and you hadn’t been listening to him. You snapped back into focus.

“I don’t know if you know, but we’ve had some recent major changes to the team and administration are still tying up loose ends,” he was saying. Of course, the blip and its aftermath, you knew it all too well. “So I’m afraid he can’t leave quite yet. If he causes you any problems, call me back on this number and we’ll try and send someone to deal with it.” 

You nodded, before realising that this was a phone call and he couldn’t see you. You gave a quick and small, “Yeah, sure, see you in a bit,” before hearing the click of the line going dead. You turned back to Bucky sitting innocently on your couch, as he stirred the sugars into his coffee and smiled up at you expectantly. “So, you, uh...” You started, trying to organise your mouth and arrange for words to come out, “You’re an Avenger.” You kept nodding, trying to lighten the mood as if it was a daily occurrence to have someone casually bleed out onto your sofa. And then that person turn out to be an Avenger, one of the worlds greatest heroes.

“Yeah, I am… Look I’m really sorry about the couch, can I do anything to pay you back? I don’t have any money on me at the moment, but I'm sure I can find something.”

You cut him off, trying not to laugh, “That sounds suspiciously like the beginning of a porno.”

His eyes went wide, and a laugh escaped him, “I would offer that, but I would most definitely have some repercussions from HR. They’re not too keen on mild prostitution.”

At this you joined his laughter. Now you knew that your life was safe, the adrenaline had left your body and you felt less flustered at the whole prospect of him being there. You knew that he was inherently a good person, and it had been ridiculous of you to think you would hurt him.

“You could help me clean up a little if you’re going to be here a while, I’ve got a shift starting this afternoon,” You offered.

“Where do you work?”

“At the hospital, I’m a nurse there. Speaking of, do you need to go? I don’t really know how super-soldiers’ function, but my sutures are probably a bit haphazard… Oh my god, wait, you still don’t have pants on, wait a sec.” You hurried out of the room once more and dashed to your room, grabbing a pair of large sweatpants and a t-shirt you hoped would fit him. You hopped back down, holding them out to him with a smile.

“You sure your boyfriend won’t mind me borrowing his clothes?”

You gave a slight chuckle, he was smooth. “No boyfriend I’m afraid, just a weirdo who loves getting clothes from charity shops in the wrong size.”

“In that case, I thank the weirdo for her service.” He took the pile, and grabbed onto your hand, making you look up at him and meet his eye, “I mean it, doll, thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me. You saved my life when you clearly had no idea who I am, and I’m really grateful.”

You smiled at your shoes, not being able to hold his intense gaze for much longer, “If I’m honest, I only did it so I wouldn’t face a murder charge. It was purely because of selfish reasons.” You turned around to give him some privacy, and walked back into the kitchen. When you went through the threshold, you sighed and stared intently at the blood smear on the floor. It was going to take a bit of cleaning to get out. You hoped you weren’t going to have to get someone in, that would take a bit of explaining. 

When you turned around again, Bucky stood in the doorway. Your grey sweatpants hung low on hips, and the t-shirt hugging him, maybe a little too tightly. Oops. He eyed up your kitchen floor, “Wow, I really went to town on bleeding all over your floor, huh? Where’s the cleaning stuff?”

You laughed again, finding it was becoming a common occurrence with Bucky around. “Yeah, you sure left your mark,” you laughed rummaging around in a cupboard and handing him a mop and some bleach. You decidedly ignored the heat that remained where his hand grazed yours. It had been way too long since you last got laid. 

“I don’t want to be rude, but you’ve got a little, uh, blood, just, um…” He gestured to your entire body, “everywhere.”

You looked down at your clothes and saw what he meant. There were smears and spatters coating your pyjamas, originating from your forearms. It looked like a car had driven through a puddle and splashed you on the sidewalk, but instead, the puddle was blood and the car was Bucky’s body. 

“Right, yeah, I think a shower is needed,” You paused before turning back to him, “Please don’t steal anything?”

“I don’t know doll, you’ve got some pretty comfy sweatpants, I’d watch out if I were you.”

You gave him a light chuckle before running upstairs, trying to hide how wide you were actually smiling. It was crazy how someone could elicit such a response from you having only known you a few conscious hours. You peeled off your dirty clothes and shoved them in the sink to soak. You jumped in the shower and tried to calm your whirling mind that was filled with thoughts of Bucky and his captivating smile. It would be extreme to call you obsessed, but you were definitely intrigued. You wanted to sit down and talk to him, try and learn anything about him that he was willing to tell you, and even just be in his company because he made you feel a step lighter than you had yesterday. 

After a thorough scrub, using your best soap because you wanted to, not because of someone downstairs, but because you wanted to. As you rounded in the kitchen in fresh clothes, Bucky was putting away the cleaning things, and the floor actually sparkled. It had never been this clean before, not even after you had scrubbed it for hours, trying to clean up the entire lasagne you had dropped on it once.

“Wow, I’m impressed and mildly concerned at how well you managed to clean that up,” you said, and Bucky lifted his head up, grinning at you.

“Let’s just say 70 years as an assassin gives you lots of practice at that sort of thing,” he joked. “Sam said he was going to be here in a few minutes, so I’m going to head off now. I just want to thank you again for everything you did for me, it really means a lot, and I can’t convey how grateful I am.”

A date would be a great thank you, you thought, but said instead, “Yeah of course, thanks for cleaning up and ya know, saving the world and that.” He gave you a small smile and you walked him to the door. As he turned to leave, he paused and looked at you with his mouth open as if he was about to say something but shook his head instead. He leant in and gave you a kiss on the cheek, lingering a little longer than you thought normal. You became aware of his hand on your arm, and his soft breath on your cheek. You blushed hard as he pulled away, still revelling in the feeling of his slightly chapped lips on your cheek and shut the door quickly before you jumped on top of the poor man. Get yourself together! You took a deep breath, trying to push Bucky out of your brain, and carried on with the day.

-

To say you thought about Bucky all day would be an understatement. A patient would come in with a broken arm having fallen off of a horse, and you wondered if Bucky had ever ridden. A small child came in with a cold, and you wondered what Bucky was like as a child, whether he was always fighting fit, or if he suffered with colds. Your fellow nurses were teasing you constantly throughout the day about the dreamy heart-eyes and wide smile you were sporting, but you didn’t care. You told them about Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, and they swooned, gushing over the details you gave them about your encounter. 

You were still smiling ear to ear as you walked to your front door, only biting your lip to try and conceal it on the walk home so people didn’t think you were mad. To be honest, it didn’t matter that you weren’t going to see him again, the fact that he knew who you were, and that you had both shared that memory was good enough for you. Obviously, you wanted to see him again, but life was life and things aren’t always salt and pepper, so you kept that memory treasured away. As you walked up to your door, you froze. There was a small package on your doorstep. You stepped tentatively towards it, trying to discern if it was a bomb or the UPS guy had forgotten to drop it around the back. As you got closer, you saw it was the clothes you had leant Bucky, with a handwritten note on it.

‘To my guardian angel,

Let me say thank you properly, 646-724-7147,

Bucky’

Maybe things weren’t over just yet.

Next Part

[fortwest]

Fenn/Cordelia Interview

@liahavelock

The two interviews before him slipped by quickly – Fenn was paying little attention to them, truth be told – and he stood almost robotically when prompted by an avox, who led he and Lia to the bottom of the stairs. He shook himself out of it and grinned at his sister. “It’ll be fine. We’ve dealt with worse sirens than Dora Tales.”

Dora leaned forward to the audience. “Between you and me,” her voice seemed to bubble up from her chest, like a burbling stream, “this next couple is one of my favourites.” She winked performatively and giggled, raising goose-bumps on Fenn’s bared chest. “I think we can all agree they’re a couple to watch. Please make them feel welcome. It’s our favourite seaside duo. Cordelia and Fenn!”

Wolf whistles, screams, and raucous applause assaulted Fenn’s ears as he strode confidently up the stairs, his suit attracting gasps and further applause from the audience. He bowed to the audience cheekily and batted his hand their way, as if to say – Oh stop it, you – they loved that. A glint in his eye and a broad grin on his face, he turned to Dora Tales and shook her hand, firmly, whilst bending in to kiss her on both cheeks. As he pulled away, her eyes met his and Fenn returned the searching gaze and superficial smile.

As he and Lia sat on the sofa, Fenn offered his hand to Lia. She looked up at him and took it into her lap. Dora looked admirably upon the two of them, sighed and shook her head with a smile. “I’m sorry to stare, but you two really are beautiful. What do we think of these outfits, ladies and gentlemen?” The audience roared. She leant forward and squeezed Fenn’s leg, who laughed and leant back on the sofa. “Oh I know,” he giggled. “I have genius stylists – I usually wake up looking like a blobfish.” Dora then booped Cordelia’s nose, and Fenn squeezed Cordelia’s hand, praying she wouldn’t bite Dora’s finger off.

As the crowd died down, raptly watching Fenn and Cordelia – already baying for blood, Fenn thought with a sick twist in his stomach – Dora Tales began to work her magic. “Well now. I must admit to being starstruck. You two have both gathered quite the following in the capitol – we really feel as though we’re a part of this little family.” Tales beamed at them.

“We’re happy to welcome you into the Havelock clan,” Fenn opened his arms to the audience and to Dora, chuckling.

Lia concurred. “Yes,” she forced a smile, though Fenn felt it was only because he knew her face so well that he noticed its falseness, “You’ve welcomed us very warmly – and we’ve managed to find a few home comforts here.” Fenn squeezed her hand again – nice one.

“Ah District Four,” Dora sighed. “A humble place but so beautiful, and such a rich culture – so rooted in mythology. Tell us a story from home – it seems you both spent a lot of time playing them out as children,” she added with a wink.

“If you’re referring to the clam shell bras, Dora,” Fenn chuckled, “I’d rather reserve comment.” Fenn held a hand up jokingly, and forced his face to flush redder. “But we can tell you a story if you’d like – I believe Lia knows the best ones.” He indicated his sister and extricated his hand from hers to give her the floor. “I never paid much attention in school,” he whispered and winked at Dora.

Cordelia accepted graciously, her eyes sparkling brighter than her dress. Fenn sank back, grinning at his sister as she spoke. The room was eating from the palm of her hands; the way Fenn commanded attention was loud and charismatic, but when Lia commanded a room it was with a soft power, her voice like the smell of coffee grounds permeating the air, wiring everyone’s brain. Masterful, he thought as she flipped the coin into the air. He was glad to see Tales smiling uneasily. He had never promised her District Four stories were sweet fairy tales.

Dora laughed effervescently as Cordelia caught the coin, and applauded. “What a story!” Dora exclaimed. “The myths of District Four are legend, of course, but I wasn’t prepared for them to be quite so sinister.” The hint of menace in her voice was not lost on Fenn – she didn’t appreciate command of the room being taken from her. Tales was trying to point out to the audience that beneath the golden couple lay something darker.

Fenn smiled and lent forward. “There’s nothing to fear about death,” he spoke gently. “Living by the sea teaches you that we are helpless when presented with it.” He grinned, “I think, though, Dora, that you’d have more to fear from the kids playing pirates back in District Four than the scary stories they tell.” Fenn chuckled, and Dora graciously accepted the shift in direction of the conversation.

“And speaking of your dastardly deeds back at home, Fenn,” Dora laughed airily, “You’ve had quite the young love right here in the capitol. Do tell us about Valentine, Fenn. How did you feel when you saw what he said to Valkyrie? And what,” she grinned, “happened on the train?”

Fenn chuckled, “Oh I never kiss and tell, Dora. Although I’m not sure that applies when you all saw the kisses anyway.” His voice was edged with a warning. Don’t ask me again. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, and opened his mouth to evade the question – he’d been preparing for this, but Dora clearly saw what he was trying to do and cut in before he could say anything.

“Come now, Fenn. We’re all desperate to know!” She looked round at the audience, and Fenn became conscious of how close she had come whilst talking, her knees mere centimetres from his own. “Aren’t we?” The audience roared, some of them practically frothing at the mouth.

Fenn raised his hands in defeat, and they fell silent at once, waiting for the story. “Well as to what happened on the train – I think it’s fairly clear that we clicked pretty much straight away,” Fenn grinned sadly and held his hands in his lap, looking down at the floor and pursing his lips. He knew how to play an audience. “We sat up and talked for hours most nights – same as when we got here, really.” He looked back up and shook his head. “I remember being so nervous when I saw him in the training centre. ‘What if everything’s changed now we’re here’, I thought. But you know between the dates and the singing and the sleepovers… and the baths,” he added, grinning at the audience. “I sort of settled into it.”

“I guess I felt a bit of an idiot. I can’t have expected him to seriously fall for me in a place like this. I should have trusted myself at the start, I suppose.” He held his hands up as if to signal that there was nothing more that could be done, and looked out into the audience, pleased to see a couple of people dabbing at their eyes. “Lucky I have my sister with me,” he grinned. “You know I always used to go to her as a child, too. She used to spray ‘magic sea water’ on my leg when I’d cut myself, or over my heart when I was feeling upset. No magic water here, of course, but she’s still here for me like no one else can be,” he placed his arm around his sister and squeezed her in towards him.

Dora leant closer and spoke in a false whisper. It was softer than her usual soaring voice, but loud enough to echo around the room. “And is that why you chose your beautiful sister here over Valentine?”

Fenn smiled and looked over at Cordelia. “Well, Dora. I think I always knew I would be with Cordelia in these games.” The audience loved that. “Valentine was fun, but family is the most important thing in the world.”

 Tales moved on from Fenn to Cordelia and asked about Onyx. Fenn used the opportunity to assess the audience more closely – he had heard the story a thousand times from Cordelia, so didn’t need to listen, though he made sure to nod sympathetically from time to time. He was pleased to see that the audience were enamoured. Cordelia’s hot-headedness made them look like serious contenders, but the sharp edges of her fire were softened by Fenn’s charm.

Dora’s laughter soared above them all, and the audience laughed along. It was infectious, though not to Fenn and Cordelia, who smiled politely. “Well we certainly have a charming pair here, don’t we? You’ve been quite the golden boy and girl independently, of course, but to be in here together.” She whistled through her teeth. “Well, I think we can all say we were heartbroken to watch your reaping.” The audience agreed fervently, but Dora ploughed on. “But to actually be in your position, I can’t imagine what that must be like.” She almost choked on her words with emotion, though Fenn noted her eyes were dry. “How did it feel to see your sibling get reaped?” Dora asked the two of them.

Fenn glanced at Cordelia, who was flipping the coin nervously, and nodded almost imperceptibly to Fenn, encouraging him to take the lead. “I don’t think words could do it justice, Dora.” He spoke softly, directing his words out to the audience. “You know – on some level it’s almost a blessing in disguise, to have Lia here with me. A small slice of home goes a long way. But equally, my stomach dropped when I heard Lia’s name get called, and it hasn’t gone back to normal. I’d do anything for my sister here.”

“You know – I just can’t stop thinking about our parents. They’ve been through such tragedy already,” he sighed sadly.

“Tragedy? What’s this?” Dora reached out her hand, which Fenn took – almost comforting her rather than her comforting him. He looked at Cordelia to check this was okay, and she nodded a small nod, looking at the floor.

Fenn began. “Cordelia and I have already lost a sibling. My parents have already lost a child. Cordelia’s twin.”

By the time Fenn had finished telling the story of Atalanta, how they would spend days out on the boat as children, how she had died, and how it had felt going from a trio to a duo, the room was silent. The loudest sound was the breathing of the three people on stage, amplified over their microphones. “Now this is unprecedented,” Dora leant back and brushed at her eyes, again tearless. “Well, my dears, I think we can all say we hope you make it home to your poor parents. They must be sick with grief.”

Fenn shifted, taking this as the end of the interview, but Dora used the hand already on his leg to press down firmly, telling him not to move. He glanced at Cordelia, who looked just as confused as he did.

“Speaking of people back home who must be worried. We contacted some people back in Four, and my they had some lovely things to say about the two of you.” Dora indicated the screen behind her, on which people flashed, saying how sorry they felt for the Havelocks, how Lia and Fenn were good kids, always brightened a room, and how they’d grown from kind and funny children into even kinder, funnier adults. Allium’s face appeared briefly, and Fenn smiled sadly at his voice. He hadn’t forgotten its sound, but it was nice to have his memory refreshed.

When the video reel ended, Fenn exhaled heavily and wiped at his eyes, which had moistened. “Thanks for that, Dora. It was nice to hear from them.” He looked over at Cordelia, who smiled and nodded.

“We miss you all,” Cordelia said into the camera. “We’ll be home soon.”

The audience roared and stood on its feet as Dora bowed to Lia and Fenn and kissed their hands. They waved solemnly at the audience, but with winning smiles, and left the stage.

Fenn embraced Lia shakily the minute they were out of sight, though the cheers of the capitol still wracked his head. He couldn’t find the words to say how he felt, but from the trembling of her breath, she understood.

[siribear]

the minutemen’s elite strike force consists of only this: whisper, deacon, maccready, preston, and a handful of settlers that make up the local militia. whisper and preston lead the way, with the militia right behind them and the snipers taking up the rear. in the two days it takes them to travel to the outskirts of the castle, on a peninsula to the southeast, whisper informs preston of her “deal” with the brotherhood.

for the first time, preston looks at her with disapproval. ‘you really think that’s a wise idea?’

‘we’re still getting our feet off the ground. you saw that airship, preston. with that, the vertibirds, the the power armor - we don’t stand a chance if we make them our enemies now.’ preston sighs heavily. ‘i don’t like it any more than you do, okay? it’s a means to an end.’

‘promise me you aren’t actually joining up with them.’

whisper looks up at him and the worry worn plainly on his face. ‘i don’t agree with their ideals. synths and ghouls aren’t that different from us.’

it isn’t long before he’s smiling at her again. and she still remembers deacon’s remark about preston back in sanctuary. she hides her blush to look out at the ocean, clear and blue and dangerous. the threat of mirelurks brings her back to the task at hand.

‘if we can move our headquarters from sanctuary to the castle, we keep sturges and the others safe, as well.’

preston nods. ‘mama murphy asks about you, sometimes. she says you never visit her.’

‘i - ’ she doesn’t. she’s always gone, for one, but more than that, she doesn’t like how mama murphy seem to know more than she should. ‘no, i don’t.’

preston fidgets with his rifle. ‘she wanted to know if you’d found your son yet. i didn’t know you had a son.’

whisper laughs mirthlessly. ‘and that’s why i never visit her.’

-

 the group wades through flooded streets, quickly dispatching mirelurks that burst from the ground, their hard shells the only thing keeping the group from picking them off from afar. one particularly well hidden mirelurk manages a good swipe at her leg before fully coming out of its hiding spot, claw and water coming away red. one of the minutemen disintegrates it, ash spreading on the water.

whisper waves one hand in thanks while the other inspects the cut. it’s mostly superficial, not deep enough to do any real damage. the worst part is the potential for infection if she doesn’t get out of the water. thankfully, the castle is close, and the water recedes back into the ocean. the minutemen scout a building ahead, the last one in a line of shops just before the castle. preston, deacon, and maccready stay behind while she quickly tends to her wound, sitting on the back of an abandoned car. a can of purified water to clean it, a quick stimpak for healing - there’s no saving her pant leg, however, sliced up the calf.

she holds one flap between her fingers and looks up to deacon. she raises an eyebrow.

he laughs. ‘oh, no. you’ve taken enough of my clothes.’ which is not an unfair statement. she returned the shirt, at least.

whisper gives him her best smile. ‘how else am i supposed to get into your pants?’

deacon huffs, absolutely not bothering to hide his proud grin; maccready actually bursts into laughter; preston just looks strained, though she can tell he’s fighting back a grin. in the end, she does get a pair of deacon’s spare jeans, which go right into her pack. she can change after they take the castle. celebratory wardrobe change.

‘didn’t think we’d ever make it back here,’ preston says, gazing out at the castle. at the high, fortified walls, the nearby lake with waves rippling in the wind. the broken walls are ominous, not blown apart by the bombs or eroded by time. something definitely attacked the fortress. something huge. their sea monster.

and yet, if she looks hard enough, she can see the stars in his eyes. ‘this is all thanks to you.’

whisper laughs awkwardly. ‘thank me after we take this thing. there’s still the chance that we fail horribly.’

‘if you die, i get your laser rifle.’ deacon jostles the weapon on her back.

‘only if i get her pistol. that thing is pretty nice.’

hands on her hips, she glares at the snipers. ‘you two are so supportive, thank you. let’s go, preston. the others are waiting.’

-

their plan is simple: preston takes the minutemen through the north end of the castle while whisper, deacon, and maccready take the south. preston will make the first shot, signalling the others to move in. and as they pass along the western side, there’s another collapsed wall at the edge of the lake. instead of circling around to the entrance, they climb up the mountain of debris onto the outer wall of the castle.

whisper looks down upon the pentagonal courtyard of fort independence, littered with mirelurk nests and mirelurk shells poking through the dirt. by her count, there are at least 6 hiding within the courtyard. open doorways lead to halls and more rooms and presumably more mirelurks. dead grass crunches underfoot as the three of them kneel in position. maccready watches one patch near them she knows is a mirelurk lying in wait.

two minutemen flank either side of the opposite wall. preston creeps further than that, pressing himself flat against the exposed wall. he spots them easily, gesturing quickly before taking aim. his first shot fries a single mirelurk egg, not bothering to waste it by hitting a shell. it’s enough. the ground rumbles and comes alive, the waiting mirelurks bursting from the ground. while they shake the dirt off their shells, the others open fire.

horrible, high-pitched, crab-like squeals fill the courtyard. the ground rumbles again; the mirelurk hiding next to whisper’s group finally awakens, charging blinding toward maccready. he pivots on his knee to take it out, one shot going straight into the mirelurk’s head. a smaller, paler baby breaks open an egg, chittering as it runs at them. he smashes it with the butt of his rifle, its body caving in from the impact.

‘that’s disgusting,’ she says, frowning.

‘these are your neighbors, boss.’ he wipes the ichor onto the grass under his feet.

it doesn’t take long for them to clear out the remaining mirelurks. the minutemen begin burning the nests, lobbing molotov cocktails before any more mirelurks can hatch. one minuteman walks over to the hole near the lake, favoring one arm; preston walks up behind him, checking on him before climbing the debris up to whisper’s group.

‘is he okay?’

preston looks over his shoulder, then to her. ‘a mirelurk got his arm before we could stop it. it’s been treated already.’

she nods. ‘good to hear. no injuries on our end.’ along the top walls of the castle, there are still undisturbed nests and discolored patches on the ground. more mirelurks, undisturbed by the noise. she does note the broken piles of artillery in certain corners of the pentagon. they could make use of it if any of it is salvageable.

‘there are still wings that haven’t been cleared, general. what are your orders?’

‘you take the uninjured members of your group, clear out the inner wings.  we’ll clean up out here. regroup near that radio tower.’

preston salutes her and returns to the lower level to inform his team. whisper and hers continue along the walls, destroying another set of nests and more mirelurks along the way. below them, the muffled sounds of more fighting and breaking glass. they finish on the far end of the castle, in one of the lakeside corners. preston emerges from the castle, mirelurk blood and gore splattered across his coat. she waves, amused when he waves back slowly.

the ground shudders again, strong enough to send her forward, close to the edge. she catches herself and follows the gazes of her companions to the lake. the center begins to bubble, waves rush to shore and crash heavily against the rocks.

‘boss, i don’t like this - ’

maccready’s complaint is cut short by a loud, low roar emanating from the lake. she covers her ears when the roar grows louder and a large, black shape breaks the surface. it stands higher than the castle walls, waving pincers as long as her entire body. water sloughs off its shell, covered in algae and lined with spikes. and then it sets its sights on the castle once more. as it walks slowly forward, whisper realizes this is their sea monster.

the minuteman standing near the breach in the wall fumbles for his weapon, clumsily aiming as his shots either go wide or catch the edge of the large shell. he draws its ire; it spits large globules of liquid in his direction. some land on the rocks, on the ground, but one is large enough to catch him directly in his face. and then he screams.

acid hisses, burning away at the rocks, at the man’s flesh. whisper stands, frozen, listening to the gurgling screams until he stops. she doesn’t hear deacon yelling at her to get down until he’s pulling him along with her to jump to the courtyard. they outrun more acid, some splashing against her heels.

she catches her breath against one of the inner walls of the castle, hand against her mouth to keep from vomiting.

‘whisper, hey.’ deacon’s rough hand on her shoulder brings her back. ‘we need you. come on.’

‘yeah,’ she says, voice rough. ‘i’m - okay.’ she closes her eyes for just a moment. ‘that-that acid was coming from those spouts near her head, right? damage those enough - ’

‘i’m on it.’ maccready ducks down and around a small crack in the wall. it’s enough for the barrel of his rifle to fit through and for him to see. ‘cover me?’

whisper and deacon nod in unison, watching as the giant mirelurk scans the castle walls for its prey. maccready’s first shots go high into its shell until it turns to face him. it roars louder when one shot damages a spout enough to break it, but acid still shoots out of the other. the wall saves him from most of the spray, but some makes it through the small crack. he pulls away in time to save his gun from the damage.

she and deacon take their shots. her low, him high; deliverer punching through the chinks in its legs. it stumbles and turns enough to face them, taking the pressure off maccready. with his angle, he hits the other spout with a shout of, ‘yes!’

and whisper would laugh with relief, if the giant wasn’t ramming itself against the wall of their cover. dust and rock rain upon them with every hit. they run further down the halls of the castle, the mirelurk limping behind them. something explodes off its back, and the three of them stumble to a stop. through another small window, they notice someone peeking out from a far doorway, a lowered rocket launcher in hand.

‘good to see the minutemen are good for something,’ deacon quips. ‘guess it’s our turn to cover them.’

whisper ignores the insult. she’ll definitely get him back later for it if they survive this.

between the two groups, they come up with a rhythm: preston’s group fires laser shots to have the giant mirelurk face them, then fire a missile; whisper’s group moves in close to draw the monster away before ducking back into the castle. it works, for a time, until the creature weakens. dislodged chunks of flesh hang off its body, blood seeps into the ground where it paces.

whisper moves in, getting its attention by focusing on its legs. one snaps off entirely, and it careens off to one side before righting itself. she backpedals, avoiding swipes from the large claws. someone from preston’s group attacks the creature, but it doesn’t turn like it had been. instead, she hears familiar squealing as mirelurk hatchlings fall from under the large shell. two nests worth of hatchlings swarm the other minutemen.

‘shit.’ she turns and runs, but too slowly. the hulking creature might be limping, but with the reach on those claws -

deacon grabs her arm, almost throwing her back inside, but when she turns, he’s gone. she yells for maccready, who starts shooting immediately. between him and her, they reduce the mirelurk’s head to a crater at the base of its shell. it falls heavily against the wall, but the castle holds firm.

‘i’ll check on the others.’ maccready pushes her. ‘go.’

she goes. crawling under the sagging body is stupid and dangerous, but it’s the fastest way outside, so she takes it. when she makes it on the other side, mirelurk blood sticky against her back, she spots him. deacon lies crumbled on the ground, halfway across the courtyard, a red gash across his chest visible even from where she stands. she runs to him with a stimpak at the ready.

deacon’s pale - paler - his sunglasses somehow still on, but askew. she lifts his head gently with one hand, and with the other she presses her fingers against his throat, his pulse soft and fluttering under her fingertips. whisper brushes her thumb against his cheek, and he groans when she administers the stimpak.

‘ugh. did i die?’ he shifts slightly and looks up at her. ‘am i in heaven?’

she almost sobs with relief, resting her forehead lightly against his instead. ‘don’t ever do that again.’

‘no promises, partner.’

‘you two need a moment?’ whisper straightens at the sound of maccready’s voice, but doesn’t rise.

deacon groans again. ‘never mind. this is definitely hell.’

[avengerscompound]

Mixology - Partings

Mixology - A Captain America Fanfic

Series Masterlist Previous //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count:  3623

Series Warnings:  Angst, Character death, Breaking up and making up, past trauma, pregnancy, talk of abortion, smut (vaginal sex, fingering, other things)

Synopsis:   Steve Rogers comes into your bar and after a night of flirting you take him home.  When he leaves the next day you never expect to see him again.

A/N:  This fic was written pre-Infinity War.  So while it follows canon for a while, it then veers off wildly at the end.

Partings

You and Steve sit cross-legged on your bed.  You’re wearing a robe and Steve has pulled his boxers back on.  You’re playing crazy eights.  You keep trying to cheat because every time he catches you he starts tickling you.  

“You know earlier, you said that you didn’t think Steve was the kind of guy who would go skinny dipping?”  You ask.  

Steve draws a card from the deck and you scan your hand to see if you can play anything.  The top card is a six of hearts so you play a six of spades.  

“Yes,”  Steve says, playing a jack of spades.  

“Why only think?  How do you not know if Steve would go skinny dipping?”  You ask.

Steve looks at you and mulls over his answer.  “I guess I never got to know that side of me.  When I was young I was sick all the time.  My mom kept a close eye on me.  I never learned to swim, she wouldn’t have allowed that.  Then post serum, I’ve just had to be responsible.  That’s what I am, isn’t it?  Responsible?”

You play a four of spades but tuck a 3 of clubs under it.  

“I saw that!”  Steve cries, pouncing on you.  The cards go flying and his hands dig into your ribs and squirm up under your arms.  You squeal thrashing under him trying to get away.  There is a sudden shift.  He pulls you into him, his mouth meets yours, sucking and biting at your lips.  

His mouth moves down your jaw and you link your fingers around the back of his head.

“You lied to the military or the government or whatever…”

“SHIELD.”  He corrects you before continuing to kiss down along your neck.  He sucks hard on your skin.  You hum.  He’s marking you and normally that would bother you.  It feels so fucking good though, you can’t even make yourself care.

“You lied to SHIELD about being injured so you could hang out in a studio apartment fucking a stranger all day.”  You continue.  “That doesn’t sound too responsible to me.”

“You really want me to go skinny dipping, don’t you?”  He asks.  

You shrug.  “It doesn’t have to be that.  I just think you should do something for Steve or else all you’re going to be is Captain America.  You seemed so adamant that that’s not who I saw when I saw you.  Be a shame to lose Steve.”

He props himself up on his elbows over you.  “I sometimes worry that Steve might be gone already.  Most of my friends just call me Cap.  The only person who knew Steve when that’s all I was is in a nursing home and she doesn’t always remember who I am.”

You stroke your fingers along his jaw. “If that’s true, why did you want me to be so sure I saw Steve and not Cap like your friends?”

Something in him seems to deflate. His eyes are filled with real sadness.  You feel a real sense of dread as he opens his mouth.  “Someone has to see him.”

Your breath catches.  You pull him into you kissing him fiercely.  Trying to undo the pain you just dealt him.  He buries his face into your neck.  “I’m sorry, Steve.”  You say, pleading with him to hear you now.  “I do see you.  I see you, Steve.”

He lies just pressed against you for a moment.  “Thank you.”  He says, pushing himself off you.  He starts pacing around the room looking for his clothing, that have been strewn around the room.  “I should probably get going.”

You get up and walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind.   “Please don’t go.  Not yet.”

He stands there, not doing anything.  Just breathing. You can’t see his face, so you have no idea what’s happening in his head.  You listen to his chest.  His heartbeat.  The sound of his breath being drawn in and released.  Eventually, he turns in your arms and wraps his around you.  “I’m not sure what you want from me anymore.”  

“Nothing.  Just to have a good time. I’m sorry I don’t want it to end like that.”  You plead with him.

He sighs.  “I’ll stay for a bit longer.  I did have some things in mind.”  

You look up at him and trace your index finger over his bottom lip.  “Thank you, Steve.  Are you hungry?”

He nods.  

“Do you want something healthy to make up for the breakfast?”  You ask.

“No.  I want something loaded in carbs.”  He answers.  

You grin.  “I have just the thing.”  

The two of you go into your kitchen and you pull out some eggplants.  You pass them to Steve and ask him to slice them thinly.  As he goes to work you turn on the oven, beat some eggs and pull bread crumbs from your cupboard along with some homemade marinara sauce that Davide’s family had given to you.

“You make marinara from scratch?  I didn’t think people did that these days.”  Steve mused as you take slices of eggplant from him and dip them into the egg wash and breadcrumbs.  

“No, I didn’t.  One of those guys I was working with last night.  The serious one with the ironic mustache.  His family is from Italy.  I guess people still cook from scratch in Italy or something.  They don’t think I take care of myself properly.  So I end up with lots of Italian food.”  You explain.  “No complaints from me though.  It’s awesome.”

“It’s nice that you’ve found people who care for you like that.  Do you think it will keep you here?”  Steve asks.

You shake your head and move the eggplant into the oven to bake. “People only ever superficially care about me.  When it doesn’t take extra thought.  Davide’s family give me pasta sauce because they give everyone pasta sauce. They’d give it to you too if you showed up to their house.  If I really needed help, they wouldn’t be there for me.  When I’m done with DC, I’ll move on.  I was thinking New York next.  That’s where you’re from isn’t it?”

“I think the New York I’m from might be different than today, if you’re angling for a neighborhood recommendation.”  Steve teases.  He comes up behind you while you prepare a glass baking tray with the marinara sauce, wrapping his arms around your waist.  “Maybe you should give people a chance to care about you.  If you keep moving how would anyone get the chance?”

You turn to face him, looking up into his eyes.  “You can talk.  Besides, I grew up giving people a chance.  I have many nice acquaintances, who I enjoy spending time with.  I don’t have close friends.  I never have.  It’s okay.  I don’t let people in very well.”  You lean up and kiss him, just briefly.  “Weren’t we supposed to keep to happy things?”

Steve’s hands slide down to your ass and he lifts you placing you on the kitchen bench.  You start to kiss, taking your time with it.  His hands slip into your robe, pushing it apart.  He lazily explores your body but never moves his mouth from yours.  

The timer on the over buzzes.  “What needs to happen with these?”  He asks pulling the eggplant out.

“They need to be flipped and put back in for 10 minutes.”  You answer.

He complies and returns to you, taking straight up where he left off.  He starts trailing kisses down your throat and over your collarbone.  One hand goes to your breast and he kneads it.  You hum and clutch at his hair.  He pulls you to the edge of the counter and grinds into you.  

The buzzer goes off again, and you push him away from you reluctantly.  Sliding from the counter you go remove the eggplant from the oven.  You layer it in the dish, sauce, eggplant, mozzarella, eggplant sauce, repeat.  On the very top layer, you grate parmesan cheese and you put it back in the oven.  

“That will be about half an hour.”  You say turning to Steve.

“Perfect.”  He says.  He takes you in his arms and turns you to the counter.  He pulls the cord on your robe and slides it down your arms before tossing it into the living room.  His hand runs down your arms moving them so you have your hand on the counter palm down.  He shifts your legs apart and his hand moves between them.  

His fingers glide up and down your folds.  You’re already wet.  You’re ready for him.  You need him.  He drops his boxers and his cock presses against your cunt.  He moves his hips slowly against you.  Using his cock to stroke your pussy.  Each forward thrust pushes the head of dick against your clit.  

He licks a stripe up your back and you whimper, pushing back against him.  You raise your hand but he moves it back to the counter.  

“Please, Steve.”  You whine.

“Not yet.”  He purrs, nibbling at your neck.

You whimper and wriggle your hip against him.  “Steve, I need it.  I need you.”

“You need me?”  He teases.  His arm wraps around your waist and his starts toying with your clit, rolling his fingers over it, flicking it.  You moan and lift your hands again.  “Hands on the counter, sweetheart or I’m going to keep you waiting a very long time.”

Your pulse speeds up and you place your hands back down on the countertop.  

“I want to hear it again.  Tell me you need me.”   He growls.

You swallow hard.  It feels like your heart is beating in your throat.  “Steve.  I need you.  Right here.  Right now.  I need you so badly.  Please.”

With no warning, he pushes his cock into your cunt.  There is no time to adjust, he just starts thrusting into you.  He never goes further than is comfortable, but he is relentless.  Pounding into you.  Your hands slip over the countertop as you are pushed forward with every thrust.  His fingers remained at your clit, circling and pinching at the small bud.  

You started to moan, an orgasm brewing in you.  Your head fell forward resting on your hands and he grabbed you suddenly by the throat, yanking you upright against him.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?  What you needed?”  He growls, his mouth so close to your ear you can feel his hot breath tickle your skin.

“Oh god yes.”  You groan as he continues to pound into you.

He pulls out suddenly spinning you to face him and lifts you back onto the counter.  He pulls you to the edge and enters you again.  This time he slows his pace down.  He rolls his hips with each thrust.  

His hands go to your face.  He runs a thumb over your bottom lip before capturing it with his mouth.  You kiss, slowly, languidly but barely let each other up for air.  His hands slide through your hair and down the back of your neck.  Yours cling to him, cradling his head as you kiss.  You might describe this sudden change of pace as making love if there was, in fact, any love involved.  It feels intimate and tender and like he might actually care about you.  Except you know he doesn’t.  Not really.  You’re just two ships in the night.  He will move on, as will you.  As it should be.

He lifts you off the counter, his cock remaining buried deep within you, and he carries you to your bed.  He slips out of you and turns you.  You crawl up onto the mattress and he pounces on you pressing you into the bed.  He guides his cock back inside of you and wraps his arms around your neck, so you’re able to rest your head on them.  He is pressed down on you, but despite the fact he’s quite heavy, it doesn’t feel unpleasant.  In fact, it’s almost comforting like a heavy comforter on a rainy day.

Steve sucks and nibbles at your earlobe as he thrust and rolls his hip against you.

You hum, closing your eyes.  “Mm… Steve, you feel so good.”

“You feel pretty great, yourself.”  He replies.  

This time your orgasm comes on you slowly.  It rolls over you like a wave, encompassing all of you.  Steve comes with you, and the pulse of his cock inside of you heightens your own pleasure.  

Steve slips out and rolls off you, but only enough that his whole weight is no longer on you.  You are still completely wrapped in his body. He pulls you so your head, his pressed against his chest, under his chin.  

“Steve.”  You murmur.

“Mmm?”

“You don’t seem like the one night stand kind of guy.  Why are you doing this?”  You ask.

His lips touch the top of your head.  “You might be right.”  He says.  “That person I told you about, the one who’s still alive?”

“Yeah?”

He sighs and his arms tighten around you.  “She was my girl.  We spent two years building a relationship.  I was slow to make a move and when I did we still didn’t really do anything physical about it.  We were waiting until the war was over.  Then I died.  So she moved on.  Only I wasn’t dead.  Now she’s here and she’s lived her life and I still love her.  It feels strange to move on and it feels strange not to.  This is the compromise I can live with for now.  I find people who see Steve and not Cap and I enjoy the brief time I spend with them.  I don’t do it often.  Just from time to time.”

“Well, that sucks.”  You say.  

He chuckles softly.  “I take it that you are the one night stand kind of person?”

You laugh.  “Yeah. It’s my preference.  This is the weirdest one I’ve ever had though.  Normally they’re in and out pretty quick.”

“I told you why I do it.  Why do you do it?”

You don’t say anything for a moment, just mulling the question over.  “I don’t know why, but the few men I have attempted relationships with have only stuck around until I agreed to have sex with them.  Then they’ve dumped me.  For a long time, I thought maybe I was bad at it.  I have since realized that actually, all they wanted was the sex.  So now I skip over the relationship part and go to the sex.  Saves me heartache.”

“Not every man will treat you like that.”  He says.

You laugh.  “I am a terrible judge of which are the good ones and which are the bad ones.  This is easier.”

The smell of smoke drifts across the room, followed by the wail of the smoke detector.  You both jump up suddenly.

“Shit the eggplant!”  You squark running into the kitchen.  

Steve dashes around the apartment opening windows while you retrieve the ruined eggplant parmigiana from the oven.  The smoke alarm falls silent and Steve comes up behind you peering over your shoulder.  

“Well, I’m not eating that.”  He says and pokes you in the ribs.  

You turn to the cupboard and open it.  “Back up plan.”  You say pulling down two boxes of cereal.

Steve picks up the box of Corn Flakes.  “They used to have this back when I was a kid.”  He says.  “Do they still taste like cardboard?”

“They sure do.”  You laugh placing two bowls on the counter.  

“What about these ones?”  He asks holding up the box of Trix.

“They taste like cardboard that’s going to give you a cavity.”

“Well, I guess I’ll go for the Trix.”  He says pouring the cereal into one of the bowls.  

“Silly rabbit.”  You tease.  The reference seems to be lost on him though, so you quickly move on pouring your own bowl of cereal.  

You both go and sit on the couch and you put your feet into his lap.  

“Tell me a story from when you were a kid.” You say.

“Okay.”  He takes a mouthful of cereal while he thinks of something.  “Once me and my best friend.  His name was Bucky.  We skipped out of school to play hookey.  We managed to sneak in to see a movie.  They caught us.  My mom was called.  She gave our ears such a boxing.  She never told Bucky’s parents though or my dad.  He would have gotten much worse.  So she kept it a secret.”

You sigh.  The thought of having someone to have protected you from your parents is something that both feels good and hurts because you never did.

“Now you,”  Steve says.

“Once when I was at school, there were these guys picking on a little girl.  They had her bailed up against a wall.  I was bigger than her, but still much smaller than them.  I went up and punched one so hard in the face that I knocked two of his teeth out.”  You say.  

Steve laughs.  “You sound like me.   I was always the smallest and getting into fights because big guys like to throw their weight around.”

“The unfortunate consequence of that story is, that the school called my parents.  That night my dad wailed on me.  He ended up throwing a table at me when I tried to get away and it broke my collarbone.”  You say.  You don’t know why you decided to tell him that.  You’ve never told anyone that.  

He looks at you sadly but without pity.  His strokes your cheek with his palm.  “You didn’t have anyone to stand up for you, huh?”

You shake your head.

“Bucky used to stand up for me.  When I got into fights.  Which was all the time.”  Steve says.

“Do you know what happened to him?  Did he have a good life?”  You ask.

Steve shakes his head.  “I selfishly kept him with me when he should have gone home during the war.  He died standing up for me one last time.  I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that.”

“Well don’t we make a miserable pair.”

You both put your bowls down and you shift so you are leaning up against him, your head on his chest.  He skims his fingers up and down your arm in an absentminded way. You yawn and close your eyes.

“I think I might need to take a nap.”  You say.

“Do you want me to leave?”  He asks resting his chin on your head.  

“No.  But you can if you want.  It has to end sometime.”  

Steve gets up and pulls you to your feet.  “Let’s nap.”

You both crawl in bed with each other.  He spoons you, both arms wrapped around your body.  For the second time in less than 24 hours, you fall asleep in his arms.

You wake to him stroking his fingertips down your neck.

“Hey.”  You murmur.

“Hello.”  He replies.  “I should probably get going soon.  I have plans with a friend.”

“That’s okay. I understand.”

His fingers trail down over your breasts and dance over your pussy.  You wriggle back against him and feel his dick begin to harden against your ass.

“I really enjoyed being with you.  I haven’t had a day where I haven’t had to be Captain America for a long time.”  He says.

“You need to be kinder to yourself, Steve.” You whisper.

He laughs.   “And you need to let people be kinder to you.”  His fingers slip between your folds and he circles one over your clit.  “Can I ask something of you?”

“If it’s for anal, that will be a hard pass.  It would take a lot of practice for me to be able to take that.”

Steve bursts out laughing.  “It wasn’t for anal.”  He uses one of his legs to push one of yours forward.  You feel the pressure of his cock pressed against your cunt just before he slides it inside of you.  You gasp, your fingers gripping at his forearm.   “The things we talked about today.  I’d prefer if they didn’t get out.”

“Of course not.  I’m not a monster.”  You reply.  

“Thank you.”  He breathes.  He starts to thrust into you as his fingers roll over your clit and pinch and tweak at your nipples.  He kisses your throat and the back of your neck.

As your orgasm builds, he starts getting a little rougher.  He thrusts hard into you, his hand grips your breast and he bites your shoulder.  Pulling at your flesh with his teeth. You pant and moan as your orgasm crests and when it breaks you cry out, reaching back and gripping hold of Steve’s neck.  

He comes shortly after slipping from you.  He holds you for a moment.  Neither of you saying anything.

“I better get going.”  He says finally.  Kissing your cheek and getting up.  

You watch him dress, pulling your own robe back on.  When he’s fully clothed you walk him to the door.  He leans down and kisses you one last time.  

“Steve, promise me you’ll find someone who sees you.  That you don’t have to be Captain America with.  When you do.  Go skinny dipping with them.  Don’t let them take Steve from you.”  You say.

He touches your cheek and runs his thumb down along your jaw.  “Only if you promise to let yourself be open to someone in the future loving you.”  

He steps out the door and you watch him head to the stairs.  “I see you, Steve Rogers.”  You say.

He turns to you and smiles.  “I see you too, y/n.”

You head back inside and close the door.

// NEXT

[unapologeticallyaisha-archive]

Scrying

WARNINGS: creepy images, mild gore and violence

Summary: Loki investigates some magical mirrors and has a terrifying encounter.

Word count: 2500+

Author’s note: Pre-Thor and not part of my fanfiction series (for now)

The ancient art of scrying is prevalent in many cultures across the cosmos. This technique is utilized to divine the past, the present, or possible futures. Scrying tools are not limited to mirrors. Any reflective surface can be used for scrying: metal, stones, water, fire. What the scryer sees may be personal to them, or it may have nothing to do with them at all.

“Are you hoping to see your future lover?”

Loki looked up from his book. A grinning Thor was leaning over the desk, threatening to mess up Loki’s piles of carefully-taken notes.

Loki was interested in a wide variety of topics, and his curiosity was not superficial. A topic could be subjected to intensive research for weeks, even months. The latest one to catch his eye had been mirrors.

Mirrors were surrounded by numerous superstitions. They were said to show visions. Breaking them was considered bad luck. Some believed they could trap people’s souls, especially the souls of those who were dead. With magic being as diverse as it was, Loki held to the notion that not all such fears were irrational.

And mirrors held a special meaning for Loki. Because of his ability to cast illusions, he knew better than anyone how images could fool people. He startled himself when he walked in front of a mirror while disguised.

Thor had heard many of the same rumors, but he didn’t believe any of them. For him, mirrors were just tools for vanity.

Loki was planning on visiting a place called the Vale of Mirrors. Stories about it varied and many sounded exaggerated, but they all agreed that the Vale held some very mysterious mirrors, possibly the most powerful in the universe.

Loki wasn’t interested in scrying or seeing any deep truths. He just wanted to experience the mirrors for himself.

Loki gave his brother a bored look. “I would not waste my time asking such empty-headed questions.”

“You may find out that your sweetheart is a lizard,” Thor continued. “Or a troll.”

Loki’s eyes dropped to a drawing on the table, depicting a man cowering from a storm of whirling leaves. His mother had warned him about delving too deep into powerful magic, but the temptation was just too great.

“You should be careful in the Vale, brother,” said Thor, taking his hands off the table. “You might accidentally summon a Fire Demon that will gobble you up!” Chuckling to himself, he left Loki in the shadowy corner of the library.

The distant planet Loki landed on was largely uninhabited, so nature flourished freely. The planet’s three faraway suns gave off a comfortable light through the blue and gold trees. Furry animals with long snouts leapt through the branches, and worms twined around the trunks. Colorful rocks crunched beneath Loki’s boots.

Strangely, many of the trees were broken near the tops, with the severed branches lying in a heap around them.

Loki plucked some leaves off the ground. They were very soft, like velvet.

Placing the leaves in his coat, he continued on through the forest, following a faint but undeniable tug of magic.

At last, he reached the grove he had seen so many times in illustrations. The trees here looked as if they had been pruned. In the center of the grove was a perfectly circular pond with worms swimming in it.

Wondering if the pond was one of the mirrors, Loki peered into the water. However, it was so clear he could see right to the bottom.

Loki walked around the pond and found the ground sloping down into a pitch dark cave. He lit up his hand with yellow magic and went in.

The tunnel led to a circular room with nine large mirrors on the walls, each a plain sheet of glass.

Loki studied the mirrors. He could only see himself from several different angles. Nothing unusual.

Loki then noticed that everything was still. The sounds of rustling leaves and animals had stopped. There was invisible magic in the cave, but it was static, unmoving.

Maybe he had to focus. He drew closer to one of the mirrors. Still nothing changed.

Just as Loki was wondering if he needed to use a spell, the eyes in his reflection darkened, and the face became longer and narrower.

Loki stepped back and noticed that all the reflections were changing, growing broader or thinner, their hair morphing into other colors, until each one was a different person. All of them turned to face him.

“Who are you?” Loki asked.

“Why have you come here?” one of them asked back.

“I am here to see the magic of the Vale.”

“We can show you a great many things,” said another man.

Each of them was standing in another cave, also full of mirrors. It was his own world, multiplied a myriad times.

Maybe the mirrors were windows into other worlds, ones he could see but not touch.

Or maybe he was the reflection, and the others were reality.

Loki summoned up his courage. “What do you have to tell me?”

“Are you afraid of your future?” one of the reflections asked.

Fate was not something Loki considered very often, because it unsettled him. The conviction of most Asgardians was that no matter what came to pass, they would face it courageously.

Loki was not nearly that confident. Still, if that was what they offered, he would take it. “What do you know of my future?”

The magic in Loki’s hand extinguished itself, but the mirrors remained lit with their own eerie light.

“If you are not afraid …” said the reflection.

“You should be,” all of them hissed.

The cave and the mirrors disappeared. It was very dark, but Loki could see the faint outlines of trees. Leaves were falling around him – some silver, some a ghostly blue. The gleaming tips of creature’s snouts darted in and out of sight. Luminous worms as large as snakes swarm in a murky black pond in front of him. The whole place gave off the stench of wet leaves and dirty rainwater.

Loki heard a crackling noise that grew progressively louder. Ice was creeping over the forest floor and up the trees. Pinpricks of red light appeared in the rocks, like a million eyes looking up at him.

Terror gripped Loki. Every muscle in this body wanted to run. But just as that thought crossed his mind, a wind blew him onto his knees.

All at once, the trees broke at the point where their trunks forked, as if a giant scythe had cleaved off their tops.

Loki looked into the pond. The reflection looking back at him seemed melancholy.

Then his reflection’s arm grabbed the front of his tunic and pulled him into the dark water.

Loki barely had time to gasp.

But he wasn’t drowning. He didn’t even feel like he was underwater. The other him had vanished, and he was floating in empty blackness.

It isn’t real, he reminded himself.

His toe hit something solid, and he fell onto hard ground.

Loki’s head was on its side, and he could see that he was on a patch of rocks that smelled vaguely metallic. Beyond the rocks was a thick black fog. It was extremely quiet.

Loki tried to push himself up, but he couldn’t move a muscle. Even his eyelids had been forced open.

Something oozed up from between the rocks, flowing over Loki’s fingers and seeping through his clothing. The scent of blood filled Loki’s nose. He tried to get up again, but to no avail. His magic wouldn’t respond, either.

The blood kept coming, and Loki wondered if it was his. He thought he could see ghoulish faces in the rocks, screaming silently. Maybe they were the ones bleeding.

Just as Loki thought he would be trapped forever, the rocks turned to dust beneath him, and the liquid vaporized.

Loki twitched his fingers and found to his relief that he could move again.

He got to his feet shakily and wiped the blood off his face. The fog was gone, and he was on a barren plain. He stood there, legs apart and eyes alert.

The wind picked up, and dust got into Loki’s eyes and clothes.

Loki then thought he saw something hovering in the distance, unmoved by the wind. A spark of flame, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Was it a friend or an enemy?

The bits of dust started to twist themselves into cable-like strands. One end was anchored to the ground, while the other end waved in the air. Instead of attacking Loki, they started converging on the tiny flame.

The flame could be his only aid in this place He started running toward it.

Immediately, some of the cables started moving towards Loki. Their ends became pointed, like spearheads.

Loki pulled a dagger out of his coat and sliced through the cable closest to him. The cable exploded, its dust spraying over Loki. However, no sooner had it burst apart then it reassembled again.

The cables slashed, making small cuts on Loki’s hands and face. One of them darted straight towards his chest, and he dodged it.

If Loki had been facing a conventional opponent, he would have known how to fight. But these were very different entities. Stooping down, he put away his dagger and unleashed a blast of magic.

The magic scattered the pieces of dust much better than his dagger could.

Loki charged towards the flame. As he cupped his hands around it, it grew slightly larger, lighting up his face with its orange glow. It was pleasantly warm.

Loki smiled a little, but he knew he had to be careful. Fire was fickle, and not easily controlled.

Similar types of magic were attracted to each other, Loki remembered. He conjured a small flame of his own and held it steady.

The cables were advancing on him.

He strengthened his magic, and the flame grew along with it. He unleashed them both as one fiery blast. The cables were disintegrated instantly.

Loki grinned proudly. He extinguished his own magic, but the small flame stayed.

The ground quaked, making Loki almost lose his balance. The plain began turning into sinking pits of dust. Soon, only the patch of ground Loki stood on remained.

Many voices whispered all around him, speaking as one. “Will you join us? Or will you be the one to escape?”

Burning white objects, like stars, began showering from the sky. Loki had nowhere to run to, so he shielded his head.

He hated this. He had fought hundreds of enemies before, but none of them could compare to the forces of nature.

The flame spread out above him, incinerating the objects as they came near. But he could feel the flame weakening.

Fight nature with nature, he thought.

Some of the objects grazed Loki’s arms, scorching him through his clothes. When they fell around Loki’s feet, Loki saw that they were leaves, sharp as glass and smoldering with white fire.  

Images danced in the flames. A blue crystal mounted in gold. An army mounted on winged horses.  A rift in the sky that was full of stars. A long sword stained with blood.

Just as suddenly as it had began, the bombardment of objects stopped.

Loki took his hands away from his head, and the orange flame shrunk again.

Rocks rushed out of the pits, and as he watched, the cave walls rebuilt themselves around him.

There was a flash of lightning and a thunderclap that made Loki cover his ears. He was almost certain the cave roof had split open.

Then it was absolutely silent.

The flame was gone. The leaves were gone. Except for the nine mirrors, the cave was empty.

After a few heartbeats, Loki hurried back through the tunnel into the open. The sunlight blinded him, and he fell to his knees.

When his eyes refocused, he realized he was kneeling by the edge of the pond, which was clear again. The sun was warm on his back. He watched the rippling water and fluid movements of the worms, and gradually his heart stopped pounding.

Loki gingerly reached up to touch his face. There was no blood, no dust. All his wounds had healed, but the sensations still remained.

He had to laugh at himself. He, the illusion-caster, frightened by false images. Nearly all sense had departed from him in the cave. He had always prided himself on being the rational one in his family, but it seemed fear always triumphed over intelligence. He knew the best thing to do was to go home, talk to other people, and remind himself that reality still existed.

He pictured Thor coming to him and asking, So, did you see your future lover? and him answering, Yes, and it turned out to be myself. Now please leave me and my books in peace.

Loki saw that more of the trees were broken than before. Perhaps he had actually left the cave during his vision.

The blissful scenery suddenly seemed to be overlaid with sinister images. Anything – from the ground to the plants to the sky itself – could turn against him at any moment.

Loki backed away from the pond. Then he reached into his coat and took out the leaves he had picked up. They were still blue and gold, and as bright as ever.

What had the Vale been trying to tell him?

Here’s a piece of music to go with this story (lyrics in description)

[weakzen]

Wretched Form

Edér loves his salty little skull. To a certain point.

Rating: T

AO3 Version

“This ship is a blight on Eora, a putrescent carbuncle festering with buffoons, hooligans, and dunderheaded tosspots.”

As he neared the starboard side of the hold, Concelhaut whirled and continued to pace, as much as a disembodied skull could pace, anyway.

“Xaurips in the rigging, imps in the forecastle, drunkards at the cannons and the helm! Bah!” he spat, whirling again. “And always the belching, the caterwauling, the slop of spilt drink, the vacant eyes over open-mouthed mastication and the ever-present, unending reek of hagfish. Disgusting, all of it! I would be doing the world a great favor if I excised this malignancy by chewing through the hull and sinking this abominable vessel to the bottom of the sea.”

“NEMNOK AGREE WITH TALKING SKULL, EH! NEMNOK WILL HELP DROWN NASTY GROUNDSTINK!”

Nemnok rushed through Edér's legs, skittered across the floorboards, and began to aggressively scratch at the wall of the hold.

“Oh, buddy, don't listen to him.”

“Yes, Nemnok! Do it! Together, we shall bring them all down!”

Edér sighed, then walked over to scoop up the tiny imp.

Nemnok screeched in protest and feebly swiped his claws, but he quickly became silent when Edér pulled a suole from his pocket and popped it into the imp's small mouth. For a moment, Nemnok stilled entirely, then he lowered his arms and curled inwards as he began to suckle the coin like a pacifier.

“Aw, that's right, buddy.” Smiling broadly, Edér shifted Nemnok into the crook of his elbow, cradling the creature against his chest while he began to rock his arms. “Who's a good imp? You are, little guy. Yes, you are.” Edér gently scratched the imp's belly and Nemnok's legs kicked in pleasure. “You got the cutest little feet and the cutest little tail. The cutest little tummy, too. I'm gonna bite it,” he cooed, cuddling Nemnok closer as he hunched over. “Yes, I am.”

“How revoltingly saccharine,” Concelhaut sneered. “Were that I still had a stomach myself, so I might express my disgust by vomiting upon the two of you.”

Edér glanced up. “No need to be grumpy, little skull. If you want some attention too, all you gotta do is ask.”

“For whom do you mistake me, you simpering mooncalf?” Concelhaut reared up and glowered down at Edér, the flames in his eye sockets burning brightly. “I am Concelhaut, fool! Greatest archmage to ever grace this miserable planet—and I do not ask. I take what I desire, whenever I desire it, just as I shall take your pathetic life once I have secured a new body!”

“C'mere,” Edér said, reaching for the former lich. “I got a whole other arm here just for you.”

Concelhaut hissed and swerved away from Edér's outstretched hand. “Keep your grubby fingers away from me, you cow-handed oaf! How many times must I tell you that before it penetrates that overgrown cabbage atop your neck?”

“Sure sounds like somebody needs a nap.”

“I do not require a—a nap.” Concelhaut grimaced, as though it had pained him to say the word. “Nor do I require your cuddles or your petting or any of your incessant gibbering, you lumbering, half-witted bespawler.”

Edér carried Nemnok over to one of the straw beds for the ship's numerous animals. Kneeling before it, he gingerly placed the imp into a blanket then carefully swaddled the creature, pressing a kiss to Nemnok's forehead after he finished.

“Look,” he began, glancing at the skull as he straightened. “I'll make a little bed for you too, okay?”

“I do not require a bed, either!” Concelhaut seethed. “Curse this wretched form! If I still had arms, I would smite you into the form of a swine, silence your flapping maw with an apple, and roast you into a succulent, honey-glazed dinner.”

“Well, I always did like a pork chop. My mom served 'em with applesauce on top, roasted potatoes and buttered green beans on the side.” Edér chuckled as he grabbed another blanket and shook it open. “Now you got my mouth watering, thinkin' about it.”

“Of course you would salivate at the thought of consuming yourself, you daft pillock. I wager you would be equally gluttonous if I served up a pan-seared cut of your fishy friend with a slice of lemon and some mashed parsnips.”

“Uh, wait,” Edér said, pausing. “Which fish friend, now?”

“That fribbling, layabout libertine.”

Edér squinted slightly.

“The dawdling dew-dropper, with all his insufferable singing and monkeyshines.”

Edér titled his head to the side, his mouth scrunching into a frown.

“Confound it, you dolt! Ondra's blasted whelp! The shark man! The marine godlike! That one. I can't be bothered to actually remember any of your names.”

“Oh, you mean Tekēhu. Okay, I got it.” Another chuckle rumbled past Edér's lips. “Heh, 'fishy friend.' That's real good. Gonna tell him that later.” He whipped the blanket behind himself, draping it over his shoulder, then paused once more. “Uh—what about him, again?”

A noise of deep displeasure rattled from Concelhaut's mandible and he surged away to resume his pacing.

“Damn this humiliation! Reduced to suffering the vacuous fiddle-faddle of a farmhand. Pah!” He swished back and forth across the hold, grinding his teeth. “Damn that ghastly, meddling busybody. Once more, this is entirely her fault. Damn her and her tedious puns and her consistently overcrowded pack. Who requires that many eggs, anyway? And for what purpose? They are not even hard-boiled for the rigors of travel!”

“Never know when you might want a road omelet.”

“When I regain corporeal form,” Concelhaut continued, ignoring him, “I shall delight in her vivisection. I will slowly dissect that loathsome saucebox, layer by grisly layer, until I hit bone and peel that Watcher's soul free. Then, victorious at last, I shall mount her ridiculous horns in my study as a trophy and a warning.”

“Y'know, I almost got to touch those horns once,” Edér said, as he gathered straw into a pile. “I had my hand and my face buried in her smoke hair—which is real soft and pettable, by the way—and I started to reach for her horns when, suddenly, I just couldn't move anymore. I fell over, and she started to drag me across the ground by my foot. At first, I thought she was tryin' to get me to some help, but then she just left me under this tree with a beehive in it. Few seconds later, an arrow knocked that thing clean off the branch.” He grinned. “I had to go jump in a pond. Couldn't sit down properly for a week after, neither.”

“It does not surprise me that a dullard such as yourself would be easily ensnared by a cipher's parlor trick.” Concelhaut rolled his flames. “Mindhunters,” he huffed in disgust. “What an inappropriately overwrought title for those Glanfathan savages who practice that feral excuse for magic.”

Edér hummed in consideration as he hugged the pile of straw together and shaped it into disc. “Well, I dunno 'bout that. I think it's fun when Serafen goes mindhuntin' and guesses my thoughts.”

“What, precisely, is there to guess?” Concelhaut twisted to face Edér. “You are all field and no crops, farmer! One does not need the proclivities of that mangy, orlan guttersnipe to deduce that obvious fact,” he said, snorting. “And when I have fingers again, I will fashion that hirsute cockalorum into a rug for my washroom, right after I pluck each and every feather from that dour, grumbling bird-woman to stuff my bed pillows.”

Edér fluffed the blanket over the straw bed, then patted the middle.

“All yours, buddy,” he said, flashing his favorite little skull a smile. “It ain't as soft as that rug, or as fancy as that feather pillow, but it should be comfy enough.”

“By the degenerate standards of a Dyrwoodan mongrel, perhaps,” Concelhaut said, scowling at Edér. “Why don't you join your family and all your flea cousins and lie down in it yourself? Or, better yet, do that whimpering, foppish fussbuget a favor and push him into it, face-first preferably.” Concelhaut huffed again. “If that milksop represents what passes for a mage these days in the old empire, then it is no wonder they lost their little war to a bunch of inbred yokels and the pack of illiterate stone-worshippers a hill over.”

Shrugging, Edér sat on the floor by the newly-created bed.

“Guess I'm not as picky as you are when it comes to who's casting, long as they're casting lightning spells, anyway,” he said, leaning back against the wall to rest one of his arms on a bent knee. “Think that might be my favorite type of spell. Well, other'n that piggy one,” he added, grinning. “I've always liked the way you can feel the lightning 'fore it's cast, by the way all your hairs suddenly stand on end. And I like the way the bolts streak across a battle and leave that ghost of themselves behind, haunting the air between everybody for a few seconds. I also like that hot, sharp smell that lingers too. Makes my nose and throat burn a little. It's almost like breathing in a storm, y'know?”

As Edér glanced at him, Concelhaut jerked upright from where he'd tilted to the side, listening. He glared at Edér for a long moment, then abruptly spun away.

“Feh! Like breathing in a storm, you know,” he mocked. “You know nothing, farmer. Your barren mind could scarcely even begin to comprehend the arcane, much less appreciate its full and beautiful glory. You do not know magic. You cannot grasp any of its numerous intricacies. Beyond base superficiality, you will never understand it, not what it truly means, and neither will that long-eared, knock-kneed poltroon! In fact, it offends me that his soft hands are allowed anywhere near a grimoire!”

Concelhaut vibrated in agitation and began pacing so rapidly it almost made Edér dizzy to watch.

“When I am whole once more,” he spat, “I shall grant that pusillanimous mollycoddle the mercy of being adjacent to my wondrous, arcane world, but he will observe it all from a position befitting his mediocrity, one where he may finally contribute something of value to the field by serving his unmistakable superior!”

“Uh, serving how?”

Concelhaut shot across the room and stopped short of slamming right into Edér's face. Shadows danced over his rictus grin while his eyes flickered with malicious glee.

“I shall flay him into sheets of vellum and bind them together into the grimoire I will use to finally scribe those elusive spells of time manipulation. Then, once completed, he and every other mage on Eora, including the members of that despicable Circle, will be forced to bow and scrape and acknowledge, over and over as much as I please, that, short of the gods themselves, I, Concelhaut, am the most powerful creature alive and the only true and worthy master of the arcane realm!”

Bobbing gently, Concelhaut's gaze bore into Edér eyes, hard and expectantly.

Edér blinked.

Then raised an eyebrow.

“…So you're gonna make a whole grimoire, now?”

Concelhaut sputtered. “Th-that is the least important aspect of what I just said, you dim-eyed clodhopper!”

Edér shook his head as he reached for his pocket. “Well, I'm just sayin', you ain't exactly gonna get more'n a few pages outta Aloth, much less a whole grimoire.”

A long and seething noise of distaste whistled through Concelhaut's gritted teeth, then he soared away.

“Then I shall create more from that ample, Rauataian lickspittle! And if she does not suffice, I shall salvage an index out of that prattling, starry-eyed priestess!” Concelhaut shook in anger again, but he immediately spun around when the sound of Edér lighting his pipe echoed across the hold.

“Stop that!” he cried. “Stop that at once!”

“Stop what?” Edér asked from around the stem.

“The smoking, you imbecile!”

“Why?”

“Why? Why?!” Concelhaut sped towards Edér again. “Are your faculties truly so addled at this point that you cannot even recall the countless times I have already answered that inane question?”

Smoke leaked from Edér's lips, a slow and guilty trickle that ended in a billowing, choking cough as Concelhaut glared down at him sternly. Before he was forced to answer for himself, though, salvation rounded the corner of the alcove and meowed at him.

“Hey kitty,” he coughed, smiling. Then coughed again.

The cat darted towards Edér, her purrs rumbling with each step. When she reached his leg, she meowed again, then closed her eyes as she arched and began to rub against him. Edér cleared his throat and beamed down at her.

“Aww, who's the best kitty?” he asked, scratching her head.

Concelhaut glared at the animal. “The best at being an unsightly, imposing nuisance, perhaps.”  

“Oh, don't listen to him, sweetheart. He's just cranky 'cause he's tired.”

“If I am tired, it is only because I am exhausted by the burden of being in your general vicinity. And now you force me to endure the pain of experiencing you stunt your wits, yet again, while you coddle that failed science experiment!”

“He's jealous 'cause he doesn't have a cone,” Edér whispered, winking at the cat as he continued to pet her. She stepped onto his thigh, purring while she kneaded his leg, then jumped into the empty straw bed.

Concelhaut gasped sharply.

“Remove that creature from my bed immediately!”

Edér took a drag on his pipe and exhaled. “I thought you didn't even want it.”

“It does not matter whether I wanted it or not. It is mine now regardless—and I do not share! Remove that detestable creature at once!”

“No way,” Edér said, shaking his head. “She's too cute and there's plenty of room for the both of you.”

Quivering with fury, Concelhaut scowled at Edér then burst over to follow the cat as she circled the blanket. “Get out my bed, you impudent feline! Shoo! Shoo, I say!”

Animancy cat meowed in response, then rubbed against him.

Gasping again, Concelhaut recoiled in horror.

“How— How dare you!”

“Aww, she likes you!” Edér laughed and took another pull from his pipe. “Bet she'd even cuddle if you asked nicely.”

The former lich said nothing. He merely stared at the cat, watching as she kneaded circles in the center of his blanket on his bed, round and round, smaller and smaller while Edér puffed away, until she finally lay down in a coil and nestled into herself, purring in satisfaction.

“…When I regain my body,” he uttered quietly, a long moment later, “I shall find immense pleasure in ripping those tubes from your sides and kicking you from—”

Concelhaut never saw the mace coming until it smashed him into the floor.

“You speak one more word 'bout harming that sweet kitty and I'm gonna have to crush you completely, little skull.” Edér leaned his weight into the weapon for emphasis, pressing a squeak from Concelhaut's bones. “Now, I don't wanna have to do that, but I will if you make me. Are you gonna make me, or are you gonna behave yourself?”

A long and humiliating moment passed before Concelhaut spoke again.

“I…” Concelhaut started, then cringed. “I… I-I promise you I shall never harm the cat.”

Edér nodded once. “Good,” he said, then pulled his mace away. He inhaled from his pipe again.

Concelhaut floated upwards again, then whirled towards Edér.

“…But I never said anything about you!” he shouted, then hurled himself into Edér's forehead with a violent crack.

“Son of a bitch, little skull!”

As he bounced off Edér's face, Concelhaut cackled maniacally and zoomed away. Sucking air through his teeth, Edér groaned and gingerly touched the lump on his forehead. He shook his head, then pressed to his feet to follow his favorite little skull.

“When I catch up to you, I'm gonna put you in a time out!”

Notes:

Written for @pillarspromptsweekly #56, a random roll for Concelhaut, Edér & threats (which I initially misread as 'treats' …lol)

Bonus footage of Concelhaut

[crown-eater]

Only the Vital Ones, Pt. 1

“In those days, desires weren’t allowed to become reality. So, fantasy was substituted for them–films, books, pictures. They called it ‘art.’ But, when your desires become reality, you don’t need fantasy any longer, or art.”–Amyl Nitrate, “Jubilee”

[ With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence, 3, Pts. I, II. ] [ The Uptake (table of contents)]

The small brushed steel kitchen table of Cecil and ‘Choly’s studio apartment abutted a full-height open-frame modular shelving unit, which doubled as a space divider between the kitchen and the daybed in the back corner that ‘Choly frequented whenever scaling the loft bed proved too taxing. Slumped at it in a dark tank top and his orange leggings, before the ex-stalker lay a quaint butcher-paper and twine parcel, a paring knife, and his reader on a kickstand. With the apartment to himself, ‘Choly surveyed some of the pieces in his drafts and rubbed at his marred face in a dull restlessness. Grazing his recent cheek suture, he flinched and stood, and he paced in the narrow track the length of the apartment which functioned not unlike a hallway.

Two years ago, such incisions would have been made in the spirit of verbot chasing. He sniveled in anger at the impotence of having had to make such a superficial adjustment for sake of his own clumsiness, rather than in the aftermath of risky enterprises. He'd tried several times to contact the Tellurides after the riots and subsequent quarantine, and he knew in his gut that all three of them had gotten walled up with the rest of the Quarter. And the Geek, and Chalcedony, too, for all he knew. His only solace came in knowing that at least his parents had moved back in together downstate before things had gotten especially hairy.

He returned to the kitchen and rinsed out a mug to pour himself a fresh cup of black coffee from the carafe Cecil had brewed for breakfast, and he sat again. Then, he snipped the string on the box and unfurled its wrappings. His horn-rimmed glasses came off and lay across the table from him as he continued massaging at his cheeks and chin and neck marbled with errant scars. He flicked up the messaging app frame and clicked on Augen’s active username, and sighed. Rather than initiate conversation, he produced from the small wax-coated cardstock box a decently-sized chalky pastel ball. He smoothed out the parchment with a detached free hand, and set down the ball of Confec atop it with the other.

The ball bore a mealy consistency somewhere between soap and fudge. A quarter-inch butt fell to the paper, and he stuck it in his mouth to let the hyssop-like bouquet melt on his tongue as he sank into his chair and hesitated on the chat he’d opened.

ketherphorbia: you’re up early 9augen: funny, i was just about to message you. not at the library today? ketherphorbia: no, and i’m not getting anywhere with what i <i>was</i> trying to do so you have my full attention 9augen: how does meeting up for lunch sound? ketherphorbia: i ketherphorbia: i just started in on a fresh confec bonbon, but yeah 9augen: the finnegans across the street from your old place? its on me ketherphorbia: something tells me you’re just looking for an excuse to milk their one-cred goldfinch lunch special 9augen: if you want a few, just say so. can you be there in... say, an hour? ketherphorbia: it honestly sounds fantastic. we can both talk. if you want

Still rattled from the abrupt invitation, ‘Choly put the knife in the sink and rounded the modular divider to rummage in the side-table drawers for something to throw on. First came his back brace, splints, and wrist braces, and he yanked together his salmon button-up, black sweater with the elbows cut out, and slashed jeans over the orange leggings. Taking his jewelry box into the bathroom, he then brushed his bangtails and tucked the right side back with his ABC-gum barrette. He hooked his new black acrylic skull-cutout gauge hangers into his ears, and plucked his balloon animal and saturn-symbol pendants to string around his neck. The spoon pin went in his left collar-point, and he sat on the daybed for his socks. On the way out the door, he tucked the wax paper wrapped Confec into his diamond-shaped cross-body bag and nabbed his cane, retrieved his glasses, and slipped into his mint creepers.

Along the short trip down to Level 5, he shot Cecil a short message:

|| Might not be home when you get off work. Augen invited me to lunch. He hasn’t said hardly a word since it happened, and I get the feeling he needs a friend right now. ||

Cecil replied to him as ‘Choly waved his pass and boarded the toll lift:

|| I can only imagine how hard it’s been for him. Hope he’s doing ok. You two have a good time. Love you. Give him a kiss for me ||

With a chuckle and a fish emoticon, ‘Choly exited the lift and hobbled down the street. He texted Augen that he'd arrived, asking where to meet him, because at first he didn't see him outside. Leaning on the front facade of the Finnegan’s, a tall gothic figure smoked religiously. The young man with dark hair pulled into a low messy bun wore a black button-down and drop-crotch pants, a dark grey knee-length gauzy vest, a large black shawl-scarf wrapped around his shoulders and neck, and mesh boots. Upon closer inspection, the combination of facial body mods--spider bites, gauged one-inch ears and 2ga medusa with glass plugs, symmetrical double brow piercings, and batwing clicker--confirmed for ‘Choly that this was his friend. Somehow, even with his suspicion as to why Augen had initiated the meeting, he’d still expected to find him his old self, and not this anxious chain-smoking human mess. Augen rolled his eyes at him, having just checked his messages.

“Word of warning, I’m a bit thrushed right now,” 'Choly blurted out. Rather than respond, Augen leaned down and steadied ‘Choly’s chin to give him a kiss. ‘Choly smiled strangely and reciprocated with a second peck, then navigated the awkward posture into a hug as he tucked his head against Augen’s chest. It unnerved 'Choly that his friend was no longer cold-blooded, no longer clammy and tepid, but he kept it to himself. “...Hello to you, too.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Augen rubbed at ‘Choly’s scruff and held the door for him. He eyed ‘Choly’s sweater dully in passing. “<i>Don’t Quit Your Daydream</i>, huh?”<br>

‘Choly looked down at the saying printed on his front once they’d cleared the atrium, and his brows upturned.

“Hah, maladaptive daydreaming. Had it for years. I just kinda threw something on so I wouldn’t run late.”

“Daydream... into a living nightmare...”

With the detached comment, Augen waved down a server to seat them. Marinating in his dissociative veneer, ‘Choly swallowed hard at the prospect of purposefully navigating his mental filter. They settled at a table amid the lunch traffic, and with a series of finger gestures along the tabletop which doubled as a touchscreen menu, both ordered pinzones dorados and got to glancing over their options in silence. The server, a young brunet named Bert, promptly came and left with their drinks, as well as a basket of multicolored meal-rinds and two dishes of salsa. 'Choly sipped at his golden glowing pinzón, a smooth over-ice mix of tonic, hydroponic mezcal, triple sec, and lime liqueur, and mentally praised the facility with which one could get drunk at any hour in this city.

“So... this is a thing now.” ‘Choly got a rind real heavy with salsa and shoved it in his mouth.

Augen knocked back half his liquor in one motion, and slouched over it.

“I’d lived myself so fully, that I’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be human. I’ve missed smoking, if we’re looking for an upside to all this.”

“There’s gotta be a way t’get back what you had. At least some of it?”

“That’s... just about the last thing I want to talk about right now. Past tense doesn’t feel so great.”

They used their mouths to crunch rinds and nothing else. Augen took a hit off the cig around his neck, and with a deep exhale he shut his sunken eyes, the vapors entangling with the odd abstract light fixture over the table. Once they'd placed their orders, 'Choly did his best to people watch behind a zoned out Augen, mostly observing the rotation of three servers popping in and out of the kitchen door with dishes. When a couple that sat on the same side of their far-corner booth thought 'Choly gawked at their unapologetic PDAs and gave him a stink-eye, he coughed, and started trying to read the pattern of scrapbooked web articles which plastered every wall and the ceiling of the restaurant. The theme of all the articles painted up Tri-City's sheer melting pot culture as a fusion city, boasting a collage of articles about people from just about every level in the hyper-metroplex.

Bert interrupted their silence with their meals, and 'Choly squirmed back to give the server the space to lay it out on the table. The teen couldn't hide a sigh of relief as he picked up one plate, and glanced between the both of them.

"Who ordered the wraps?"

Augen gave him a lazy hand gesture, and the plate slid over to him. On Augen’s plate of spring wraps lay six large seared shrimp. Sliced in half both for presentation and facility, the three girthy wraps were stuffed with a combination of mushroom slices, seaweed, and fried mealworms.

"And then, the benedict's yours. Extra sauce?"

"Yes, thank you," 'Choly lauded with a heavily modulated affect, as the other mess of a plate came his way. A viscous pale yellow-green mess blanketed two nondescript mounds of protein and bread, and along its side the cook had scattered soft, colorful citrus gummies. "So glad I can still get breakfast here this late."

"Is there anyth--" Bert broke off, unable not to stare at Augen, as he fished out a pair of napkin-rolled utensils to give them. Augen returned the stare, deadpan.

"...Spring wraps, and a side order of shrimp. It is you."

‘Choly gave the poor boy a glossy smile, about to praise how good it all looked, but he quickly drooped in recognition of the tension.

“So I took a bath today,” Augen dismissed, total fatigue in his voice. “Big deal.”

‘Choly coughed, cataract-bloom eyes wide as he took a stiff sip. Setting the pinzón back down, he tried to smile up at the waiter again, his voice cracking.

"Could we get more rinds?"

The waiter shook his head and shut his eyes, then nodded.

“--Sure thing.”

“And we already need another round of <i>birds</i>.” Augen traced the edge of the faded glass with one black-polished finger and a heavy-lidded, eyelined smirk.

The server flashed him a fake grin, poorly hiding his revelry that the city had defanged the loathsome goth.

“I’ll be right back.”

‘Choly fought with the self-conscious selfishness of directing the conversation to himself, but still he persisted, hoping to distract his friend from getting recognized by his typical order. ‘Choly unrolled his flatware to tuck the napkin beside his plate, and took up the table knife and fork with zeal. He didn’t want to admit it, but as had become typical in the past few weeks, the only thing he’d put in his stomach so far by that time of day was a slice of wax and half a cup of coffee. Augen took precise bites, holding his food gingerly with thoroughly ring-encrusted hands. His face stitched with a faint sweat which could have been from stress, the heat of the food, or even from the start of enebriation. 'Choly observed in distant and fascinated contemplation, unsure whether his friend derived his mannerisms from humanity or the vestiges of having so recently once been a hybrid. Augen shot him a vague glance, and he cringed from getting caught watching. ‘Choly pushed the sauce-drenched larva-hash back up on the one round bready thing he’d been cutting bites from, sheepish.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it, there’s gotta be something you can do to take your mind off it instead? Have you tried... writing, since...?”

Augen finished off the first drink right when Bert swung by two replacements and more rinds and salsa. ‘Choly hadn’t even drunk half of his first pinzón yet, and he nudged his new one his friend’s way, knowing the rate this meal was going. “Most of the time,” the goth mumbled, welcoming the offer, “my writing takes a particular head space. And I sure as fuck haven’t been in it.”

“I mean, like. Not in a carnal sense. Sort of in a carnal sense. An emotional sense? A purgative sense?”

Augen kept his eyes on his food, but his ears patently on his friend. ‘Choly’s hallmark withdrawn posture and tone signaled vague, incumbent rambling. With welcome resignation the goth listened, as he’d aspired from the start. After all, ‘Choly always had been the long-winded one of them.

“You... You remember how I was writing stories about me gettin’ with the Geek, but then I stopped abruptly? The last wip I posted before I stopped was right after I found out that the Geek and the Larva were the same person. Early on, the reasons I couldn’t reconcile with finishing the piece were ‘cause of how badly my first encounter with him went, but then fantasy turned into reality and he... caught me stalkin’ him and. You remember that right?” ‘Choly fished his reader from his bag, and tried to locate a picture in his camera roll. “I know I sent you a selfie of the black eye he gave me...”

“...You couldn’t shut up about it for a month. Heh.”

‘Choly looked up from his reader with a dull gloss to his features, and sniffed. “He even tracked me down, what, five weeks later? An’ things got super weird--" He chewed at his labret. "...I’m still trying to process everything that happened two years ago.”

“This is about the walls, isn’t it.”

“Not quite. And yet. Exactly. I just. I owe it to him to get the details right, don’t I? It feels real lousy to even consider writing a nonfictional account of him, and yet.” He popped an orange gummy in his mouth, and licked the thick, tangy sauce off his swan-splinted fingertip. “I feel like I need to get the very concept of him in print, to get it out from inside of me. I know it’s already been two years since the walls went up, but I don’t think it’s possible for me to forget all that... death, even for a day.” A grapefruit one, this time. “How do you stay motivated to write something that hurts and arouses you, both in ways nothing else has ever really managed to?”

Augen dipped a spring roll in his salsa, and started working on the third drink. Not glancing up from his food, his brows piqued with heavy lids.

“A difficult question. Perhaps a better reply would be another question: Who’re you writing this for?”

‘Choly set down his utensils and stared down his food.

“I’d say it was for me, but I feel like I need to put his ghost to rest. I’d say it was for him, but it’s also in hopes of jamming my brain because something more accurate could exist of him than anything I’ve written of him prior. And I’d... say it was for you, or any of my followers, but I... don’t even know if I can bring myself to post the results.” The dreg sneaked the Confec from his bag and set it beside his plate. “I... I gotta have another slice.”

That got Augen’s attention.

“Mmh. Mind sharing?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

‘Choly sliced through the partial ball a few times with his thumbs against the spine of the knife, and Augen reached over to help himself to one. Wincing at the bitterness, he chewed it up and washed it down with more liquor. 'Choly simply slouched back and let the stringent melt go for a few minutes, thinking it nearly paired with the citrus cubes.

“Cecil knows about us,” Augen began, eyes stitched shut, “but you never did tell Cecil about the Geek, did you? Have you ever wanted to?”

“I told him about Chalcedony. And he may not have said anything, but I know he knows about me an’ the Geek. Can’t not. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how open he is to it all. It’s like he believes leaving me untethered keeps me more faithful. He’s... not wrong, I guess.” ‘Choly looked up when he heard Augen stifle a choke, and suddenly he regretted sharing. His friend’s face was glistening, grey eyes wide. “Are you-- all right?”

“How’s everything tasting so far?” Bert interjected in passing, trying to hide concern when he he paused noticing Augen’s demeanor.

“Don't mind him." 'Choly quickly stashed the Confec back in his bag, unsure whether having it would cause them trouble. "I think something just went down the wrong way.”

The boy frowned at the Augen, who blanched and rubbed at his Adam’s apple a bit. On cue, Augen forced a cough.

“I... It's nothing."

Augen tapped a finger on his glass, not looking to Bert, and the waiter plucked up their empty glasses with a nod and excused himself, shaking his head in delirious incredulity at what had become of their once most troublesome patron.

“Seriously... Are you okay? You know you’re supposed to let that stuff melt slow.”

Rather than reply, the goth took one of ‘Choly’s wristbraced hands in both of his own, and guided it to hold his strained throat. He sustained breathless, tormented eye contact.

“It's wearing off faster than I was planning. Thought for sure I'd at least get to slagging finish eating. I'll... I'll take it.”

On to part 2 »»»

[thisnameistakenpleasetryanother]

Saving Grace Pt:2

           Leone plopped down on Graces bed lifting the towel laid across her shoulders to begin drying her soaking wet hair all while trying to burn a hole into the rooms wall with her glare. Everything hurt, just breathing put a painful pressure on her ribs and chest. Damn that bastard, and damn him for his choice. Growling out in irritation she threw the towel on the bed while standing and began to pace along the length of Grace’s room while muttering to herself. “Come on Skipper. Come sit down, I brought the potion from that apothecary, it should help with the ribs…and everything else. And I’ll need to stich that cut on you side so get your scrawny ass over here before I drag you.” Opting to ignore the woman for another minute and continue her pacing she suddenly stops when a bolt of pain shoots from her side from said cut making her almost double over.

          Damn him damn him damn him! Fucking dirty fighter. Belore he didn’t hold anything back. She’s always been afraid of the day he realized she was of no more use and would take her head. But for the first time she’d actually thought he would go through with it and it shook her to her core. He had finally given her his answer to his decision and it just drove the hate and anger farther. Failure. That’s what she was. Destined for a fucking runt. Just imagining being with him brought a shudder down her spine as she stalked over to Grace and sat down stiffly. Grace wordlessly handed over the vial filled with a red liquid substance and watched in concern as Leone downed it all in one go before gagging and making a disgusted. Sighing and pulling out her small kit she got the thread ready and held up the needle. “Alright skipper. Time for me to close and wrap this up, I’d hate for this to get infected. So, shirt up, I won’t try anything this time”

          Leone grumbled but pulled her shirt up none the less showing the gapping puffy red cut that went along her right hip. Whoever did this sure as hell went all out, Grace could see a flash of pinkish white in the wound where the sword must have scraped bone. Shaking her head, she looked up making sure Leone was ready, the girl refused to have the healer close the thing up. Grace couldn’t understand it, Leone was fine with most of the superficial things fixed but if it was anything else like a few broken ribs and the cut she refused for the healer to close it up and erase any trace of whoever did this to her. But then again maybe that was the point. Leone did have a morbid thought process even for a seventeen year old. The idiot even refused to get drunk to help dull the pain of what was about to happen

            Shaking her head Grace gave Leone’s cheek a quick kiss and messed her hair up affectionately. “Just try not to thrash around to much alright Skipper.” When she received a nod she went ahead and began to piece the skin together. When she first started Leone had jolted with a pained shout her hands fisting the beds sheet till the knuckles turned white. However as Grace was finishing up and cut off the last of the thread and tied it off then wrapped it all in bandages Leone had fallen silent except for an occasional whimper of pain. Letting out a relieved sigh Leone pulled her sleeveless tunic down over her form and fell onto her uninjured sigh and ran a hand through Graces hair with a soft unguarded smile. “Thanks Grace. I don’t think I could have done that myself. And I didn’t want anyone at the manor to see me like that.”

             Grace felt a pang of guilt hit her chest as she gave Leone a crooked smile, Belore how did this happen? This was just suppose to be petty revenge against that bitch Visenya. But damn this brat, why couldn’t she have just let Grace bed her and be over with it? But no they both had to be stubborn assholes that have been chasing circles around each other for two years. Each time Grace left for a long period of time she told herself, promised herself that when she saw Skipper again she’d get it down and over with. But then the brat has to go and give her that smile and all that posturing Grace did for herself to try to get along with the plan fell away. Belore she was an idiot, Skipper was barely even an adult! While all of this was going through Grace’s mind she stood up and picked up the towel Leone had discarded and sat next to the slumped form and beckoned for her to sit up, “Anything for you Skipper. Now come here, can’t have you running around with wet hair. Wouldn’t want to be sick on top of beat up now would we?”

            Leone just nodded with a small chuckle and sat up and turned to face Grace sitting crisscross with her head bowed. Shaking her head with a smirk Grace went ahead and began to towel dry her hair, then when most of the water was gone motioned for Leone to turn around, which she did without thought. Reaching over to her night stand Grace rummaged through one of its drawers before pulling out a brush and using it to combat Leone’s floofy curls that reached to the middle of her back. Once it was all in some form of order she gave s few strands a gentle tug “Its gotten quiet long hasn’t it.” Leone just stiffened up slightly and shivered before nodding silently in agreement. “I want it gone. Or at least short enough so it can’t be sued against me.” Grace hummed as she played with Leone’s hair thinking of styles that would fit, maybe something that reached the nape of her neck? And if she pulled it back the curls wouldn’t get in her eyes. Nodding in satisfaction Grace pressed a kiss to Leone’s bare shoulder and stood up while grabbing Leone’s hand and lifted her up. “Well it’s your lucky Skipper. I happed to know a thing or two about cutting hair from before my sailor days. Come on grab the beds sheet and meet me out back. I’ll get a pair of scissors and a mirror.”

            The inn keepers wife gladly handed over a pair and a mirror when Grace told her what it was for and after dragging a chair out back she plopped Leone right down, wrapped the sheet around her and got to work.

           Leone let out a relaxed sigh as she felt the weight around her shoulder begin to lessen as Grace got to work. Closing her eyes she felt the world begin to fade as the tension in her shoulders finally began to bleed out. Only for her to stiffen up as she heard Grace’s next words “So are you going to tell me who did this to you Skipper?” “What does it even matter? I lost. And this was a one time thing.” Leone felt Graces hands stop working with her hair as she walked around the chair and cupped Leones face, her thumb tracing along her bottom lip that had been busted open before they visited a mender. “Don’t shut me out Skipper. You know you can talk to me. You’ve been doing it for the past year now. If you don’t want me to go beat this little shit up or whatever then fine. But don’t bottle this up. Please, just talk to me.”

           Leone felt any fight she was going to put up vanish as she slumps and nods. “Fine, just don’t stop working on my hair. I don’t want you to see my face. And don’t say anything until I tell you that I’m done. I don’t want to stop and start through the story” Grace nodded and walked back around and resumed the haircut as Leone took a deep breath already feeling a pained grimace take over her face as she remember the events that lead up to this. “It was Lord Darklyn. His test for when he felt I was an adult. To prove my worth, and again I’ve ended up a failure.”

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      WHACK Leone began to fall to the ground where Lord Darklyn’s sword sliced its way across the back of her left knee. Instead of trying to get up or fight back she tucked in and rolled forward bouncing back up slower then she would have liked as she turned to face the large man. This fight seems to have been going on for hours and already Leone was having trouble breathing. Tired, sore and covered in sweat she glared at the man as she lifts one of her arms to wipe away some of the moisture gathering at her brow and dripping into her eyes. Shifting her weight to her right leg she charged again. ‘FUCKING HIT HIM ’ Leone yelled to herself in her head. This man wasn’t pulling his punches, he came at her with the intent to kill and ever hit he threw her way showed it. Bringing his sword up he slashed at her horizontally. Ducking under it and into his personal space Leone tried to slam her elbow into his face while bringing her sword up to slash across his chest. Moving his head to the side with ease he brought his arm up and moved it to block Leone at the wrist. Throwing her sword arm to the side he grabbed her by the front of the shirt and head butted her leaving her seeing stars.

      Lifting a foot he brought it down heavily on her slightly bent knee making her growl in pain as her knees hit the hard stone. Grabbing the hand that held her sword he brought the pommel of his sword down on it repeatedly till she was forced to let go of her weapon. Picking it up and throwing it off to the side he grabbed her around the back of her neck and pulled the arm he was holding in closer to her. Suddenly she couldn’t breath as he brought his knee up to slam into her ribs over and over. CRACK White hot pain shot through her side as he broke a rub and she fell to her side her arm wrapped around her hurt rib. Glaring up at him through his hair she tried to rise to her feet only for him to lift his foot and kick her in the face. Feeling her back hit the ground Leone felt blood pouring out of her nose as she looked up at his looming figure seeing him raises his foot again a blank expression on his face as he brought it down square on her chest.

    Curling up on her side with a pained wheeze Leone’s arms tried to fight off the man as he pushed her face into the ground flipping her on her stomach and pushing his knee into her back. His weight crushing her, ‘I can’t breath. Fuck it hurts. Get him off Leone get him off! I can’t he’s bigger and stronger. Curse this weak body.’ Her inner panicking was halted as she felt him fist his hand in her hair and lift her face. Smashing her face into the ground with all his strength over and over and over till Leone stopped moving he let go of her hair and her head fell to the ground and didn’t move. Leone’s eye were barely open as her vision blurred and spun. Her ears seemed to be filled with cotton as everything sounded distorted. Barely able to recognize the sound of a blade scrapping against the stone floor. Feeling the steels cold edge trace long the side of her neck, Leone just laid still fear filling her up. ‘He’s going to kill me. After all this time I lose my head not because of my father but because I’m too weak. Damn you Leone FIGHT.’ But her body refused to move even with all the fear coursing though it to try to motivate it to get out of this situation. The sword stayed there for a few tense minutes. Long enough for the blades edge to grow warm for the fevered body it touch. Finally he pulled it away and the sound of the sword being sheathed filled the air with his footsteps as he walked away his back facing her.

           Leone curled her fist in a ball and slammed in against the rock relishing in the pain. ‘Belore Leone you worthless piece of shit get up. GET UP! You can’t do anything right, not magic not fighting. Hell, even your body refuses to be what it needs to be. He’s taller, his reach is longer, he’s bulkier. He’s better in every way physically. And he’s much more experienced. You fucking idiot what made you think coming at him with conventional means would work? He’s used to all of this. He knows how to combat it. You played right into his hands you are a fucking failure. WHY COULDN’T YOU FUCKING MOVE AND THINK FOR ONCE! He’s not some fresh meat like those you trained with. You need to get his guard down but your too much of a pussy to put yourself in the line of fire for it. YOU ALWAYS PLAY IT SAFE. You try to dance around them and get them to tire themselves out. But he’s not wearing heavy armor and he’s never made a motion that wasn’t necessary.’ Leone felt disgust and hatred towards the man and herself well up as she beat herself up in her mind. ‘And you lost your fucking sword you fucking idiot. FUCKING USELESS’ But more importantly she felt rage. Unbridled rage, the kind she felt whenever she saw her father smirking at her and welcoming her home only to turn on her like a feral animal once the doors were closed and ripped into her. The rage he felt as he forced her to do those things to those children in his ‘work’ room. ‘I don’t need it.’

           Cold. Her whole entire body was cold except for the places he beat on the most. Those ached and burned. But they only seemed to add fuel to the fire as Leone struggled her way to her feet. Glaring at the mans back she charged.

       Lord Darklyn was just about to leave the fighting area but the sound of feet pounding on the ground made him spin around already unsheathing him sword out of reflex. Seeing a beaten and blood Leone charge at him with no weapons on her and a crazed glint in her eyes he decided he didn’t need to defend against this. He just needed to finish it. Sweeping his sword out he felt the sword slide right through her clothing, (the girl refused to wear much armor, though that’s probably best with her weak body, she’d barely be able to move) and into her flesh with shock. Why didn’t she dodge? She’s never been able to really take a hit, she’s a cautious fighter so why isn’t she stopping? He felt his eyes widen slightly as Leone only sagged slightly at the hit and moved her arm to wrap around the sword that kept carving its path till it hit bone. Pressing her arm against it and seeming to push it in deeper she kept the blade trapped there. He raised his other fist and prepared to bring it down on her head but was stopped as her other hand moved to cup the blood that was running down her thigh and threw it into his eyes.

     Blinded he bashed his fist into her head once before moving to try to wipe the sticky substance from his eyes. Leone didn’t falter though. Instead she brought her mouth down on the hand that held the sword and bit down with all her might on the fleshy part of his thumb area. Biting down till blood began to spill between her teeth she started to shake her head like a rabid dog till he was forced to drop the sword. Forgetting about the blood that blocked his vision he brought his hand to her jaw and tried to get her to release him, then started punching her but it just seemed to egg her on. Yanking her head back she ripped the flesh that was locked in her jaw right off from his hand and kicked the sword back and out of his reach.

      He felt his jaw tighten but didn’t stop hitting her. Then one of her hands flew up to grab the front of his shirt and jumped up and slammed both feet into his right knee. ‘she stopped caring about her well being.’ He realized with a start as his back hit the ground his arm that held the sword falling to his side as she scrambled on top of him and came in close and pressed down on his outstretched shoulders. Preparing to lift his arms and hit her again and throw her off he looked in shock as that crazed glint seem to twinkle as her eyes zeroed in on his thoat. ‘She’s trying to kill me’ Pressing his chin down to cover her thoat just as she snapped at her she growled at him and raised her head back, her arms tensing a moment. ‘Good she’ll try to punch me. With her farther away I can throw her off without having to worry about my throa-‘ His plan was interrupted as Leone bashed her forehead into his face. As she lifted her head he saw a feral grin on her face and she headbutted him again and again and again. She raised her head one last time as it wobbled slightly and bashed it into his face with as much force as she could muster. Then slumped and fell to the side her eyes unfocused and then shut. ‘she knocked herself out.’

      Leone jolted and let out a cry of pain as her hand flew to her bleeding side and the other to her crown which had blood flowing down it and into her eye. Looking around frantically she felt her stomach heave as her vision saw. ‘Belore my head. It hurts’ Even her inner voice sounded winded and pathetic. Standing shakily to her feet she looked up at the sound of foot steps and sees Lord Darklyn make his way towards her. “Good you’re awake. Come, it’s time for you to see what you’ve earned.” Following wordlessly Leone had to rest her hand and the side of her body on the walls that they walked past to stop herself from falling over. Dizziness and nausea washed over her rattling breaths filled the silent air.

    They stopped in front of the familiar door of the Darklyn library and the Lord nodded his head towards it. Straightening with a wince Leone creaked one of the doors open silently as she stared in the room. A small red headed form was sitting in a large chair with a book in their lap and a steaming cup in their hand. It took her brain awhile to process what she was actually seeing. Trying to swallow the lump in her throat she turned to give the Lord a horrified look her voice a strained whisper. “Aelor?”

     He just nodded and walked away. Leone stood in the doorway staring dumbly at the distracted form in front of her. ‘So this is what I’ve been reduced to. A runt for a runt. Belore he sees me as nothing worthy. So I’m just suppose to be a trophy wife, a royal baby maker.’ Suddenly a thick sense of resentment washed over Leone directed at the Lord, herself, and even Aelor. ‘Belore I’m going to have to….with him.’ Suddenly feeling sick she closed the door just as Aelor lifted his head and began to run away.

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      “And that’s when I ran into you by Hugo’s stand.” Leone felt a pair of arms wrap around her shoulder as Grace buried her face in her neck. “I want to kill that fucking bastard. So, this is why you came to me bleeding out and with a concussion. FUCK HIM!’ Grace raised from her spot and began to pace around Leone. “Who the fuck does he think he is?!’ Leone sighed and grabbed the woman’s hand and brought her to a halt in front of her. “He the man that is apart of the family that drove my to the brink of extinction. He’s the man that holds my life in his hands. He can do whatever he wants to me and I can’t do anything about it. Or he’ll just kill me and my family.”  Pulling Grace close Leone pressed her face against her chest and felt her stomach heave and her shoulders shake as all the stress finally came up. Grace just kneeled down and held her as the girl wept her fingers running through her now shorter hair.

      Pulling back with a sniffle Leone pawed at her eyes a now annoyed expression crossing her face, no doubt from showing a sign of weakness, even if it was to Grace. “So you done with the hair cut?” Grace sighed at the change of topic and nodded her head while holding out the mirror for Leone to take and see for herself. But by the sun well. It’s just wrong for a shorter hair cut to make her curls frame her face in just the right way to make her look even more mischievous then she already is. Nodding in satisfaction Leone hooked her arms around Grace’s waist and pulled her down and places a soft kiss on her lips before pulling back and giving her a crooked grin. “thanks Grace. I like it. Really suits with the whole raiser of hell look doesn’t it?’ Grace groans as she stands, of course the brat would notice. Shaking her head she took the sheet off of Skipper and shook off the hair before balling it up and carrying it back into the inn and handing it off to the owners wife to be put with the laundry. Coming back she leans against the door frame as she watches the brats shake her hair out before pushing it back. “So I think we need some stress relief Skipper. I saw this lady with a beautiful lapis lazuli necklace strolling around. Why don’t we go pay a visit?”  Leone gave her one of those rare unguarded warm smiles as she walked up to Grace and wrapped her arm around her waists  again and let the sailor lead her out into the streets. “I’d love that Grace. You always know how to make me feel better. I’m just glad I can always run back to you.”

        Again a pang of guilt ran through Grace as she heard those words, knowing what she’s going to do. And after such a shit day. Belore sometimes she wish she could just pick the brat up and take her with her away from this place… ‘Wait. Why can’t I?’ Grace just stared at the ground in thought as she led Leone towards their newest victim.

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       The both of them returned to Grace’s room as the sun was setting leaving the sky is a dark twilight, giggling like madmen. “Holy shit skipper did you see her face?! Bwuhahahaha nice thinking slipping her necklace in that mans pocket as she turned. Better him then us aye? Belore that lady can slap a bitch out of a dog.” Leone doubled over giggling as she remembered the vein that was about to burst from the lady’s head as she turned to the poor unsuspecting fool with murder in her eyes. Sure, they didn’t get the necklace but they did get her purse and bracelet while they acted like concerned citizens trying to break up a fight. The bitch was too busy with the poor lad to even realize even more was taken from her.

          Walking over and plopping on the bed with her legs dangling over the beds edge Leone gave Grace a toothy grin. “If you think that’s good just wait till tomorrow. I have an idea that I’ve been meaning to try out with that lock pick set you gave me.” Grace felt her ice run cold at that sentence and sat down while patting Leone’s thigh “Hey Skipper. I need to tell you something.” Curious Leone rose and tilted her head as she studied her. “Ya sure what is it.” Taking a moment to gather her thoughts Grace took in a deep breath and let it out in a tired sigh. “I’m leaving. Early tomorrow morning.” “Oh is that all? Well I guess it can wait till you come back.” “Skipper….I’m not coming back.” The smile remained on Leone’s face even though confusion was the only thing that was seen in her eyes. Till it slowly turned to shock, then anger, then despair. “I…I. What? What do you mean you’re not coming back? What about “Sorry Skipper I’m not leaving you till I finally find my way into your pants?” Who the hell am I suppose to do all this shit with Grace?”

     Grace just shook her head as look up at Leone though her hair wincing at the betrayal that showed on the girls face. “I know what I said. And trust me, I’d stay if I could but I’m no longer welcome. So I have to go. But hey I have an idea.” Leone’s eyes lit up slightly in hope as she scooted closer. “Oh ya? Plan to dress as a little old lady and come visit me?” Grace chuckled and shook her head and held Leone’s face in her hands. “Come with me.” ‘This was the best solution. She gets to keep Skipper. And taking her away from that Bitch Visenya is way better then just using her for the night. And she’ll be safer with her then those psychotic Darklyns. By Belore what’s going to happen when she gets older? That bastard will no doubt send her into a war to die for him and not even give a shit. It makes sense she can be happy.’

      All of her hopeful thinking was crushed as Leone jerked her head back with a wide eyes and a shocked look. Not a pleasant shock either, more horrified then anything. “Grace what the fuck?! Are you being fucking serious right now?” “Of course Skipper why the fuck would I joke about something like this? You can leave those assholes, they won’t be able to hurt you, you won’t have to worry about your dad, and you can finally sail around the world like you always dreamed of. Not to mention you can do it with me. It’s a win win.” Leone just shook her head and stood up and began pacing again a look of desire flashing by her face before being replaced with anger. “Grace how can you ask that of me. If I go Lord Darklyn would probably hunt me down and kill me just out of spite. Or what if he comes for my family? I may not give a shit about my father. But what about my twin? Belore what if he kills Lini as retribution? And I can’t just leave Aenys and Aelor. It’d crush them.”

     Grace rose to and stepped in front of Leone and grabbed her by the arms making the girl stare at her. “Why do you care about them Leone? When did your family ever give a shit about you?” “Sure, father doesn’t care and Lini and I never really got along, but that’s not his fault. We were separated as kids Grace and he was left alone with my father who no doubt has been fucking with him this whole time. I HAVE to do something to protect him. And if that’s keeping the foxes off his back then so be it. And Aenys and Aelor care about me, and I love them I can’t just run off and leave them all alone. Who’d stand up for Aelor when his siblings are being assholes? Who’d get Aenys out of trouble because boy does she always seem to find it. Me Grace that’s who and I refuse to leave them. Grace just let go at Leone’s outburst and sunk to the bed with a glum look as she studies Leone. “So that’s it then? Just like that?” “Ya. That’s it.”

       Leone sighed as she walked over to Grace’s hunched over form and pushed her shoulders slightly so that she could sit down straddling her and lifted Grace face and pulled her into a deep kiss before pulling away and giving her a small head butt while wrapping her arms around Graces neck. “Hey now you can’t go pouting and looking all miserable, it’ll give you wrinkles. Trust me Grace, I want to go, I’ve never been given a more tempting offer. But I won’t run from those I care about because I’m too cowardly to stand up to the things that want to push us down. Who know, maybe when I get older they’ll let me captain a ship then I can drag your ass back in the brig and we can play prisoner.” Grace shakes her head with a chuckle while wrapping her arms around Leone’s waist and resting her head on her chest. “That’s be nice, didn’t take you as one who’d like to chain people up. Considering you ‘re completely new to the whole thing. Or is this just you posturing?” Full blown laughter erupts from her chest as she feels Leone whack her on the back of the head with a mumbled “Bitch.”

           Leone glares at the damned sailor as she plays with the hair at the nape of Grace’s neck, geez she tried to start a conversation and Grace has to go and pull the V card on her. “Don’t be an ass I wanted to broach the topic in a funny manner.” Grace hummed as she closed her eyes enjoying the moment. “And why would you want to talk about that now?” “Well you’re leaving, so the chase is over now. I might as well enjoy my reward.” “Wait wait. Your reward. Shouldn’t it be my reward since I’ve been the one chasing you.” “well…no. I mean I was the brave soul who endured your flirtations.” “Oh, you endured them Skipper?” “Yes, I must say with the rumors I’ve heard about you it really is quiet something. I’m rather proud of myself.” “You’re only proud of yourself when you’d done something hard. Oh, was the little virgin finding it hard to resist me and my charms?” Again, another whack on the head. “You are lucky Grace. I’d leave right now but I’ll be damned if I let you walk away right now. Not to mention those two brats also got laid too by that bitch no less. Hell, AELOR balls the fuck up before me.” “…. wait are you talking about that Island that makes you horny?” “YES, FUCK THAT PLACE!” “SKIPPER I OFFERED WHEN YOU CAME BACK, AND YOU SAID NO!” Leone’s face turns deadpan as she stares at Grace. “Oh, ya that was just out of spite towards that Sparr bitch, no way in hell was I going to lose to her fucking trees. Also, in spite to you too I guess. NO WAY IN HELL was I going to fall prey to you because of some fucking trees.” “Prey? Fall prey? You make me sound like some sex crazed maniac.” “….well…if the shoe fits.” “Oh you are such a bitch Skipper.” “Ya I know but you love it. Now will you stop acting like a little bitch or should I return home?” “You know normally you should be all nervous and cutesy about this. Not all demanding and confident and shit.” Grace blinks as Leone just sighed and stood up and made her way to the door. “Fine. See you tomorrow Grace, I’ll see you off.”

      Grace blinks as she sees Leone begin to walk off and jumps to her feet. Fucking cheeky bitch making her run to bring her back. Looping her arms around Leone’s waist once again she lifts her clear up in the arm with a surprised little shout from her little captive. Carrying her over to the bed she slams her down hard and hears a little wheeze for Skipper. No doubt the ribs, but hey they were never known for being gentle with each other. “Now that’s just rude Skipper, walkin’ off before you even let me finish. I didn’t say no did I? Jeez getting all riled up from a little teasing. Guess you really are nervous huh?” Leone just let out a huff of breath as she tries to get some of her curls out of her eyes. Chuckles Grace pushed them up and placed a kiss on Leone’s forehead.  “You sure Skipper?” Leone huffs as she wraps her arms around Grace’s neck again and stares up at her with an annoyed expression. “Don’t tell me the big bad Grace is getting cold feet?”  Grace just shakes her head with a sigh, “Fine sorry just trying to be all polite and shit.” “Don’t it doesn’t suit you.” “Fucking bitch” “asshole”

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       Grace finished up slipping on the rest of her clothes before looking back at the curled up form of Leone ‘Course she’d be a blanket hog.’ Stepping up to the sleeping brat Grace pushed the hair our of Leone’s eyes with a warm smile before her eyes fall to the silver chain hanging around her neck. That was the only thing that she refused to take off and Grace knew how much it meant to the girl. ‘Sorry Skipper, but I need you to hate me.” Reaching down she unclasped the necklace and slipped it in her jacket pocket before turning to regard the rope in the corner of the room. ‘Belore why do I feel like such a piece of shit?’

       After finishing up her little parting gift for Skipper Grace silently made her way down the inns stairs. Thought the wife was at the front getting the customers breakfast ready. “ah Grace, leavin’ so soon? I take it you’re checking out right?” “That’s right miss. I already paid your husband in advance yesterday.” “oh I know he told me. Well looks like I’ll head up and clean the place up for the next guess.” Just as she was about to pass Grace and head up the stairs a grip of iron placed itself on her upper arm. Turned with a shocked look on her face she was about to open her mouth to say something to her before shutting up at seeing the guilty look on the sailors face. “Um maybe don’t go up there just yet. Someone’s still in there. They’re a little tired from a fight they got in yesterday. Someone will be along to pick them up, so please don’t disturb them.”

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         Grace was aboard her ship waiting for the last of her men to file on before she caught trace of a familiar mop of head. Throwing her arm up she began to wave that the hurried figure who was moving from place to place, ‘No doubt looking for her, she never did go back last night.’ “HEY VISENYA!!” The bitch had the nerve to give her an annoyed look as she stopped and strolled up to the dock Grace’s ship was docked at and looked up at the captain. “Now now no need to glare. Just wanted to let you know that I left you a special little present all wrapped up and everything just for you in the Sea Shanty inn is all. Though you should probably hurry, wouldn’t want one of the inn keepers staff unwrapping her first now would you?” Feeling a sick sense of satisfaction as she watches the blood drain from that bitches face as she picked up the ends of her skirt and ran towards the inn. Chuckling to herself she turned to her second mate. “Alright I’m done here. Let’s go.” Watching as her crew began running around and the her ship begin to leave harbor she pulled out the last memento Leone had of her mother. ‘Sorry Skipper, but at least now I know you won’t stop.”

[breakmyreddieheart]

(Please Don’t) Say Anything - Ch2

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

++ Accompanying Playlist ++

Summary: It’s the last days of high school and the Losers are soon to be leaving for university, moving to different parts of the country. Richie is trying to figure out how to tell Eddie how he feels about him, but only ends up making things worse and needs to figure out how to apologize. Bev has a cunning plan, and Richie Tozier gets extra...

Setting: Derry, ME - the summer of 1995

Pairings: Reddie (main), Stenborough (on the side) also Bev is dating a girl and Ben and Mike are just wholesome individuals right now

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: references to neglect and mental illness

A/N: I’ve made a small amendment to Chapter One - removing the reference to Richie’s mother’s drinking; instead, stating Eddie’s assumption that his Father is hard on him. I was going to just go along with the ‘alchoholic mother’ thing everyone else seems to be doing, but I want to take the Tozier family in a different direction in this AU // Also I’ve actually sat and planned out the rest of the fic - we’ve got 6 chapters, and buckle up fuckers, it’s gonna be a wild ride!

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The room was filled with jokes and laughter, but Eddie sat near the corner lost in thought.

Having grabbed an unfathomably large stack of pizzas from Julio’s Pizzeria, the Losers descended upon the Denborough residence to spend the evening celebrating together. Bill’s dad didn’t approve of underage drinking, but he made an exception on this occasion, buying a modest crate of beer for the group.

“What if we don’t like beer?” Ben had asked, being more partial to sneaking sips of the whiskey his mother kept hidden in the laundry closet.

“Beggers can’t be choosers, Benny-boy!” Richie laughed, patting him on the back and handing him an open bottle. “Now, let’s get shitfaced!” He yelled in a questionable Mancunian accent.

“Richie this beer is barely three percent” Stan quipped, “the only thing you’re getting on this is gassy.”

Richie cracked open another one and walked over to where Eddie was sat, gently wiggling the bottle at him. “How about you Eduardo?” 

“I’ll pass” Eddie mumbled, looking somewhat distracted. Riche paused, waiting to be berated for the nickname but Eddie remained silent and continued to stare blankly at the Cheers re-runs playing silently on the TV.

Richie wasn’t sure if he’d done something wrong, but he noticed Eddie had been acting funny since the end of School. Was it something he’d said? While he knew he pushed boundaries sometimes - heck, he outright smashed straight through them half the time - the thought that he might have genuinely offended Eddie left him with an uncomfortable ache in his chest.

As the evening went on, the stack of pizzas gradually shrank and the beers were all drunk. Eddie seemed to lighten up, joining in the conversation and laughing a bit, but he wouldn’t look at Richie despite his best efforts to make eye contact.

Richie excused himself to go for a smoke. “Coming Bev?” he said, looking at her pointedly. She took the hint and got right up, grabbing the last two slices of pizza on the way.

“You snooze, you lose!” she said melodically as Ben and Mike moaned in protest.

Bev caught up with Richie outside on the porch. He’d slumped himself down next to a plant pot which he was using as an ashtray.

“What’s up Tozier?” she asked casually, though he could tell there was concern in her voice.

Richie took a long drag of his cigarette, inhaling deeply and blowing the smoke down between his legs. He couldn’t put a finger on exactly what was bothering him, but all of his worries were starting to vibrate around his head; not in their usual fleeting manner, but so violently that he almost felt like one might punch clean through his skull and take out Beverly on the way.

“Why do I always seem to fuck everything up?” he asked, not looking up from the floor.

Beverly paused for a moment, lighting her menthol roll-up and taking a drag before sitting down cross-legged in front of Richie.

“Ok, therapy is in session. You’re on the clock” she said jokingly, prompting a side-smile from Richie.”Start from the beginning. What did you “fuck up” exactly? Does this have something to do with why Eddie looks like you crapped in his shoes?”

“I don’t know, Bev.” And he honestly didn’t. His mind was searching back over the last few hours, trying to figure out exactly which quip might have caused real offense. “I can’t stand this. I feel like I don’t have much time left with him, and now he’s pissed at me cause I can’t keep my damn mouth shut.”

Bev didn’t respond immediately, she simply sat and let him talk. She was good at listening like that; Richie knew he could tell her anything and she would quietly take in all the facts before giving her analysis. Nothing really phased her. He felt confident that should he ever kill someone, she would be the person he would call to help bury the body. No questions asked.

“He’s amazing you know?” Richie said, taking a bit of the now-cold pizza Bev handed him. “He was so worried about his exam today, but you just know he’s gonna pass with flying colours. Then he’s gonna be off to medical school and his illustrious career as a doctor and I’m just gonna be this person who he used to know. Richie Tozier: the one who never left Derry.”

"Have you still not sent your applications off?” Beverly asked, stubbing out the remains of her cigarette in the plant pot before pulling another from behind her ear.

“What’s the point?” Richie spat, flinging his hands out in a shrug, sending a piece of pepperoni flying onto the lawn. “Even if I get accepted how the fuck am I going to pay for it? You think my dad would actually help? I’m stuck here, Bev, and you’re all gonna leave and forget about me.” Bev could see he was holding back tears.

“That’s what loans and scholarships are for, Rich” Beverly said, shuffling round to sit next to Richie, letting him lean into her. “You are amazingly talented. And besides, fuck your dad. If I have to sell a kidney or rob a bank, we’re getting you through this one way or another. Can’t forget your annoying ass if you’re indebted to me forever.”

Richie smiled momentarily, before leaning his head on her shoulder. “What the fuck is my life, Bev?”

They sat in silence for a while watching the moths flutter around the porch light.

“How’s your mom doing?” Beverly asked, assuming that Richie’s last question was rhetorical. He let out another breath of smoke, sighing deeply in the process.

“She called the police on me yesterday,” he said soberly. “Saw me in the kitchen and thought I was robbing the place. It took me half an hour to convince the cops that I actually lived there.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Richie’s mother had been diagnosed with early-onset dementia back in February and it was progressing fast. It started with her forgetting to come to one of Richie’s shows, which she usually attended religiously. She was a proud mother and had practically raised Richie alone while his father was away on long business trips. But lately, she had been forgetting who he was entirely. He’d often come home and find her confused and angry, unaware of what time or what day it was.

His father had started working from home, but the stress of the situation was getting to him. He barely spoke to Richie, but when he did it felt like he wasn’t really there; it was as if he was a stranger in his own house. He couldn’t stand to see how bad his mother was getting, so he’d often escape and stay at Eddie’s. Eddie never questioned him too much, he was just there - a soothing presence that made Richie feel safe.

“Have you talked to Eddie about it?” Beverly inquired.

“He doesn’t need to know. No one does, I don’t need them pitying me Bev. I just want some of my life to feel normal, you know?”

“You should tell him, Richie,” she said looking directly at him; her piercing blue eyes lent a certain authority to her stare. “You know he adores you, right?”

“Shut up” he snapped, harsher than was intended. “I’m an inconvenience to him. He puts up with me.”

“That’s not what Bill told me...” she said with a flutter, prompting Richie to choke on his cigarette.

She and Bill were still close. They had dated for a while at the beginning of high school, but Beverly had come to realize that dating boys was not for her. They had ended it amicably enough, but Bill had taken it hard at the time. However, once she’d met Kim, who she was now dating, and Bill had started seeing Stan they began to bond again.

“Wait, what did Bill say?” Richie said hoarsely, stifling another cough.

“Just that Eddie had been talking about you a lot. Like, a lot.”

Richie paused, the thoughts in his head seemingly doubling in speed in reaction to this new information.

“I could tell him... but I don’t want to put that on him. I don’t want him to have to deal with all my bullshit.”

“Richard Tozier, you will be the death of me” Bev pressed one hand to her temple, massaging it in a circular motion. “Listen, you’re in love with him, right? Don’t deny it cause I know you’re full of shit.”

Richie stared at his feet, his silence affirmative.

“Well, would you rather have a superficial friendship based on lies, or do you want to actually talk to him about your feelings and, y’know, have an authentic relationship?” Richie cursed Beverly’s common sense, he couldn’t deny she had a point.

“Ok...” he muttered. “I’ll talk to him.” He felt his heart rate quicken at the thought. 

"What would you do without me, hey?” Bev teased, lightly punching him on the knee. “Now come on, let’s get back inside before Ben puts some god-awful chick flick on.”

Richie chuckled as Bev helped him up from the floor. His head was still spinning, but suddenly the idea of talking to Eddie about everything felt like the right thing to do.

His calm in the eye of the storm.

- End of Chapter 2 - 

A/N: Sorry for the soul-destroying Alzheimers twist. I made myself cry thinking about the implications. Hope you enjoyed this Richie and Bev bonding time! Let me know your thoughts :D

Taglist: @richietoaster | @vimra  | @wildcardtrip-blog | @starstruck-stargazing  | @noxatn

Send me a message if you want to be on the tag list for Chapter 3!

[say-no-to-this-rp]

Sunday, 23rd of July, 2023 - Late afternoon Shell Cottage in Tinworth, Cornwall, UK Snip. Sunlight streams through the window to light up a blurry photo of two blonde girls lounging on the deck of what seems to be a boat. It lies at the top of a stack of photos. Shell Cottage is quiet, all but for the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock and the distant crashing of waves. 

Snip. Once again, scissor blades slice through the quiet, sliding through pretty paper into a flower silhouette. “C’est problématique.”  Hushed muttering in a mixture of French and English can be heard from the kitchen table. Dominique, setting down the scissors and then rummaging through the stack of photos was visibly irritated.“I need to find more photos of the three of us.” A frustrated sigh escaped her lips but was left unnoticed. If Dom couldn’t find more photos of all three of them, the scrapbook would simply be a visual humble brag of Dom and Teddy’s stupid shenanigans. “So much for a wedding present for the both of them.”  “Mooorning.” Came a drawl from the counter. Louis eyed her in amusement empty mug in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other, his back against their marbled counter. “Gone insane, have we Dominique? Talking to yourself like a raving lunatic?” “ Shut your mouth, you brat, or I’ll tell Maman and Papa that you’re smoking inside the cottage.” Dom snapped back, only superficially irritated. She was used to her little brother and his big mouth. He was charming and snarky with people outside the family, enough to have his own little gaggle of girls and boys in his year that latched onto every word of his. But to Dominique, he was always (and really, only because he acts like it) her obnoxious and bratty little brother. Said brat had likely just woken up. He was every bit of a night owl, up and about doing who knows what until the sun would rise and the nearby roosters would screech. 

At a leisurely pace, Louis filled his empty mug with cold coffee leftover from the morning pot that Fleur had left on. Idly made his way to the kitchen table. While running a casual hand through his platinum blonde hair that was now spiking up in all direction, Louis dropped himself into the chair opposite Dom. Without asking, he tugged the book to his side of the table and busied himself with the pages before Dominique could stop him, cigarette in his mouth.

There was nothing to hide about the scrapbook.The whole family excluding Victoire knew that Dominique had been working on this DIY project for the past month as a wedding present. The blonde wouldn’t consider herself as somebody who was easily flustered. Nevertheless, she was overcome with the desire to snatch the scrapbook back from Louis, as if this little book held something very private and intimate. For Teddy’s eyes only, as the realization finally dawned on her. Somewhere deep inside her, she knew that the hardest part of making the scrapbook had been including Victoire into the narrative of images. The ideal scrapbook vision that Dominique had in her head did not include her older sister in it. 

“Is this really a gift for Ted and Vic? Because if so,” Louis settled on a page with Dom and Teddy sitting at a restaurant, the cringiest, cheesiest cowboy hat on the latter’s head, and a birthday brownie with a sparkler in front of the two. Louis slid it back over with raised eyebrows. “I regret to tell you that you’re doing a shoddy job of it.” “No one asked you.” Dom pointed out.  “Really? Because your face screwed up like this,” Louis wrinkled his face in an obvious attempt to mock her, “Made me think you were begging for my advice.” “Feel free to piss off now.” Dominique raised her brows in warning, having switched to heated french now. “Don’t make me do something about that big head of yours, Louis Antoine Weasley. Also -- stop getting ash on my scrapbook.”

With a nonchalant shrug, Louis smirked, now holding the cig loosely between his index and middle finger, and replying in perfect Parisian french back. “If you ask me, maybe try a different present for our happy couple, Dominique.”

Dominique hated that Louis might be right, not that she’d ever admit it. She’d rather hang off a hippogriff butt naked and fly around the front yard of the Burrow than admit to his face that Louis was right. Okay, maybe not the Burrow. She didn’t quite want to face Grandma’s wrath. Hogwarts might work. Regardless, something inside her demanded that she finish the scrapbook. Perhaps she could just give this to Teddy as a birthday present or whatnot. It was clear that she had made the scrapbook with all intentions for Teddy, no matter how much she denied it to herself. As for a wedding present though, Dominique was now fresh out of ideas. 

She looked down at the photo of her and Teddy. All she saw was their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders with their wicked grins. Little did she know, these wicked grins were both taunting her and telling her something that she didn’t quite understand yet of what was to come. 

Friday, 18th of July, 2023  

Lysander Scamander thought that when Dominique Weasley, Lucy Weasley, and himself were talking about having the best summer ever, he thought that meant being interns at the Quibbler. Now, in theory, an internship with all three of them sounded like a bloody brilliant idea. In reality, it meant that the three Hogwarts students were spending their summer doing the most tedious, menial jobs that could be found at the magazine. This was even despite Lysander being all but the heir of the whole damn company. And this was why the trio found themselves copy editing late into the night, two days away from their next release and not a single other soul in the office. 

Crossing one final word, Dominique leapt up after throwing down her quill in satisfaction. "I am officially the winner. Bow before me peasants. I am done and shall be leaving now. Please enjoy watching my back as I sashay out the office." 

“I always do.” Lys piped up, sliding his office chair over to peer intently at Dominique’s stack of work, a bright blue quill tucked behind his ear. “It’s a great view.”

Dominique couldn’t help but snort at her best friend.“Sure you do, Lys. Then make sure to look real close then Lys. You don’t want to miss the show.” 

Lucy, her other best friend in the entire world, groaned, "You've got to be kidding me. There's no way you're done that fast." The red-head looked up from her work to blow her hair out of her face and to promptly send a suspicious glare her cousin’s way.

“Ahh. But tis the truth, my dear Lucky.” The blonde was practically dancing as she packed her purse up. Blowing a kiss, her farewell was met with a scowl from Lucky and an easy smile from Lys. “Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.” She called back. 

Dom jumped the stairs two at a time, and burst out of the building. Having just worked more than a twelve hour work day, she was ecstatic to taste freedom. In her excitement, she almost missed the figure who was casually leaned against the side of the building. “Fancy meeting you here.” With a start, Dom caught sight of Teddy. If she were to guess, probably waiting for her outside considering he immediately tossed the cigarette from his fingers as soon as he saw her. She approached him as he ground it under her shoe. 

Taking in the number of cigarette butts on the floor, she wondered just how many cigarettes he had burned through while waiting for her.

Questioning look now. "Please tell me you haven't been waiting here for hours. I'm a big girl. I can walk home." “Not multiple hours, but more than an hour,” Teddy said cheerfully, not an ounce of annoyance in his voice, as if waiting an hour was nothing. 

Even as they spoke, the two were already walking, falling into step with each other at a leisurely pace. Now that she was in fresh summer night, she was in no rush to get home. Especially with the heat chilled from the crisp night air, Dominique was more than happy to lengthen their walk. She occupied herself with explaining to Teddy about the “joy” of copy editing a weird article on a magical healing theory from pygmy puff piss (and truthfully, teddy should really recognize what an honour and gem that he was getting such a cool sneak preview of the Quibbler’s next edition). 

When the two reach a forked road where they should turn right, the two wordlessly merely glanced at each other before shrugging and turning left instead. As they passed a park, Dom pointed at it with her thumb excitedly, already walking backwards towards it. Smirking, Teddy couldn’t help but follow along, “Yeah, alright, why not?”. 

With a squeal of delight, Dom jumped onto the swing set. Soon enough, the two had killed more than half an hour. That was simply how they always were. Chatting was as easy as breathing for the two, conversation never dulling. Both of them had settled on adjacent swings, and Dominique laughed mid-conversation as she begun to swing higher, just like she used to as a kid. Beginning to pump her legs with more strength, she met Teddy’s eyes in a daring challenge. Teddy, with a matching devilish look on his face, was already kicking his long legs in response. “Oh, yeah?” Their hoots of laughter filled the small playground. Bracing himself, Teddy jumped off the swing into the sand. 

The blonde similarly threw herself off the swing, landing just inches farther. Throwing her arms up like a gymnast executing a perfect landing, she twirled around gracefully, her face triumphant. "You're buying grub now, ye loser." Teddy is practically bowled over in laughter at this point. “How is that even possible, I have longer legs!” But he’s grinning and clearly not opposed to paying. The part-veela was doing everything but preening herself in light of her victory. "I'm nimble and athletic." Wickedly, she paused, as her grin got bigger. "Or maybe you're just getting old. Losing your touch." Dropping that truth bomb, she began to walk away quickly as if she was jokingly fleeing the scene.  Soon enough,Teddy had caught up to her, his long legs finally serving their purpose. “Old? I’m only eight years older than you!” He mock-scolded, jogging to her side, “If I’m old, you’re at least middle-aged.” Dominique couldn’t keep in her laugh as Teddy morphed his face to show an obscene amount of wrinkles, giving her the perfect elderly glare. He looked exactly like Grandmaman Delacour when one of them had done something terrible. Their laughter melded together as Teddy simply couldn’t hold back his own laughter nor his glare any longer. 

Dominique shook her head as they began to walk in some aimless direction, "I'm middle aged?” She countered. “You're the one getting married. You'll blink and there will be little Teddys and Vics. Blimey, I feel for the world already." The blonde scrunched her face at even the thought of another Victoire or another Teddy. The world was not ready.     

Teddy seemed to laugh heartily at the thought. “I do too. I was a menace, I can only imagine what my kids will be like,” He said, while shaking his head, “I don’t even want to think about it” Squinting his eyes thoughtfully up at the sky as if Teddy could magically read the time from its shade, he casually looked over his shoulder at the girl. “Shall we head back?” 

Dominique followed his gaze to the dark sky lit up by the streetlights, and relished how happy she felt. It was mundane moments like these that reminded her just how much she treasured Teddy as one of her best friends. It made his marriage to Victoire just the teensiest of bitter-sweet. Since the day she could remember, Dominique had accepted that she would be second to Victoire in Teddy’s life. No matter how close Teddy and her were, if Vic and Dom fell into the sea and only one could be saved, Dom knew in her heart who Teddy had to save. But it was nice that in moments by themselves, she could have her best friend to herself. It was just Dominique Weasley and Teddy Lupin. Them against the world. 

But of course, soon enough Victoire and Teddy will be til death do they part, and officially, everyone will be second to Victoire in every which way.

But until then, Dominique could be just a bit more greedy concerning her best friend. She merely fluttered her lashes in response to Teddy’s question. “Could we stop for shawarma? I’m ravenous.” 

Her big sister could wait for her fiance just a little longer.

Monday, 7th of August, 2023 - Late Afternoon Brew Crew Coffee Bar in Mayfair, London, UK 

“No, it’s fine, don’t bother her if she’s in a meeting. If she asks later, tell her I said I’d figure it out,” Teddy was saying, “Hey, and thanks for letting me know.”

Dominique quietly sipped her vanilla latte, noting that Teddy was growing more and more dejected as the conversation continued with Vic’s assistant. I’m not surprised that she is standing us up. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. The Potter-Weasley cousins often teased Dominique when she was late (it really wasn’t her fault that make-up and the perfect wardrobe choices takes time and effort), and that they tended to plan their days around Dominique’s schedule. As much as Dom admitted sometimes it was a bit of a “Dominique’s World”, she didn’t think she could even hold a candle to when Vic wanted things her way. Dom couldn’t help but make exasperated faces at various points during the phone call, knowing that her face revealed just how umimpressed she was with Victoire. By the time that Teddy gets off the phone, Dom had finished off her latte and she set down the cup with a sigh. "I see the Queen is unable to bless us with her presence today. So are we going to figure out the cake today without Vic?" 

“If we don’t, the Queen will have our heads,” Teddy teased. At his words, Dominique tried not to make another face on impulse. It was never fair how Vic prioritized her work over their wedding. That Dominique probably knew more about the details of Vic and Teddy’s wedding than the actual bride was almost pathetic. Although trying to shake it off, Teddy was clearly still bothered by Victoire’s last minute decision to stand up her own wedding cake appointment. That was always what Teddy did when Vic prioritized everything else over Teddy. He was just determined to make the best of it. “Should we just... pick one without her?” He frowned. “Vic probably cares more about how it looks than how it tastes, anyway.” 

Dominique was more than frustrated at her sister, and at the unfairness of the situation. But it was no good if she lashed out now. In fact, Teddy was more than aware of how mad Dom felt sometimes on behalf of him at how Vic treated him. Sisters or not, Dom refused to condone her sister’s behaviour. But it’s not your place, really. She told herself. Instead, she did her best to give Teddy an easy smile. Bloody hell Vic. She’d be the cheery one here for Teddy. At least there would be one Delacour-Weasley sister here who actually cared enough. If Vic wouldn’t be excited about this wedding cake tasting, then Dom would be. "Well we have an appointment with the bakery to taste them, right? What did that queen say, Marie Antoinette was it? What did she say? Let's eat cake?" She stood up to pull Teddy to his feet. "So let's eat cake, Teddy! And if you find a cake that you can't say no to, then just pick it. Vic won't eat more than her pinky finger, anyway." 

As if her smile and enthusiasm was contagious, Dominique saw the tension leave Teddy’s shoulder, visibly watching him return to normal if only to smirk back. “Alright, lets eat cake,” he agreed. Looking down at his watch, he noted that. “We should probably run, though, before they eat all that cake themselves.“ 

The two made their way from Brew Crew to the small gourmet bakery, Kowalski Charmed, a small artisan bakery where they liked to take a very personal approach to their wedding cakes. Managing to book a tasting appointment would take forever to book. Because of that, perhaps it was better that they were still going ahead with the cake tasting. As they entered the little white building, the bells chimed above them and Dominique was immediately smothered in an overwhelming cloud of vanilla, sugar, and chocolate. The interior was colourful and pink, with displays of fresh baked goods and pictures of bright cakes lining the walls. 

The baker, a woman with long luscious brunette hair, greeted them with a smile clearly expecting them. With her American accent, she chirped, "Good afternoon, are you the happy couple here for the wedding cake taste-testing?" Hearing that, Dominique hesitated, unsure of how to introduce herself. Sorry, actually no. I’m the bride’s sister. Yes, I know it’s weird that she’s not interested in her own wedding cake, but c’est la vie, right?  She gave a quick glance at Teddy, but decided that it’d probably be best to get it over with. As she opened her mouth to correct the lady, beside her, Teddy spoke up. 

“Yeah, that’s us,” He was flashing his usual winning smile to the baker, subtly winking at Dom as she practically hit him in the face with her hair at how fast she had whipped her head back to look at him. “I hope we’re not too late?” He continued. “Bit of a mix up with the time, it was my mistake.” Oh, she knew exactly what was happening now. She had seen Teddy’s mischievous shit-eating grin more times than she could count to know it was game time.

Dom smiled politely without skipping a beat as soon as Teddy answered the baker. The only way anyone would have caught that she was startled by his answer was the slightest clenching of her jaw, and a barely noticeable tightness to her smile. Succeeding at not immediately rolling her eyes back so hard that she knocked herself out at the sight of Teddy's stupid grin, she immediately attached herself to Teddy's arm. "That's me. The fiancee." She said brightly. As soon as the baker turned her back momentarily to check which samples that they had ordered, she widened her eyes at Teddy and mouthed very obviously, "What are you doing?" .

Teddy made sure that the baker was far enough away from them not to overhear, and then whispered back, ”What makes you think I know? Play along.”  Dominique stifled a laugh, turning the sound into a slight clearing of her throat. That was right about the epitome of a Teddy answer. Many of their shenanigans really came about because neither of them ever knew what they were doing. They simply did it. Teddy was now giving her another look though. It was amazing how if you spent more than a decade with someone, you started to know exactly what their varying expressions were. This one was what Dom liked to call his “safety word” face. It was his reminder that no matter what mischief they were up to, he always wanted Dom to know that if she got uncomfortable, she could back out. Of course, in the same decade of recognizing this look, Dom had never taken him up on the offer. And she wasn’t about to start now. 

The baker returned, still oblivious to the ruse that she was unbeknownst to her had taken part in. They were led to one of the tables by the front window of the store, as she began to outline to them the process. They had requested for a full frosted cake (”Of course, the more sugary the better. I don’t need to watch my weight at all.” Dom said to the baker, entirely straight-faced.), as well as ten possible samples to choose from. 

As if a switch had flipped, Dominique was now the ever-doting, and perhaps too clingy fiancee. Her hand had moved down from his arm to his hands, intertwining their fingers. She pulled him to the table that had been set up for them, and in a sickeningly sweet voice, declared, "This way, you delicious piece of kidney pie." 

She took delight in how Teddy’s eyes went wide. Obviously surprised, he was about to burst into laughter until he managed to de-escalate it into a respectable chuckle. “Anything you say, Snuggie Woogems.” 

Dominique tried not to retch at the ridiculous pet name. It had sent a ridiculous shiver up her spine at how gross they were being, but she just couldn’t stop, especially now that his intention was loud and clear:Two can play at this game. As they sat, Teddy sat down on the same side as her and made a point of scooting his chair a little closer to hers, so he could casually drape his arm over the back of her chair.

Well-played, sir. Dominique wondered what she could do next. This was all to get back at Teddy. He had been the one who wanted to play, so they were going to have fun. The baker introducing their first cake, chocolate cappuccino torte, solved Dom’s dilemma over what her next steps would be. Dom dug her fork into the beautiful cupcake, making sure to cut an unnecessarily large chunk. Bringing the monster of a bite close to Teddy's mouth, she exhibited her voice like she was speaking in a bad Shakespearean play, "Say ahhhhhhhh, my little stud monkey." Was she using the most cringe-worthy pet names that she had ever heard? Absolutely. 

Teddy eyed the piece warily, looking as if he wanted to make a comment before he thought better of it. Dominique could almost taste it now. The delicious sweetness of victory. Shaking his head ever so slightly, he leaned in and wrapped his hand over hers on the fork. Surprised, Dominique tried not to move her hand at all. If they were soon-to-be-married, she wasn’t going to be uncomfortable with her ‘fiance’ grabbing her hand. It wasn’t even like they had never held hands. Neither of them would blink twice at it. It was the way Teddy had leaned in and bit into the cake, in a manner that one might even describe as seductively. Well, as seductively as he could with a bite of cake the size of a small fist. But Teddy somehow made it sensual. Dominique felt the strangest sensation.Teddy can make anything look sensual if he wanted to. He’s that handsome. She admitted to herself. Lucky Vic. Finally, he leaned back, removing his hand from hers and while laughing and chewing, he joked, “Maybe a smaller piece next time, Sweet Pea?” 

Eyes bright and clearly amused by Dom’s antics, they suddenly rolled down to take a closer look at the cake. “Shit, this is actually really good, you have to try this.” 

His comment broke the girl’s daze. Remembering their real task before them, Dom tried a small bite of the cupcake with her fork. The creamy goodness dragged a hum of delight from her lips. "Delicieux. Oh, this mousse is out of this world." The blonde then nudged Teddy with her elbow, "I'm not surprised. You're a sucker for anything that has caffeine in it."