#How To Remove Deep Dirt From Skin 6 Year Old

[love-skincareroutine]

How To Remove Deep Dirt From Skin

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How To Remove Deep Dirt From Skin

A. Face scrubs: Deep cleanse and get rid of dirt and impurities – How To Remove Deep Dirt From Skin

Facial scrubs are one of the most important skin care products. With regular use of facial scrubs, you will not only remove dirt, soot and impurities, you will also get smooth, shiny looking skin. Blackheads are oxidized comedones that are not only unsuitable for your skin, but also make it look outlined and dark. They also look terrible when you sit on their smooth regions. In addition, the facial scrub helps to remove dirt, impurities and pollution.

In this article, we will discuss some of the exfoliants that are good for your skin and help to open up the clogged pores that are available on the market. These facial cleansers will help to clear the clogged pores and make your skin shiny and smooth. These items contain various fixatives, such as salicylic acid and benzoyl peroxide, which can help you avoid pimples in the future.

1. Neutrogena Deep Clean carnations eliminate daily peeling

This facial scrub contains caustic beta-hydroxy, which removes excess oil and dirt from the skin. This facial scrub contains nutritious pearls to soothe the skin, and its “Pimple Control Complex” penetrates the skin even more to eliminate blackheads. The cedar wood concentrate prevents them from reappearing. By using this Neutrogena clogged pore scrub, dead skin cells can be evacuated effectively. It removes dirt and oil from the skin and then effectively removes blackheads. Peeling is suitable for all skin types and effectively clogs pores. Deeply cleanses the skin without leaving the skin dry. Using this exfoliation will remove clogged pores.

2. MCaffeine Naked & Raw Coffee facial scrub

Espresso espresso contains extracts of coffee beans that remove dead skin cells, dull and dead skin, blackheads and pollution. The daily introduction of pollution and tanning makes your skin dark and incredibly opaque. This article scrub removes impurities that are even deep in the skin and reveals a crisp and radiant face when you use this acne-proof product. Expresso Pecan Extract expands the formation of collagen and even the tone of your skin. The article is an SLS article without parabens, suitable for sensitive to oily skin. You can use it twice in seven days.

3. Lotus Herbal Apriscrub Fresh apricot bark

Packed with the decency of apricot extracts, this exfoliant delicately exfoliates the skin, eliminates dead skin cells and reveals sensitive and shiny skin. The product contains Nutrient C that keeps the skin saturated, reduces the presence of blackheads and wrinkles and improves the skin’s flexibility. When you use this cleanser, dead skin cells are removed without a problem, which helps to maintain moisture in the skin. Using this crunchy apricot scrub will keep your skin clean, saturated and refreshed.

4. Everyuth Naturals Peeling Nut Peeling with Nano Multi Vit A.

This peel is equipped with a hydrogel innovation that cleanses dead skin cells and clogged pores and saturates the skin. It contains common pecan peel particles that clog pores and apricot oil, which your skin maintains.

5. Himalaya Gentle peeling nut peeling

This cleanser contains wild apple, which soothes the skin, and keratolytic specialists, who expel dead skin cells next to clogged pores. It is rich in wheat germ oil and nutrient E that release and saturate your skin. This exfoliating pecan from the Himalayas removes both blackheads and pimples from the skin. The peeling acts effectively on the skin, removing the pimples from the nose and further promoting the glow of the skin. This peeling is velvety on the surface and also keeps the skin soft and radiant. This scrub is delicate and can be used on all skin types.

6. Biocare Peeling Cloves

If you are looking for a cleanser specifically described to remove clogged pores and pimples, this Biocare Blackheads scrub is your best bet right now. This article contains fixations that will help to release clogged pores and pimples on the skin. It also helps to completely clean the skin pores and remove dead skin cells. Clean supports your skin with its natural fixations that guarantee a sensitive and flexible skin.

7. Biotique Bio Papaya Peeling revitalizing to remove the tan

Enriched with papaya extracts, this peel removes dead skin cells and severely clogged pores. In addition to secondary plant substances and minerals, this anti-tan facial peel contains characteristic fixatives, such as papaya, methi, beeswax, Boycott Haldi, Aam Beej, Himalayan water and firearm acacia. This peel is made from the concentrates of the papaya organic product and easily decomposes dead skin cells on the surface, obstructs the pore openings and then smoothes the skin for a brilliant shine. It has a delicate refining activity that reveals the characteristic splendor of the skin that easily makes it look flawless.

8. Lotus Herbals White Glow oats and yogurt for skin lightening

Another great cleanser that can remove pimples on your nose is the Lotus Whiteglow Oatmeal and Yogurt Scrub. The scrub is enriched with large amounts of yogurt and oats, which will help to peel the skin along these lines and effectively expel the blackheads. In addition, using this cleanser also helps to tone the skin. In case you need a pimple-free nose, use this cleaning under normal circumstances.

  B. How to remove dirt stains from skin

The skin can become dirty and stained after a day of various internal or external activities. It is important to note that dirt can stain the skin, especially in the folds of the ankles and dry areas.

1. How to remove accumulated dirt from the skin

For some, rubbing the skin with a pumice stone can be effective, but it can be difficult for the skin. You can also use lava soap that contains pieces of pumice along with a moisturizer. This makes them a suitable choice for removing dirt stains without damaging the skin’s surface.

2. Steps to remove dirt spots from the skin

Now let’s take a look at the steps to remove dirt spots from your skin.

Fill the sink with warm water.

Moisten the skin with water.

Apply a small amount of lava soap and rub over the stained area.

Rinse the area thoroughly with clean water.

Dry the area with a soft towel.

When the area is dry, apply hand lotion or moisturizer to the area.

3. How to shower properly

If you want to keep your body clean, you must fully understand the basics, especially what you are dealing with. There are 3 basic items that you need to clean and each requires a different cleaning method.

Dirt and soot seem to stick to the body.

Dead skin cells

Body oils

When dirt is present on the surface of the skin, due to its cohesion, they stick together or combine with the oil in our skin.

a. Bath frequency

When showering, it is not recommended more than 3-4 times a week. Some studies show that less bathing can help the body to completely improve its natural self-cleaning mechanisms. The more effectively your body cleanses itself, the cleaner and healthier you will be inside and out.

b. Choose a good soap

There are three factors to consider when choosing a soap. A suitable soap should remove dirt, break the oil and grease and rinse without leaving a coating.

4. Get rid of dead skin

Dead skin is the main cause of most odors. It is best to use a mop or loofah. These exfoliating products often contain sugar, nutshells or other granular ingredients that can remove dead skin from the body.

5. Which home remedy removes dirt from the skin

For those who spend most of their time indoors or outdoors, their skin is exposed to dirt and other pollutants. Over time, dirt can accumulate on the surface of the skin and in the pores. As a result, it leads to unwanted skin problems such as opaque skin, acne and premature signs of aging.

This can be avoided by ensuring that your skin is clean and free of dirt at all times. Although there are a variety of skin cleansers, most contain harsh chemicals. Fortunately, there are several household products that can be used to remove dirt effectively.

6. 6 home remedies to remove dirt from your skin

a. Apple and corn flour

Prepare an exfoliation by mixing pieces of apple, powdered nuts and sugar. Apply the scrub to the skin and massage in a circular motion for up to 10 minutes. Leave it in place for another 5 minutes before rinsing with warm water.

b. Coffee

Mix ground coffee and tea tree oil in a bowl. Apply to the skin and leave on for 5-10 minutes. Rinse with cold water and towel dry.

c. Oats

Combine coarsely ground oats with brown sugar and honey. Apply to the skin and rub for 5-10 minutes and leave on for another 5 minutes. Rinse with cold water.

d. Tomato

Mix the tomato and lemon juice in a bowl. Add the yogurt and mix the ingredients well. Pass this mixture on the skin and let it rest for 20 minutes. Rinse with cold water.

e. Milk and salt

Prepare a mixture of 2 tablespoons of milk and 2 teaspoons of salt. Apply to the skin and leave for 15-20 minutes. Rinse with cold water.

f. Honey

Combine honey, almond oil and lemon juice. Heat this mixture and apply to the skin. Let dry and wash with rose water.

7. Why does the skin on my neck look dirty?

In some cases, a person who looks dirty even after careful cleaning may have a problem, particularly acanthosis nigricans (AN). This condition makes the skin darker and thicker and has a velvety touch.

This can manifest itself in the neck, skin folds and other parts of the body. It is usually found in the armpits, but sometimes forms in other folds of the body, such as the groin.

8. How do you get rid of dirt from your neck naturally?

In some people, the neck is often overlooked. Over time, dirt and pollutants can build up and damage the skin around your neck. Fortunately, there are natural ways to get rid of the dirt on your neck.

Aloe. Cut a sheet and extract the gel. Rub the gel on your neck for a few minutes and leave it there for up to 10 minutes. Rinse with water.

Apple vinegar. Prepare a solution with 2 tablespoons of apple cider vinegar and 4 tablespoons of water. Dip a cotton ball in this solution and dry your neck. Leave for 10 minutes and rinse with water. Apple cider vinegar removes dead skin cells that have accumulated on the skin.

Baking powder. Prepare a paste by mixing 2-3 tablespoons of baking soda with water. Apply the paste on the neck and let it dry. When dry, rub and rinse with clean water.

Almond oil. Clear your throat with soap and water. Massage almond oil in the neck in a circular motion for 10-15 minutes. Rinse with warm water. Almond oil contains vitamin E, which softens and rejuvenates the skin.

Olive oil and lemon juice. Combine equal parts of lemon juice and olive oil. Apply to your neck before bed.

Lemon has natural lightening properties that can brighten the skin and reduce pores. Olive oil moisturizes the skin to make it supple.

9. Does alcohol remove dirt from the skin?

You can safely use alcohol to remove dirt from your face or other areas. The good thing about using alcohol is that you don’t have to scrub too much to remove it. Rub some alcohol on a cotton ball and remove the dirt.

10. Final thoughts

Dealing with dirt spots on your skin can build up over time if you don’t regularly cleanse your body thoroughly. The methods described for removing dirt stains from your skin are an effective way to remove dirt stains to keep your skin clean and stain free.

[hoodoo12]

Elegy (4/6)

These two’ll be the death of me, @clairjohnson . . . Home again, home again, jiggity jig, even if that home is a tomb. Despite drunkenness, something unexpected occurs.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

@turtlepated @thewolfisapartofmysoul @beejiesbitch @janitor-boy @angelicspaceprince @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice `

If she hadn’t been so focused on keeping him upright his words would have knocked her down. Maria had heard this man flirt a hundred times over, but nothing ever so flattering and eloquent. The most beautiful. Her stomach twisted at the compliment. Both unbelievably flattered and heartbroken all at once. Had he always thought this? Or had he really just gone overboard with the drinks tonight? 

She was about to respond, to express how completely touched she was by his words, when he started to talk again. Beej’s announcement of their arrival, and subsequent stumble, snapped her out of her thoughts. When had they gotten here? She hadn’t even realized they’d gone through a door. 

Didn’t matter. The Netherworld was a strange place, Betelgeuse was strange, it was easier just to accept things as they were. What was harder to accept, however, was his home. It was practically barren, save for a bed, table, and wooden chair. The only light in the room came from a few scattered candles that revealed debris strewn across his old wooden floor.

It looked like a crypt. It might be a crypt. 

“This is where you stay?” she asked, unable to hide the shock in her voice. Her place was hardly a palace, but it was clean. Bright. She couldn’t imagine ever spending a night here. Let alone however many hundreds of years he’d been dead. The mere concept made her chest tighten in pity. 

“Let’s get you over to the bed . . .”

"Gives me incentive to get top side," he muttered half under his breath at her blurted question. "Who cares anyway? I close my eyes and it's gone. I don't see it. No one else does either." 

She hadn't taken her arm from around his waist. With her continued assistance, he shuffled over towards his bed. The distance wasn't far, but as if to help bolster the fact his place was more fleabag hotel than the Ritz-Carlton, his foot caught a stack of Handbooks for the Recently Deceased--how did those get there? It couldn't be that he'd stolen them from recently deceased in order to con them--

--and he stumbled. The four walls around them did a looping dance. Automatically his grip over her shoulders tightened even as his other hand went for the rusty iron foot rail on his bed. He managed to remain upright, but had jerked her along with him. 

As he recaught his balance, the room settled back into place. 

She'd been close while walking with him, but there'd still been a detachment. He'd managed to scatter that with his ham-fisted, foolish misstep; Maria had been pulled right to him. 

With a jerky, unnatural movement, he lifted his arm off her. 

"Sorry," he apologized.

Top side. She and others, including Juno, had wondered for decades how he’d manage to find ways to the world of the living. There were rules. Passes you needed to apply for - but he, in normal Betelgeuse fashion, skirted by it all. 

She was about to snap back at his flippant comment when he tripped over what appeared to be a pile of handbooks. Maria reminded herself to inquire on those later. Thankfully Beej caught himself on the bed, saving them both from falling face first on the wood floor. In his effort to stay balanced the arm around her shoulder moved forward, effectively pulling her into his chest. One arm still wrapped around his waist, the other now flat on his chest, she peered up at him with embarrassment. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but he was sturdy, and she felt unusually small pressed against him. 

When he detached himself with a slurred apology Maria took in a shaky breath she didn’t need then helped him sit down on the bed. God, he looked so disheveled - more so than usual. His eyes were heavy, shoulders slumped, and his tie was loosened and askew around his neck. 

Without waiting for permission Maria slipped the loose tie up and over his head and hung it gently on the foot rail. Turning back she hesitated, just for a second, before helping him slip his jacket off. She ran her hands over his shoulders and under the jacket, sliding it down his arms. The beauty queen reached around him, leaning in close, and retrieved the jacket and reunited it with his tie. 

“From what I can see of your bed I doubt you take these off when you sleep.” She crouched down and angled his large black boots for him to see. “However, I can’t bring myself to see you place these nasty things on the mattress.”

Some quick finger work on the laces and a few short tugs had both boots off. She placed them neatly at the foot of his bed. Maria brushed some questionable dirt off her hands and returned to the older man, giving him a satisfied once over. Gently, she pressed on his shoulder for him to lay down. 

“Get some rest, Alborotador. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around again soon.”

He felt loose, like his joints had been separated. Maria's gentle guidance around the end of his bed to the side and helping him sit was appreciated, but that was nothing compared to her carefully removing his tie. At some point it'd become loosened, or even in his inebriated state he'd have slapped her hands away. Nobody touched his neck, that was a rule. But she was quick and efficient and the fabric never touched his skin. That would've been enough, but then, but then-- 

She assisted him out of his jacket. Any other time he'd have made some off-color comment or pushed the flirting so hard it would have bordered on desperate. But muddled by the booze and still feeling the deep ache of rejection from those people in goddamned Connecticut, just to have her be attentive, just to have her hands peel him out of his outerwear-- 

A small sigh slipped past his lips. If she heard it, she ignored it.  

Then she didn't leave well enough alone; she actually crouched in front of him in her cocktail dress and heels--everything about her was in stark contrast to the rat's nest he lived in, and he included himself in that melancholy assessment; he should have never brought her here--and worked the laces of his boots loose and pulled them off his feet.

The care and concern pained him. The simple act of touch took him apart. 

When she took his shoulder he almost moaned. Like a man dying of thirst in a desert, he wanted nothing more than to drink in that simple friendly touch. 

It took all his will power to not grab her hand. Not for anything inappropriate, but just to keep it there, so he could soak it in. Instead, he sat dumb and dull as she straightened her skirt and bid him farewell. 

"Why does everyone keep leaving me?" he whispered. There had been a time very recently he'd bellowed that, but here, all he could expend the effort on was something closer to a whimper.

Maria had started to make her way out of the room when he spoke, the sound of his broken voice pulling at her more than the words themselves. Not that the words didn't catch her attention, and in many ways, hurt her. He was drunk, she reminded herself, and sad. She could stay with him a little longer - just until he was unconscious, she already crossed a line by being here, and basically sprinted past said line when she helped him undress. 

"I'm not leaving you," Maria corrected while she walked back over to the bed. "I was just going home. I have no illusions that you won't be darkening my waiting room doorstep again soon." 

Gently, she sat down on the bed beside him, her leg brushing up against his own. 

"Now lay down. Go on." She pushed at him again, moving out of the way for him to lift his legs up. The beauty queen stayed seated beside him, her torso twisted slightly to look down at him while she spoke. 

"If anyone left, it was you, Beej." The words were soft and sad, and she reached out absently to adjust a crease in his white(ish) button up. "Got yourself in so much trouble that Juno had to fire you - and then you were gone. Disappeared like smoke for years, only to show back up in the waiting room looking pissed." 

Maria had been so relieved, and so unbelievably angry to see him after all that time. It was that absence, that complete cut from communication, that had brought her back to calling him Mr. Betelgeuse - a title she already found herself skipping again in favor of his nickname.

Maria appeared at his side again, and blearily he looked up at her. Her nudge wasn't rough but he was so unsteady it was almost enough to topple him. He managed to not just fall back like a drunk--haha--but only just barely. 

Her words came to him as if through cotton wool. Disorganized thoughts moved lazily inside his head; it was so much easier to be angry than this drunken, dazed state he was in. The fact that the beauty queen had even given him the time of day was almost too much to take and much too much to even try and puzzle out. 

In the reaches of his memory he did recall how upset she'd been to see him again, and her cool reception to him ever since the final incident that sent him packing--that he'd designed for at least the chance for freedom. Tonight was the first time in all the times he'd reappear she'd ever done anything more than nod politely and exchange chilly words. 

As she sat primly, lightly beside him, the bed frame buckled. It didn't startle him, he was more than used to it, but he could imagine the surprise on her face as the mattress sagged her closer to him. Her delicate attention to his shirt made him catch her hand. 

"Come here," he croaked out, before clearing his throat, giving her a half-hearted pull. "I gotta tell you something."

The unexpected dipping of the mattress when he laid back surprised her, and she ended up with her back pressed against his side. Maria might have just fallen on top of him, if he hadn’t grabbed the hand that had been adjusting his shirt. 

Deep brown eyes assessed him curiously at the request. He was quite capable of saying whatever it was he needed to say from where she sat now - but the pull of sympathy was still strong. Without a word Maria leaned down to him, her free hand bracing her body on the mattress next to his. Being this close, even closer than when she was helping him walk home, she could pick up the smell of moss and wet dirt that clung to his clothes and skin. There was also the faintest smell of roses - so subtle that she could have second guessed if it was there at all.

She did as requested, and leaned over him. A stray lock of hair escaped from its careful pinning, and tickled his cheek. Maybe if things between them had been different, maybe if he hadn't fucked everything over in that spectacular way that was apparently his specialty, he'd have permission to brush it back. To lift it and settle it behind her ear. A minor but intimate gesture. 

But he didn't. He let her hair stay where it was, because it was also nice to feel it on his skin. 

Now that he had her there, he was at a loss for words. Lots of things flitted through his head: "You deserve better than me." "I missed you." "Wanna go see Saturn? I know a safe place--" 

In the end, he frowned a little as he focused on her features. She was so close everything was blurred; he didn't think it was because of the alcohol. Why in the ever-loving hell did she put up with him? 

"Thank you," he whispered.

There was a long silence while his eyes searched her face. Maria could tell he was considering something - and the fact that it was taking him this much time started to worry her. Why? She wasn’t sure. 

At this distance she was able to get a good look at his face. It was round and scruffy, and strangely complimented by his Roman nose. Even in his current, sullen state his lips still had an upturned curl to them. She’d always liked his lips.

 Her attention was taken away from his face when he spoke, and she smiled at him in response. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Blame it on the alcohol, on their proximity, on the raw vulnerability he’d shown her - but without having time to process her actions, her face closed the distance with his. The kiss was soft, and her lips barely pressed against his own. 

It took only a few seconds for what she had done to register, and when it sunk in, she pulled back. Not all the way, but enough to give him a dazed, almost apologetic look. She hadn’t planned to do that, would have sworn up and down that she would never be kissing Betelgeuse right up until the moment she did. Maria started to sit up a little more and opened her mouth to speak, but had no idea what to say.

The brush of her lips against his was a shock that wasn't dulled by alcohol. 

His hand automatically went up to touch her, to slip to her jaw to keep her close, but the split second that it took for him to try she pulled back again. But the motion was in place; although he missed keeping her where she was, his fingers touched the junction of neck and shoulder. 

There was nothing more important in his existence than tasting her lipstick again. 

Eyes wide, his tongue swiping his bottom lip in a move he didn't give conscious thought to, Beetlejuice breathed out, "Mi hermosa emperatriz Maria . . ." 

With a little additional pressure from his hand he encouraged her back towards him as he surged up to her.

tbc . . .

[venusandromedadjarin]

Family Birthmark

Ch. 6, A Glint of Beskar

18+ eventual smut, violence, gore, trauma flashbacks, TW: blood, 1.7k words

It takes about 45 minutes to cauterize the wound on his thigh because he keeps jerking and trying to buck you off. In other circumstances, maybe you’d find it funny. Eventually, the bleeding stops and he’s left with a ragged scar about six inches long on the inside of his thigh, but you don’t even have time to gawk, you just turn around on his hips and remove the wadded up shirt from his abdomen. You thought he passed out a few minutes ago, so the slight twitch you feel below your groin and his hands slowly moving back up your thighs takes you by surprise.

You yelp, lifting your hips off of him and bracing one hand on his sternum while the other goes to work with the machine. This wound is smaller, but still deep and oozing blood. He did a piss poor job of applying pressure. He groans the minute the hot tip touches his skin, bucking slightly and digging his fingers into your ass this time. You bite down on your lip, hard. Concentrating on the task, you do your best to ignore the heat welling up inside you. He’s a Mandalorian for Maker’s sake, and a hurt one at that. Are you really thinking about that right now? You scold yourself as you drag the tip across his skin. As you get closer to the muscles that form a deep V right above his waistband, you hear his breathing hitch through the modulator. Oh for fuck’s sake, he is not doing this right now.

He is, you feel him, and as much as you try to ignore it, you can’t. Instead you lift your hips higher, trying to keep your mind focused on the task at hand.

Though he jerks a few more times, his death grip on your ass helps him stay still enough to speed up this wound’s cauterization. Proud of your work and the fact you at least kept him from dying, you roll off him and reach back over him to pull his cape across his body. He keeps one hand on you, but you slowly remove it, whispering incoherently to him while you get up to find towels and a bucket to fill with warm water. As much as you’d like to just pull him into the fresher, you have no idea how that would work for two reasons: the helmet and the tiny size of the shower. Instead, this will have to do. Using towels would at least remove enough of the blood to make sure he’s not bleeding anywhere else.

After some digging around, and making sure the kid is still sleeping so as not to traumatize him with his dad lying half lifeless on the ground, you make your way back over to Mando. By some luck, you found multiple blankets shoved in a cabinet, so you grabbed those too but did your best to keep them out of the carnage. Kneeling next to him, you dip one of the small towels you found into hot water and wring it out before slowly wiping at his shoulders and chest.

He’s calm now, his breathing still shallow but coming faster, which you know means he’ll panic as soon as he’s able to find his bearings. You have to work quickly, but in this position, you can’t help but admire the man in front of you.

His smooth skin is evenly tanned, even though it probably hasn’t seen the sun in ages. His hair, that you can see, is dark brown, almost black and a trail leads down -

You shake your head, “This is ridiculous.” Your murmur is so soft you doubt he could hear you even if he was conscious. You can’t help but notice his muscles as you continue cleaning the blood off him, though. He’s strong and chiseled, but not large, though his size dwarfs you when he’s standing. As you drag the towel lower down his chest, you think you see a slight tremble under your touch, but you do your best to ignore it.

You move to his legs, doing your best to clean up the wound that is now a glaring scare. Being this close to-

Nevermind. You push those thoughts out of your mind again and again When you’re satisfied, you discard the towel and grab another one, dipping it in the water and wringing it out again. Realizing this next part is going to be tough, you decide the best way to do this is to support Mando with your knee. Moving back to his side, you throw one leg over his middle and gently pull him into a sitting position, your other leg coming up to support his back. Straddling him from the side allows you to reach around clean his back and sides better.

His helmet rolls lazily against your shoulder - probably still out cold.

You notice a few scratches after wiping most of the blood away, but nothing too serious. What catches your eye, though, is a dark mark just below his collar bone. You wipe at a little more, thinking it’s dirt, but when it doesn’t budge, you squint your eyes, trying to distinguish it.

The realization hits you like a train.

You’re running over the barren landscape of Nevarro, trailing after a bunch of boys around your age. Their shrill laughter echoes off the caves formed by lava rivers that are on either side of your path. You stop to stare at one of them, entranced by the heat that billows out, knowing if you stand in front of it for too long that you might get burned.

The one thing your parents always tell you is to not hold your hand to close, or you’ll lose it. Hearing your dad’s voice in your head, you turn away just in time to see one of the boys in front of you fall.

His hands, thrown out in front of his body to protect him, land on a cracking piece of black ground, just before molten lava spews out and onto them.

His scream will be forever burned into your brain.

One of the boys next to him, your best and fiercest friend, tears his cloak and shirt off, trying to hit the flames and stop them from destroying your companion’s hands. As you run forward to try to help, the ground splits more and those brown eyes look up at you just before he jumps and rams into you. Both of you roll back just as your playmate is taken by the heat.

He doesn’t let go of you though, his 8 year old body shielding your smaller, 6 year old one. As you open your eyes against his shoulder, you see the Djarin family birthmark -

You’re pulled back to the present when a strong hand grasps your tricep, clinging to you as his body trembles from shock. Still struck by the coincidence, you try to compose yourself enough to support his weight as you scotch back against the wall to hold him. His breath comes in racking sobs, and you wonder if he’s crying underneath the helmet or if he’s panicking.

“M-mando, it’s okay. You’re okay,” you try to comfort him but the modulator rasps underneath his heavy breathing. He’s trembling harder now and you reach for the blankets near you, stretching to grab them. Stretching so far you can almost hear the groan of your joints, but finally you catch a corner and yank it over to you, shaking it out to cover him. “Mando-”

Cradled in your arms, his helmet uncomfortably pressed into your neck, he murmurs, but the modulator doesn’t pick it up as he’s racked by another round of sobs. You realize that he’s not crying, he’s hurting because…

“Maker! The Bacta! Mando h-hold on.” Luckily this is closer to you, and you don’t strain yourself to grab it, “This is going to hurt, only for second.” You hear him take in a deep breath right before you stab the needle into his arm, pushing down on the plunger and watching the liquid as it disappears into his bloodstream. He jolts a little, but almost instantly relaxes into you again.

After what feels like an eternity of holding him and making sure he’s still breathing, you realize there’s a quarry that needs to be retrieved. You start to shimmy out from under him, and lay him down, rolling one of the blankets up for underneath his helmet. Wondering how comfortable that is, you lay a blanket over him and walk to the back of the hull, slamming your palm into the control board to lower the ramp. The sun is just starting to peak over the horizon, making you realize that you’ve been with him all night.

The quarry is definitely dead, and when you get closer you suck in a sharp breath, leaning down next to her, “Red.” She looks like a blaster shot went straight through her chest and you untie the rope around her legs, leaving her and leading the Blurg back to its enclosure. Luckily it doesn’t resist, and almost looks grateful to be away from the corpse.

Red is much lighter compared to Mando, and you quickly drag her inside the hull, propping her limp form against a chamber and investigating the panel to your right. Finally deciding on what to press, you punch in the buttons and wait for the hiss of gas. Within seconds, the quarry is in carbonite and hanging in the anti-gravity hold area.

You hesitate a moment before walking back to the hut and leaving a note for Kuiil, explaining the situation in short and thanking him for his hospitality. By the time you get back to Mando, the kid is trying to climb onto his lap and making grabby hands.

“Hey kiddo,” you scoop him up, “leave him alone for awhile. He’s hurt, so we’re gonna get out of here.” He coos back at you incoherently. After closing the door and checking to see if you can hear the modulated breath sounds, you make your way up to the cockpit.

Mando’s pucks all give last known locations of quarries, so you find the nearest one and punch it into the navigation as you start the engines and lift off the ground. You hope the small lurches as you leave the planet’s atmosphere don’t bother Mando too much, and soon as the Crest enters hyperspace, you’re heading back down the ladder with the kid.

[barnesandco]

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy (6/14)

Story Masterlist

The plum seller at the farmer’s market saves Bucky from being captured for the attack at Vienna that he didn’t commit, but is she really all that she appears to be, or are ulterior motives involved?

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​ 2020. Word count: 2022. Square filled: “Fake Dating”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: A brief mention of Hydra and the mission in Odessa when Bucky shot Nat. Mention of guns. General melancholy, I guess. 

A/N: It’s another quite chapter, but contrary to the last one... I... actually like this one, so I hope you will, too.

Bucky sighs when the northern mouth of the Istanbul canal appears on the horizon like a herald of safety, indicated by the twinkling lights in the distant dark. He’s not naive enough to think this is the end, because he knows their journey is far from over, but this, the closest they have been to the edge of Europe, is a breath of relief. Next to him, he sees the shoulders of his partner in crime drop a little, the stress alleviating just a hint.

She had been watching him hesitantly since Odessa, where his eyes had gone colder and fogged over with a memory he does not like to remember. A flash of red hair, a through-and-through bullet wound, the Ukrainian winter deep in his bones.

That retrospective chill didn’t thaw until they got on the ferry. The seat on the upper deck had provided the full luxury of the mid-morning sun. It is getting late, now, and the night has settled in. He pretends not to notice how she shifts a little closer to him on the bench seat, and suppresses a shudder -- from something besides cold -- when her shoulder touches his. 

He doesn’t remember the last time he let anyone besides Steve get this close to him. Of his own volition, that is. The years of Hydra manhandling don’t count, and are a far cry from the soft feel of her cardigan and the scent of baklava still lingering on her hands.

The words have been scarce and forced between them, layered with fake smiles and uncomfortable touches ever since a fellow passenger mistook them for a couple earlier in the day, and it was easier to play along, as they had in the train, than to offer a less feasible alternative. That’s why, when someone passes by, his gloved left hand finds its way to her bare one.

She smiles at him, then, and doesn’t let go when the danger has been crossed, until the speaker system is announcing their arrival at shore and there is the customary bustle of passengers eager to leave their ride after a long journey.

This, at least, is familiar. The old Bucky, he -- I, Bucky thinks -- worked at the docks for the seven month before he was drafted. The sight of people, crowds, eager to land and leave and fan out like marbles in the Brooklyn boys’ version of snooker, rings like a bell in the jumbled chaos of his brain, clears it with a sonic echo.

And then, his fugitive, his fake lover, is squeezing his hand with a smile on her face but her eyebrows drawn together just enough for him to notice.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs lowly, so only she hears it, and the ferry is brought in. They join the line and Bucky is glad to have something solid beneath him, even if it is only the wooden pier. Above them, Istanbul glitters like a hidden treasure, and Bucky recalls fool’s gold hair under layers of dirt and sometimes blood, how he used to joke; God’s given you such lovely locks, you should take better care of ‘em, Stevie, with a ruffle of his hair. It was as soft between his fingers as her hands are, as she dodges the people swiftly, and he allows himself to be pulled along.

He counts their steps as they find themselves in the city, with cobblestones under their feet, on their way to the nearest hotel with a vacant room because planning ahead is risky and a sure way to get caught, especially if you do it online. 

There’s another thing she had had to compromise on with him. Plans don’t work if you’re in hiding, because you’re predictable if you know where you’re going and why. If you don’t know where you’re going, how the hell will the authorities? That’s why he threw out that map the first chance he had, apologizing gruffly when she returned from the ladies’ room in the train station in Kiev. 

He has no illusions that he is in control, but this, he can hold onto, even if it is a feeble attempt at calling some shots. They may be heading south, but they’ll do it his way, and it’s worked so far.

While her eyes are fixed on the road ahead, Bucky looks into side streets, smaller, narrow lanes, on instinct, not sure for what, but it pays when he sees a vacancy sign flickering in the dark. So he pulls them both to a stop, and then towards the door under the fluorescent flickering. 

The inn is warm and homey, not the kind of run-down institution one would expect. It’s a family business; he clocks the similar features of the young man cleaning up the table in the lobby and the older woman in a headscard behind the counter. Heading towards the latter, he takes off his hat and brightens his smile. This, too, is instinctive, intuitive, the charm taking over everything else, even as his heart is thrumming with the desperation to not get recognized. 

Turkish rises to his tongue fluidly. “Salam,” he says, putting his hand over his chest in the customary way. “We’d like a room for a night, please,” he says when he notes that they don’t have any other choice, going by the fact that there is only one remaining room key on the wall behind the lady.

“Walaikumassalam,” she responds, the surprise only registering as far as her eyes. “Here you go,” she says, handing over a form to fill. Bucky slides it over to his “girlfriend” while he pulls out the money and a tip. The woman takes both and hands him the last key with a smile. “Thank you. We hope you enjoy your stay. Breakfast is from seven to ten.”

They nod, and voice their thanks, and head upstairs as the vacancy sign is turned off. The already muted sound of the few patrons in the lobby dulls as they climb the stairs, and the relief he started feeling near the harbor is more palpable now. He can rest, here. It’s a safe place, if only for a few hours, if only for as long as they are here.

That feeling is overtaken by embarrassment and mortification when he opens the door to see just one double bed in the room. The room is, like the rest of the inn, homely, but there is just one bed. A bathroom, a small closet, a little desk with a mirror above it, and the one bed. 

“I’ll take the floor,” he tells her, and she laughs out a tired laugh, smile lines crinkling now as she reviews the situation before dumping her bag on the floor near the door.

She shakes her head. “After 14 hours in that ferry?” She asks incredulously, and then sits down at the foot of the bed, taking her shoes off, and curling her toes in the rug beneath her in a mesmerizing motion. “I’m not that cruel, and neither of us are children. We can handle sleeping in the same bed.”

“Fine.”

Bucky offers her to use the bathroom first, and sits down by the closet with the only gun he has. The Glock is taken apart in automated motions, and cleaned with a quiet efficiency, in the manner that has been executed a hundred times, but with the difference of the sound of someone in the shower, the soft rush of water and a gentler hum only he can detect. For the second time since knowing her, he thinks that if it weren’t for the way they’re both on their toes and on the run, this could be oddly domestic. 

It’s the kind of scene -- minus the gun and the hairs still standing on the back of his neck -- that his past self used to dream of. Enough money to take his girl somewhere away from Brooklyn’s smoke and gray, and enough time and a heart pure from the soot that has now accumulated from killing to spend on her. 

The remembered desire is so achingly nostalgic that he doesn’t realize she’s left the bathroom until her hair is dripping on the floor in front of him, and he realizes his gun has been clean and resting reassembled in his hands for several minutes now.

“Your turn,” she says, taking the towel off from around her neck. She smells of soap. After putting away the precious weapon, he heads inside and takes that shower. He turns the water so hot his skin is pink and scrubbed raw by the time he leaves, and goes out to find a razor from his backpack.

The bathroom door is open while he shaves, and he does it now instead of the morning because he likes the stubble, but it’s getting a little out of hand. She appears in the doorway behind him and leans against the frame, watching. His hands tremble lightly.

“You were worried she would recognize you,” she says, as the shaving cream gets lathered on. “It’s the hair, you know. If you get recognized, it’ll be because of those gorgeous locks,” and Bucky raises an eyebrow in the mirror. The loose grin suggests she’s joking, until she continues. “The videos from the fight in D.C. are everywhere, Barnes. Surely you know that.”

Bucky looks her reflection straight in the eye as he picks up the razor. “I’m not cutting it.” She waits until he’s done shaving and has rinsed off his face and dried it, too.

“I’m not saying you have to. Tie it back, maybe,” she suggests with a shrug.

“How?” he questions, and then walks past her into the room, repacking the shaving supplies.

She follows, stands behind him near the bed until he’s done and turning around. “You want me to show you?”

Bucky is the one to shrug, now. “Sure.”

Pulling the long sleeve of her shirt back, she takes a hair tie off her wrist and begins to comb her still-damp hair back. “You just pull it back -- it’s easier if you have a brush -- and then coil it together... and there,” she demonstrates, wrapping the hair tie around the bun she has formed with practised expertise, and Bucky watches her nimble fingers move agilely.

She removes the hair tie and hands it to him, and he tries it, but the small bun he gathers at the nape of his neck falls apart before he can put the hair tie on. “I can’t,” he mutters, frustrated. 

“Do you want me to do it?” She asks, no judgement, her tone gentle and so open he can’t help but take her up on it.

“Okay,” he responds, swallowing down the tension that is now crackling like electricity. Sitting down at the desk, he watches in the mirror as she moves slowly, drying up the last drops of water in his hair with a towel. She combs her hands gently and sparks fizz down his spine, and he has to force his eyes open and his heart steady. 

Her touch is soft and honey-sweet, as she gathers his hair near the nape of his neck, and then twists it around until it is what he assumes to be a tiny, spherical mass. The tie coils once, twice, and thrice, and she steps back when she’s finished, to let Bucky see.

It’s a revelation, in some way. Not quite as thrilling as the touch of her hands on the back of his neck or her nails scraping against his scalp, but warmth pools somewhere deep inside his chest, and he looks at the face in the mirror with a new perspective. The man looking back has a divot in his chin he hasn’t noticed and doesn’t remember, and his jaw stands out against the shadows of the room. Bright blue eyes stand out more, unshielded by a curtain of brown-black hair, and he’s aware of her gaze watching him but he can’t bring himself to address it.

Is this what finding yourself feels like, he wonders, but says: “Thank you.”

[pencil-prince]

Rise and shine

Warnings: None

Word count: 1541

Synopsis: Princeton finishes repairing that old robot the legends brought it. They weren’t expecting a lot, but they didn’t expect this.

Note: Just a short Princeton x Ash fic I felt suddenly motivated to write. I don’t write a lot so it maybe a bit clunky here and there. But I like how it turned out so here ya go! Fic under the cut

Prince sat, alone at their work bench. The clocks tiks on the shelf being the most prominent sound, the clock ticked to 1:13 AM. They could never sleep, especially when work needs to be done. They had been working on repairing a new robot the legends brought in the day before, they were making steady progress. Princeton screwed on the last bolts of the neck with a hum, they stood up setting the robotic body upright on the table. They stepped back a couple feet, examining the robot. The mechanic hummed to themself, admiring their hard work. They wiped their forehead, oils and dirt smeared over their forehead, before removing their dirty gloves and setting them on the table next to the robot.

Princeton circled around behind them, unscrewing it’s back panel, exposing a jungle gym of wires and ports. They bit down on the screwdriver with their mouth, reaching for the power cord hanging above them. Princeton set the screwdriver down with a deep sigh “Here we go.” They whispered to themself, inserting the cords into the various ports. They walked away from the table, walking over to a big lever with caution tape surrounding the walls next to it. Their grip tightened cautiously on the lever as their eyes stayed focused on the robot sitting on the table, “Rise and shine.” They said to no one in particular as then pulled the switch down. At that moment a loud buzzing sound emerged as the body on the table sprung at the surge of electricity, the eyes glowing as small sparks began to fly around them.

Princeton flipped the lever upward after a moment, waiting silently for any reaction from the machine. After what felt like hours of silence, they sighed in disappointment. Moving back behind the robot they tugged the wires out and slammed the panel shut with a groan, leaning forward beside the machine with their head in their hands. They glanced to their side, looking the machine up and down the gears turning in their head. ‘What happened? What else do I need to do? Maybe the internal wires are detached?’ They asked themself, lost in thought.

At that moment, the limp body quickly sprung up, shaking the table as they stumbled, trying to stand while frantically looking around. “What that-!“ Princeton jumped at the sudden movement, falling back and hitting their head on the floor “Argh!” They rubbed the back of their head as they slowly found their footing. The machine frantically looked around, grabbing the table and struggling to stand. She glanced at the hunched mechanic, focusing her attention to them. She grabbed Princeton by the hem of their collar from the other side of the table, bringing them mere inches away from her face.

“Who the hell are you?! Where am I?!” She yelled, her voice crackling with static, her tone uneasy. “Hey-HEY! Woah woah calm down no-no need for that!” They raised their hands in a submission fashion, an awkward smile on their face. “I’m Princeton! Im a mechanic! More specifically the one who rebuilt you, this is my workshop!” They gestured to themself then to the robot in front of them, sweat starting to roll down their face. “Rebuilt me-“ She loosened her grip slightly while glancing around, before she tightened her grip again and looked back at them “Why?! What are you?! Militia? Did you rebuild me just so I could be awake while you pick at my thoughts?” Her voice started to gain consistency in its tone. “Militia? What are you-“

Princeton’s stopped mid sentence,  face dropped its adware smile to an expression of realization and minor confusion. “The frontier war…” they glanced away, speaking more to themself than to the robot in front of them. “That was over 30 years ago…” they spoke softly “You’ve been offline for over 30 years. The Militia, the IMC, they’re both gone, the wars over!” They almost yelled, grabbing the robot’s wrists firmly. She stood for a moment in silence, looking away from Princeton as the gears in her head seemed to literally turn. She let go of the mechanic, almost dropping them onto the table with a clunk. Princeton scrambled back slightly, constantly focusing their attention to the robot in front of them as they regained their footing.

They were both silent for what felt like hours,the ticking of the clock and Princeton’s rabid breath were the only sounds cutting through. The robot slouched over the table, her hands holding onto it keeping her upright. “Who...” she whispered, she struggled to find words. She glanced up at the mechanic, with a look of curiosity. “Who are you then? No way you’re, just some mechanic?” She asked, gesturing to the equipment in their shop. They had to admit, they weren’t just some everyday mechanic, not anymore at least. They glanced at their shop then back at the robot, taking a single step forward. “Like I said, I’m Princeton! Princeton Pines, one of the Apex Games games lead mechanics.” They sprung their arms up in a very showmen manner. The robots face looking slightly confused. “Apex games?” She asked, tilting her head.

“Yeah, the Apex games! How could you not-!” Princeton stopped mid sentence. “Oh right, offline for 30 years.” They smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of their head. They glanced around their shop as they thought of where to start. As they looked their vision landed on a framed photograph on the wall, they perked up. “Ah wait let me show ya!” They smiled, walking over to the frame and pulling it off the wall.

It was a small photo, about 5x6 inches. It was a photo of Princeton with 2 taller men; one had tanner skin and was the tallest of the 3, he wore a full black suit with a red undershirt. His hair was completely white, his face and hands riddled with scars, the most prominent one being the scar burned over his right eye. His expression was a soft smile, his hand rested on Princeton’s shoulder. The other man was slightly shorter, but still towered over Princeton. His hair was also white, his beard the same color, his hair much more unclean compared to the other. His eyes were squinted, his face showcasing a smug smile. He wore an outfit one could only assume was for combat, white with accents of red. He held a card in his hands, it was hard to make unutterable but it was also red and white. Princeton stood between the two men, they’re faces beaming with a smile. Their old mechanics uniform lazily put on their body as it slouched off their shoulders, seems too big. In one hand they held a wrench, the other covering their face from the sun. The background was filled with machinery and workers, a big red sign behind them, you could barely make out what it said “Future home of the Apex Game.”

Princeton looked at the photo fondly before bringing it over to the robot. They sat up on the table and patted the area next to them, inviting her to sit. She tilted her head, before she hoisted herself up onto the table, scooting closer to the mechanic to get a better look of the photo. “These are the guys who started the games!” They started “That’s Mr. Toproofdier!” They pointed to the tanner man  “He’s my boss, he's really cool, I respect him a lot.” Princeton rubbed the side of the frame softly “Oh and that!” They continued “That’s Blisk!” They pointed “He and Mr. Toproofdier started the games about 2 years ago!” They smiled, turning their attention to the robot beside them. She didn’t reply, she seemed completely fixated on the photo, more specifically the man in it. “Kuben…” she whispered, quickly turning her attention to the mechanic “Blisk? Kuben Blisk!? He’s here?” She asked frantically “Uhm yeah? I think?” Princeton replied ,caught slightly off guard.

“I have to find him!” She quickly leapt off the table with determination. She fell forward and collided with the wall in front of her, she quickly stumbled forward as she tried to run. She made it about 6 feet away from the table before she completely fell to the floor “Woah hey! Easy there!” Princeton rushed over to her, gently helping her up. “You haven’t used your legs in 30 years, you’re gonna need to take it easy for a minute.” The robot slammed her back against the wall, sighing in annoyance. “Plus, it’s almost 2 in the morning! The chances of Blisk being awake at this hour is slim, so let’s just take a moment and get you situated okay?” They asked, holding their hands out for her. The robot looked at the door, then back at Princeton, she sighed. She grabbed their hands stumbling slightly as she stood up straight, towering over the mechanic.

Princeton smiled, a slight blush covering their face as they stared up at the robot. They chuckled softly “Ya know what? I never caught your name!” They asked. The robot looked down at them,her eyebrows knitted “Ash. You may call me Ash.” She replied, her tone a lot calmer than before. “Ash…” Princeton spoke

“What a lovely name!”

[skyemak]

A Messenger

Just  something original I wrote. I’m doubtful many would read, but I’ll post here anyway.

Letters.

On the surface, they appear to be nothing more than paper with ink carefully splattered upon them by quills. Different writings put on a small, insignificant paper and folded into another paper, shaped like a pocket. However, I knew truly how impactful these papers can impact their recipients.

In my time as a messenger, I’ve seen jubilant smiles where family’s will clasp the other’s hands and jump in excitement. I’ve seen recipients cover their faces as they fell to their knees, tears sliding down their flushed cheeks. In dire times, I’ve grown accustomed to seeing such sights, but they never get easier to experience.

Even outside of my listed duties, I’ll occasionally bend the rules. An illiterate adult wishing to send their sister a letter, a child wanting to write to her older brother in the city, or a blind old woman who still has something to say to her loved ones… I offer my help to write these letters. As well, if my recipient cannot read the letter, I offer to read it aloud for them.

Rain or shine, snow or dry, I did my utmost to deliver these letters in a timely manner, and unharmed. Today was no different. The sun beat down on my dark clothes as I walked the dry dirt path. I’d set out on foot this morning, but it was not until the early afternoon did I see the addressed house in the distance. I could feel beads of sweat roll down my back and face as the cry of the cicadas echoed in the background. Slung over my shoulder was my usual leather bag, but it was as light as the single letter inside. My canteen began to run empty, but due to multiple trips to this address, I knew of a water source nearby I could refill before I depart.

This visit, however, I knew not of how long it’d be before I’d be able to return.

“A letter for you, sir!” I called out behind his white picket fence.

A man who was nearing middle age slouched over a garden. His boots were painted with dry mud. His callused hands gripping his hoe swung toward the ground once before he straightened his back. The man stood his tool beside himself before turning to me. A snarled-like expression grew on his face as he removed his worn straw hat and wiped his forehead with his forearm.

“Again? When ya gonna start tellin’ them to stop sendin’ me these letters?” he growled.

He turned back around, gripping the hoe again and swung it hard into the dirt underneath. “Just toss it whe’ever. I’ll toss it later.”

By this point, I’d open the flap of my bag and held the letter in hand. Truly, this was a letter similar to the ones I’d sent before. He knew who the sender was and would inform me to tell them to stop sending them. Without a doubt did I know he did not read said letters. As the messenger, it was only my duty to send letters. Whether they read them was not my business. Although, we occasionally are given orders from the sender to not leave until the letter is read. That being said, that was exactly the case this time around.

“I can’t leave until you read it,” I shouted out to him.

“Huh?” He looked over his shoulder after a swing. “I said just leave it!”

“The sender requested I’d not leave until you read it.”

The man stood up, rubbing his lower back. He was silent for a few moments as a cool breeze helped relieve my warm body under this beating sun. The man shook his head and leaned his hoe against his fence before stepping over his garden and toward me. He shoved his hands on his fence and leaned close to me. His expression was similar to that of a grumpy old dog.

“They cut me off years ago. Why they gotta send me these damn letters every month? I keep tellin’ you to tell ‘em to stop!”

I held the letter between my thumb and finger, gesturing it to him. “I’ve told them, but I am simply a messenger, not a commander.”

His hand furiously grabbed toward the letter, but I pulled it back. “I’ve also be told to not let you rip the letter until after you’ve read it.”

The man clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes as he turned his face. He took in a deep breath before leaning his forearms against his fence. “Listen here kid,” his voice shifted to a tamer tone. “My parents kicked me out when I told ‘em I didn’t wanna fight in that damn war. They thought it was my duty to fight and risk my life. For what? I’ve seen how them uniformed folk in town beggin’ on the streets. They’re thin, diseased, and ain’t no one there willin’ to help. They beat me when I told ‘em I wanted to just keep runnin’ the inn that’s been in the family for years. They didn’t care. So, I left. I don’t want anythin’ to do with ‘em. So, I’ll take this letter, because it’s mine and tear it here and now.”

He gestured his hand toward me with his palm up. “Got it?”

I stared toward his hand and sighed. “I can promise you, if you read this letter, it will be the last one. They’ve told me they will not send anymore.”

The man raised an eyebrow. He removed himself from the fence, crossing his arms. “…Really? If I read this one, it’ll be the last one?”

“Yes.”

“After 6 years of you sendin’ me letters?”

“Well, technically 5 years and 9 months, but yes.”

He drummed his fingers over his forearm, staring at the letter in my hands. “Do I need to reply?”

“No, sir.”

After a few more moments of contemplating, he sighed. “Well, sounds like a bargain for me. Will have to find new kindling for the wintertime, though.”

I, again, brought forward the letter and he quickly snatched it from my hands. The paper rustled as he quickly moved his fingers to peel back the wax seal and pull out the letter. “Let’s see…” the grumbled to himself.

I stood there as I watched his eyes scan over the paper. Truthfully, I had not expected him to be so willing. In the beginning, he’d threaten to harm me, but I’d quickly learned he was more bark than bite. Once when sending him a letter late into the evening, it was a cold winter night with heavy snow fall. He invited me inside for a snack and offered his couch by the fireplace for the night. I knew of his strained relationship. I knew he lived alone as a bachelor away from the city. All his food was home grown and raised by his own hands. During a casual conversation, he’d point to the various scars on his body and tell each story behind them. He was a man with tough skin as hard as the calluses on his own hands, but I knew his heart was warm.  

Another welcoming breeze fluttered around us, causing grass blades to dance and the paper in his hands to flutter. I watched as his facial expression shifted from a look of indifference to a somber. His eyes grew wet and his nose sniffled. A trembling hand rose to his face, covering his mouth as he shifted his footing. In all my years of visiting this man, I’ve never seen him this emotional.

His eyes reached the end of the sheet. He lowered the paper from his gaze and raised hand from his mouth to press his thumb and finger against his eyes. The man leaned his palm against the top of the fence, the sheet between his fingers. “Welp,” he said, his voice cracking slightly, “guess I can’t send them a reply anyway.”

“No, Sir. As I said, it’s the last letter.”

The man shook his head again and wiped his forearm across his wet face. Whether due to tears or sweat, I could not tell.

“Think you’ll move back to the city? I can’t imagine the government would force you to enlist now,” I said.

“Nah,” he quickly replied. “My home’s ‘ere.”

“I see. Well, I’ll be on my way then.”

“Hey, uh,” he spoke as I turned my feet to leave. “You’re canteen’s empty right? It’s a hot one today.”

“I’d appreciate it, Sir.”

“And uh… if ya ever wanna visit, door’s always open.”

I smiled toward him. “I’d like that.”

[dc41896]

Hideaway (2)

Sorry if it’s too long. I honestly didn’t mean for it to be this long but my mind and fingers kept going 😬😂

Pairing: Ransom DrysdalexBlack Reader

⚠️: Very very tiny angst, fluff other than that😊

Stretching his arms over his head, his lids flutter open adjusting to the sunlight illuminating the room. As he slowly rises, running a hand through his wild hair, he notices your missing body from the other side making him wonder when you left and where to. Picking up his phone from the bedside table, his screen lights up with texts and missed calls from Candice apparently still having something to get off her chest, along with a text from his mother making him internally groan.

Mother: Ransom we’re having dinner at your grandfather’s tonight. Hopefully you’ll find it important to join us

Mother: We’re planning to eat at 6 so try to get there no later

“Morning sleepyhead,” you smile entering the room and kicking off your sneakers.

“Look at you, up early and working out like one of those responsible adults you see on the commercials,” he sleepily smirks crossing his arms behind his head.

“Well usually I don’t wake up early, but I couldn’t get back to sleep so I figured why not.”

Ever since Ransom’s big reveal last night, it seemed to be all you could focus on. You always knew he was a big flirt so anytime it was directed towards you, you brushed it off as him just being Ransom. Now your mind was running in circles trying to dissect every line seeing if maybe you had been missing something all along.

To calm this, you thought going for a quick run on the treadmill might help, but you still couldn’t escape from his words eating away at your mind.

“Did you eat yet?,” he asks removing the white covers from his body as he steps out of bed.

“Not yet, all I’ve had is a protein shake. Let me guess, you’re hoping I’ll make you breakfast too?,” you smirk making him chuckle as he puts on his sweats.

“I was actually gonna offer to take you out as a thank you for everything or even make something here, but if you insist on cooking yourself-,”

“Hold up, you’re offering to cook? You? Hugh Ransom Drysdale? Can you even cook?”

“Yes and I’d say so since I’ve taken care of myself this long. You won’t know until you find out though.”

Tilting your head with hands on your hips, as you seemingly analyze the man in front of you making him playfully roll his blue eyes laughing at your expression. “Come on we don’t have all day so what’s it gonna be cupcake?”

“Fine we can go to breakfast. I don’t need you potentially burning down my place trying to make toast,” you answer walking into your bathroom to get ready for the day.

———

“Thank you,” you smile as the waiter placed your French toast, eggs, bacon, and fruit in front of you. Taking a sip of his mimosa, his circular gold rimmed shades hide his eyes stuck on your body from the table up. How the sun hit your skin just right that you seemed to have an angelic glow. How you could manage to look so beautiful while doing nothing but sitting in your own world eating one of your favorite foods.

“So what else do I owe the pleasure of this fancy breakfast?,” you ask gently setting down your fork as you clasp your hands together in front of you on the table.

“What are you talking about?”

“Ransom I know you like a cat knows it’s whiskers, what else do you want?”

“Ok first off, what kind of expression is that? Second I was gonna ask if you wanted to come to a dinner party tonight, but it had nothing to do with me treating you to breakfast. Like I said that was for last night.”

“And by dinner party you mean...”

“Dinner at my grandfather’s,” he sighs leaning back in his seat as you hang your head with a groan.

“No offense to your family Ransom, but I don’t know how many more times I can take Donna asking me about Black Lives Matter or how every time she sees me my hair is different.”

“Listen I know they’re all terrible, if I didn’t have to go I definitely wouldn’t be bringing it up but gramps wants to talk about his new book so I’m stuck. At least they like you though and will actually talk with you rather than at you,” he laughs taking a bite of his jellied toast.

“Sure if you count them going back and forth about politics, typically siding with the controversial view that definitely doesn’t favor anyone not white and rich to then ask me how I feel yea they’re great conversationalist,” you sarcastically smile downing your mimosa in three swallows.

“Alright how about this, we stay there long enough for me to talk to my grandfather, you try to stick with Marta or Meg until I come get you, then we go back to your place. Sound good?”

“Think Candice will still be hanging around yours?”

“I doubt it, but also knowing her flare for the dramatics my place might be trashed to the point of no return.”

Long sigh leaving your lips, you look at a now shades-less Ransom leaning forward to envelope one of your hands in both of his.

“Of course you don’t have to come, but having you there would help me more than you know.”

Yet again you now had his words spiraling through your mind, not trying to read too deep into it but also hoping not to be naive.

“....fine I’ll tag along. Don’t think this is a free favor though.”

“This nice breakfast isn’t enough cupcake?,” he smirks.

“Ha! No, but it’s a good start Hugh,” you reply finishing the last of your eggs.

———

Footsteps tapping against the old wooden steps, you and Ransom stop at the front doors taking a moment to mentally prepare for the next hour or so.

“If you do happen to be whisked away by my uncle or aunts and they get too much to handle, come get me.”

“What if you’re still with Harlan?”

“I’ll cut it short, say your cat is at the pet hospital and it’s an emergency or something.”

“I don’t have a cat though...”

“But they don’t know that. C’mon work with me cupcake,” he winks opening the door to lead you into the warmly lit foyer. It always surprised you how much everything still looked the same over the years. You even spotted the dark stain in the corner of the decorative rug reminding you of Ransom’s 11th birthday party.

You weren’t supposed to run in the house but of course with Ransom all rules went out the window. Trying to race back downstairs from helping him peak at his presents before anyone noticed, the cup in your hand tilted making the liquid splash on the pristine material. Not having time to react, Harlan’s deep voice asking why you guys weren’t outside made the both of you jump as your eyes started to gloss over.

However, Ransom immediately took the blame while also getting both of you off the hook saying he accidentally bumped your arm which is how the juice spilled. Sighing he just warned you both to be careful before going to find the housekeeper to try to clean it up.

Apparently the stain had already settled in too deep.

“I see you decided to grace us with your pre- Y/N?! Oh my gosh I didn’t know you were joining us too!,” Linda smiles walking over to hug you.

“Hi Mrs. Drysdale, it’s good to see you.”

“Honey I told you call me Linda, now come with me in the den where we can talk.”

“Actually Meg wanted to see her as soon as she got here. You know girl stuff,” Ransom interrupts taking your hand from Linda’s.

“Well when she gets here, then they can talk,” she replies taking back your hand. “You just worry about talking to your grandfather, he’s asked about you a couple times now.”

Leading you to the den where you hear the arguing voices of Walt and Richard, you turn your head to see Ransom mouthing “sorry” as you begrudgingly followed behind.

Luckily it wasn’t long until Meg arrived, immediately sneaking you away seeing the “please help me” in your eyes.

“God they can’t give it a rest for one dinner, sorry I couldn’t save you sooner,” she says taking a drag from her vape as you both sit in the chairs outside.

“You still saved me which I’m thankful for,” you laugh. “So how’s college? Fill me in on anything I need to know.”

“Where do I start? Well you remember the drama with my roommate right? So I finally snapped and was like listen either keep your mess on your side or I’m selling everything and I don’t care how you feel. Place has been spotless ever since.”

Giggling as you guys do your handshake, a pair of bright lights parking next to Ransom’s Beemer make you both momentarily pause trying to figure out who they belong to.

Trying to be careful taking her stilettos into consideration as she walks along the dirt path, her short black dress and gold Chanel purse instantly give away who had just arrived.

“Hi Meg! Y/N,” Candice fake smiles once safely reaching the front porch. “Is Ransom free? I have something for him.”

“Pretty sure he’s with our grandpa. Maybe try to give it to him later,” Meg answered, clearly annoyed as always by Candice, or any girlfriend of Ransom’s really.

“Well can you check?,” she snapped making you and Meg exchange a look knowing exactly what the other was saying. Exhaling the smoke from her juul in her direction, she stands up soon entering the house and leaving you and Candice awkwardly silent outside.

“So I guess this is your official appearance as a couple huh?,” she asks looking over her manicured nails.

“No, we’re not together Candice. I told you we’re-,”

“Just friends yea I’ve heard it countless times yet who was he with last night?,” she counters crossing her arms across her chest glaring at you. “You know, it’s really a shame how such a smart girl like yourself can’t see what’s going on.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I hate to break it to you, but Ransom’s taking advantage of you. Think about it, back in high school he’d copy your notes, homework, and even cheat off your tests. Now he runs to you where he knows you’ll do for him since you have no one else.”

“...and he told you that?”

“He didn’t have to, anyone with eyes can see that,” she giggles just as Meg returns.

“He’s still with grandpa so you’re gonna have to give it to him later.”

“Ok, well let him know I stopped by and to text me later please,” she says giving a small wave as she walks down the steps. “Bye Meg and good luck with everything Y/N.”

Dirt and dust collecting in the air as she drives away, you can’t help the knot forming in your throat as your heartbeat quickened pace. You tried to deny her words and dismiss them as angry lies being used as a way to inflate her ego.

But it was too late, she was in your head and now you didn’t know what to think.

You hated to admit that some things did make sense, but Ransom was your childhood best friend. Yea he could be a cold hearted jerk at times to others, but he was never that way to you. Unless you just didn’t see it...

“Hey you ok? Did she say something to you?! I swear I’ll pull Malibu Barbie back here myself-,”

“That’s very rich calling me the trust fund baby when last time I checked you rely on the same thing!,” Ransom shouts just before slamming the door behind him. “Meg remind your creep of a little cousin where his allowance really comes from. Y/N I’m ready let’s go.”

Finally taking a moment to look at you, he sees your glossy eyes ready to overflow at any moment along with your frustrated expression.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Ask your girlfriend,” Meg answers comfortingly rubbing your back. “You really have excellent taste in women dear cousin.”

“I don’t need a child trying to dictate my love life. Now if you don’t mind the adults need to talk.”

“It’s ok Meg, I’ll talk to you later ok?” Giving you a hug she collects her purse before standing to point a finger at Ransom.

“You better fix it. Y/N doesn’t do anything to anyone and definitely doesn’t deserve to be hurt indirectly because of you,” she angrily whispers before walking inside and closing the door behind her.

“Alright what did she do this time?,” he sighs sitting in the chair across from you.

“Have you been using me?,” you whisper looking down at your hands.

“What kind of-,”

“Ransom just answer the question, have you ever taken advantage of me or are still doing so?!”

“I would but technically that’s two cupcake so which one do you want first?,” he lightly chuckles hoping you’d roll your eyes and laugh along like he could always make you do when you were upset. However, he quickly realized you were not in the mood.

“YOU REALLY THINK IM TRYING TO JOKE AROUND RIGHT NOW?!”

“Hey lower your voice! I’m right here I can hear you perfectly fine.”

“Clearly not since you won’t answer the question!”

“Fine have I before? Yes, but that was in high school! You were my friend and a bit of a push over so I knew you’d always help me out.”

“And that’s how you’ve thought about me ever since.” Rising to your feet, you rush back in the house immediately entering the study so no one can see your stained cheeks.

You couldn’t believe it, but Candice was right and your “friendship” was turning out to be a lie. Pacing back and forth across the room, several emotions swirled through your head; hurt, rage, disappointment at yourself for not seeing it sooner.

“What did Candice say to you?,” Ransom asks tossing his keys on the desk clearly seeing how you guys would be here for a while.

“God how could I be such an idiot for all these years?! That explains the argument about me then.”

“How did you-?”

“Last night I asked and you told me. You were half asleep so that’s why you don’t remember.”

“Listen whatever you’re trying to piece together stop because it’s not true,” he starts as he steps closer to you.

“And I’m supposed to believe that how?! I bet she tried to tell you to leave poor little old me alone but nooo you love having your cake and eating it,” you laugh to yourself, sneakers lightly squeaking against the hardwood floor.

“No she asked me why I always run to you and she didn’t like the answer I gave.”

“Why? You told her I do your laundry and wait on you better?,” you retort making him lowly chuckle running a hand through his hair.

“I told her you bring me comfort, peace, happiness, everything good that she nor any of my ex’s could ever bring.”

Pausing, you look at him through clouded eyes as he sighs placing his hands on his hips gazing up at the ceiling.

“That’s why I’m always at your place, why I’ve brought you to family dinners more than all of my ex’s combined. With you, any problems I have, whether it be with this highly dysfunctional family or anything else, you take that away. It’s weird, but sometimes I wish you could just be glued to me so I could take you everywhere and always have that feeling.”

“Sure that’s calmness from me and not from a lack of responsibility?”

“Yes,” he answers meeting your eyes. “And just as sure as me doing this is probably not gonna end well but I’m willing to take that risk to make you see what I’m saying is true.”

Not giving you a chance to respond, he closes the gap between the two of you until his lips meet yours. Not too gentle yet not too rough, his movements left you lips tingling as your body seemed to be getting a jumpstart from the jolt you felt. You couldn’t lie and say Ransom wasn’t your best kiss.

Figures seeing how the worst ones for you always seem to be the best at things like this.

Bringing yourself back to reality, your hand comes across his cheek with a loud smack you’re sure could be heard from a one mile radius as you push him away.

“Are you serious?!?!!”

“Yep and that was the bad ending,” he says holding his reddened, stinging cheek.

“You really thought kissing me was gonna magically make me change my mind!?”

“Not gonna lie I thought it would help,” he sighs. “Y/N you said so yourself that you knew me like a cat and it’s tail-,”

“It was a cat knows it’s whiskers.”

“Whatever, what I’m trying to say is that you know me. The guy you said that to a few hours ago is the same guy right now. Yes I’ve wronged you before and I’m sorry, but I swear to you it was only in high school that was it. Whenever I come to you, it’s because I want to be with you even in those times you watch those awful romantic comedies that literally all have the same plot and ending but you still get emotional over and love,” he finishes making you giggle.

“You hate them yet you cried at Maid in Manhattan.”

“Only because the whole thing was so bad and honestly makes no sense! How did she not know-?”

Now was your turn to catch him off guard crashing your lips onto his. Arms snaking around his neck as his bring your body closer to him, you’re surprised by how natural it felt. Like you guys had been a couple this whole time and passionately kissing each other was just an everyday occurrence. If there were any weird feelings, they were now long gone as either of you only wanted to stay with the other like this for as long as you could.

However, that would soon be short lived once Harlan walked through the door making Ransom and yourself quickly separate trying to act as if nothing happened. Of course he could see straight through it as you nervously smiled trying to catch your breath and Ransom had his back turned with hands on the back of the couch.

“Y/N! How are you dear?,” Harlan smiled embracing you in a hug.

“I’m good Harlan and you?”

“The best that an old man like me can do I guess,” he chuckles. “Ransom didn’t tell me you came for dinner too.”

“I was planning on coming in the office to say hi after you both were done, but Meg and I started talking outside. I should’ve said something sooner though I’m sorry.”

“Oh it’s quite alright I understand,” he smiles patting your hand. “We’ll just have to catch up another time when you come visit since I’m sure you’ll be around more often.” Throwing a knowing look at his eldest grandson, who was now facing the both of you, Ransom shyly looks down with a quiet chuckle.

“How about tomorrow afternoon? I know you both probably have some other date you need to get to.”

“That sounds good, we’ll see you then,” you smile softly kissing his cheek as he kisses yours.

“Before you leave though, I do need to have a last few words with my grandson.”

“Sure, I’ll go tell everyone else bye.” Waiting until the door clicked behind you, Harlan lightly shakes his head as he lightly chuckles.

“What? You want to tell me I told you so since you’ve been waiting for us to get together since we were teenagers?”

“No, I just hope you know what you’re getting into. Y/N isn’t like the other girlfriends you’ve had and won’t stand for any of the nonsense you did while with them. She’s a good girl and deserves respect.”

“Jeez you sound like her father,” Ransom replies rolling his eyes.

“I’m serious Ransom.”

“I know, and I am too. I know she deserves better, which is why I’m trying to get my stuff together and show her she’s not making a mistake by being with me or even being friends with me. I need her in my life and whatever I have to do to keep her I will, no question.”

Studying his blue eyes and his softened yet serious features, a proud smile spreads across Harlan’s face as he rests his hand on Ransom’s shoulder.

“Good. You saying that I can already tell you’re on the right track.”

Taglist: @fumbling-fanfics @honeychicana @honeychicanawrites @lady-olive-oil @my-rosegold-soul @crushed-pink-petals-writes @themyscxiras @melinda-january @lovelymari4 @curlyhairclub @renfrewscorner @secretmysteriousperson @plokyu23 @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @brwn-sgr @captainsamwlsn @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy

If anybody wants to be tagged, has asked to be tagged but don’t see your name, only wants to be tagged for certain people I write for, or no longer wish to be tagged, just let me know🤓!

[llesbianwrites]

✹ character intro — ruby june

⇻ ruby has never cowered in the face of adversity. she isn’t going to start now.

BASIC INFO // sixteen years old, cis lesbian (she/her), quettish (american)

PHYS. DESCRIPTION // curly blonde hair, brown eyes, pale, freckled skin. always looks a second away from keeling over.

BACKGROUND // growing up on a farm isn’t as glamorous as ruby’s seafaring crewmates would believe. the fields of wheat aren’t golden, they’re half dead with rot. the farmhouse isn’t robust, it’s termite ridden. and the work isn’t honest. it’s harrowing. 

she’s not going to go out of her way to correct them. no one needs to know about her past — not now, and certainly not where ruby’s headed. the saedeth institute doesn’t take in farm girls. they don’t show pity. and if they won’t, ruby refuses to let anyone else. not after she found those books.

they’d been water logged to hael, most of the words so muddled with moisture she couldn’t read them. but what she had had been enough. what she had let her bring back the three cows lost to disease — three cows her family didn’t have the gold to replace. how was she supposed to know they’d come back wrong? 

it was her father who eventually found her, kneeling over the dead cows, and it was her father who threw her out. 

and that had been that. 

so maybe she’s a fool. maybe she’s sentimental. all ruby knows is she unlocked something in herself that day — and if it takes getting into the most prestigious magical institute in the country to prove it, so be it.

she’s no stranger to hard work.

TROPES // be careful what you wish for || squishy wizard || disinherited child

STATS // intelligence: 7/10 || charisma: 6/10 || strength: 3/10 || cooperation: 4/10 || loyalty: 6/10 || agility: 2/10 || kindness: 6/10 || bravery: 7/10 || endurance: 6/10

AESTHETICS // empty fields, cold pond water lapping at your feet, waking up before the sun, deep shadows, candlelight, open windows, the heavy heat of summer, denim, the heady smell of dirt, crows, ink stained fingers. the ache of knowing something is wrong, but being too young to do anything about it.

SONGS // if you can’t convince them, confuse them — the midwest indies || summer skeletons — radical face || dear arkansas daughter — lady lamb || bones — ms mr || long & lost — florence + the machine

taglist (just ask to be added/removed!) // @evergrcen ✹ @rumpixel ✹ @goldbonne ✹ @andiwriteunderthemoon ✹ @ditzysworld ✹ @lyssthewriter ✹ @phantom-stargazer ✹ @quilloftheclouds ✹ @saxoniowrites ✹ @nmcwriting ✹ @semblanche ✹ @sybil-writes ✹ @aziz-writes

[wifeofkimtaehyungofbts]

Chapter 6

>> Pairing: Taehyung x Y/N, Taehyung x reader

>> Words: 1785

>> Notes: I’m going to upload a new chapter whenever possible until I feel like I have built up enough thrill to leave my readers curious and desperately wanting more 😉 You may leave asks and let me know what you think of my writing (:

Synopsis: You run into a rather strange man one night. He seems terrified, as if fighting battles only he can see. He seems detached from the world, talking only to a voice inside his head. Oh, another strange fact: he keeps talking about angels. You discover later that you were the angel he was praying to.

>> Previous / Next

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Sunlight seeped in through the thin sheets hanging over the windows. I stirred, contemplating whether money was really worth my sleep, and just as I was about to sleep after deciding that sleep was obviously more worth it, my best friend jumped on me.

“Good morning baby!” she shouted cheerfully. I was in no mood to return the energy. I rolled onto my side and continued to sleep.

“Wake up!!!” she screamed in my ear.

“Ugh!” I threw her off me and she fell to the floor with a thud. “Why why why why just why!” I whined, looking at her grinning at me from the floor despite the redness in her knee from the fall that I know must have hurt.

“It’s my last day!” she exclaimed happily.

I just then remembered why today meant so much for her. She was going home on her longest vacation from the university. Unlike my family, her family was very warm and welcoming, so she always looked forward to going back.

“Oh yea... I’m taking you to the station before you leave me by myself for over a month” I pouted before I broke out into a huge smile and hugged her from where I was. I got off the bed, grabbed my towel off the chair and headed to the bathroom. After brushing my teeth and having a shower, I put on a pair of denims with my black tank top and wore my hair in a pony tail.

“I’ll help you with that” I say reaching for her hang luggage. My arm nearly pulled out of its socket because of the weight. “Yah! What did you pack in this?” I ask in horror. Kim Leah grins at me sheepishly. “You do know you are coming back in a month, right? Why would you pack so much?” I ask exasperated.

“Because! I don’t want to take photos in the same clothes so I packed 2 changes of clothes for everyday” she says matter-of-factly. Kim Leah indeed has an obsession with taking pictures everywhere she goes. She states her Instagram profile is her biggest pride. It drives her insane if she had two pictures of her in the same outfit.

I sigh at her and we make our way out. We get into a parked taxi and ask the driver to take us to the station. As we round the corner, I see the space between the two buildings where I ran into that man 3 nights ago. I unconsciously search for him, but he isn’t there.

“Is something wrong?” Kim Leah asks. “You look worried”

I shake my head and smile at her endearingly. How can I tell her I’ve been worried about some stranger I don’t even know the name of? It was those eyes. His big eyes were pleading, desperate for help. I feel an ache in my heart as I remember the way they looked at the burger bag and at me. I have the sudden need to know whether he ate well for the past few days but there was no way I could know. I continue to stare out the window as I my thoughts drift off to his eyes every now and then.

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“Okay then, this is it” Kim Leah says holding onto her luggage.

“Yah! Don’t say it like it’s the last time we are going to see each other!” I shout at her.

She laughs and hugs me tight. I hug her back just as tightly. I watch her get onto the train and wait till it starts to move and vanished out of my sight. I smile sadly knowing I was going to be alone. I didn’t mind being alone, but I worry too much so it’s nice to have someone who would distract me from my worries or listen to them. Especially if that someone was as lovely as Kim Leah.

As I walk out the station, I see a big crowd of people gathered in one place, making a big commotion. I intend to walk away quietly like I normally do, but something tells me I should check it out. Maybe someone is hurt?

I walk over to the crowd of big people and try to peek through to get a glimpse. My short height does not help me so I get down on all fours and look from under everyone’s legs. My eyes widen and a loud gasp escapes my mouth as I stare at him.

It’s him!

His body lay limp on the ground, his hood pulled down revealing unevenly outgrown dark brown hair falling over his face. I push past everybody and get to the body. A man nearly shoves me away with his big arm. “Hey, move! Don’t crowd him! We don’t know who he is!”

“I do!” I blurt.

There was a hushed whisper from the crowd and the big man stared at me questioningly. I ignore their doubts and try to throw the lifeless man’s body over mine. He was heavy. “Help me get him to a taxi please” I plead. Instantly, the big man and two other men standing in the crowd come over and lift him up. A woman stops a taxi for us and the men put him inside. The driver looks at me worriedly and I smile. “We have to get home. This is my address” I show him the location on my phone screen which he quickly types into his GPS. I turn around to the men who helped me, bowing to them in gratitude.

“He was walking around aimlessly for the past 3 hours. I was suspicious of him so I kept tabs on his behaviour. He suddenly fainted and when I rushed over, his body had already gone cold” the big man tells me.

“Thank you for the information. I will keep it in mind when I’m treating him” I smile gently. I get into the taxi and we drive away. Not going to lie, but he stinks. He smells foul and sweaty, like he hasn’t washed in weeks and there was dirt all over his face. The wounds I noticed that night by the McDonald’s were still there, almost infected and looking very itchy.

When we arrived at my apartment, I pay the driver and get out. As I struggle to move the man out of the taxi, the driver offers to help. “Ma’am let me help you with your friend over there”

He’s no friend. My actual friend will kill me if she knew I brought a random man home the moment she left, I thought to myself.

The driver and I attempt to not breathe as the man’s stench envelope us both. I thank the driver and open the door to my room as swiftly as I can and drop him to the floor. He hits the floor with a thud. I lock the door and bend over him. I keep two fingers to his neck. Okay he’s breathing.

That’s one worry out of the way.

I stare at his face, now being able to get a proper glimpse of it. He looks young, maybe only a few years older than I. His lips were cracked and blue. I reach over to touch his face. I immediately retract my hand as I feel his cold skin. This is not good.

I take off his black jacket and throw it in the empty laundry basket. And yes, it is empty because I now do my laundry regularly. So proud of myself for the progress.

I move to his feet and take off his shoes and socks. His socks were so old and torn at so many places, I doubt it could even keep a rat warm. It reeked terribly so I immediately threw it into a bucket of water in the bathroom. It is with the greatest difficulty I take off his thick sweater. How the hell did he survive wearing this in this heat? I thought to myself shockingly.

As I unbutton his green shirt, he suddenly grabs my hands. I bolt backwards, but I cannot remove my hands from his hold. He slowly opens his eyes and looks at me.

“I-... I...” I stammer. He continues to stare at me through hooded eyes.

“I found you fallen on the ground” I begin, “Actually no. Some people found you and I recognized you so I brought you to my place” I correct myself. He still stares at me without blinking. “You smelt really bad so I figured...”

That’s when it hits me. What was I trying to do?! Take off his clothes?? Wash him??

I regain my composure and continue, “I figured you might need a shower so I was going to set the water and take off most of your clothes”

He still continues to stare at me, his grip strong. I squirm under his lifeless stare. His hands loosen their grip on mine so I quickly pull away and waste no time in hooking my arm under his head and gently lift him up. Thankfully he doesn’t put up a fight.

“You can go shower. The water heater is on and you can use the shampoo and soap already on the counter” I say. He doesn’t look at me as he staggers to his feet. He takes in the room as I go to fetch him a towel and toothbrush. His eyes settle on the box of colour pens and pencils on my study table.

“Kim Leah, my best friend, is very talented at art. She lives here with me so her belongings are here too” I say, noticing the objects that seemed to catch his attention.

“Do you draw?” the man asks, without taking his eyes off the box of colour. It’s the first time I’m hearing his voice, but that’s not the reason I am shocked. His voice was deep, the words booming from somewhere inside his throat. It did not match his innocent face. His voice was, to simply put it, very attractive.

I quickly shake my head, embarrassed with myself for thinking such incredulous thoughts. I stretch my arm out at him, holding the towel to him. He takes it slowly and heads to the bathroom. I stop him in his tracks. “How did you know the bathroom was there?” I ask suspiciously. He shrugs and continues to stare at me. I tilt my head to the side, pouting in suspicion. I then step aside and let him pass by.

What a strange man. Does he have a sixth sense? I wonder.

I make my way to the kitchen to prepare something for him to eat when I hear the shower turn on.

[violet-knox]

Smiles and Gobstones

Year 6 - Chapter 51

Summary: You head home to change before heading over to Spinner’s End with Severus to meet his mother.

Word count: 5024

A/N: This chapter was inspired by this suggestion made by anon. Anon if you are still reading I hope you like it and happy holidays everyone 😊

Previous Chapter - Chapter 1 

~

Kneeling down, you opened your Hogwarts trunk searching for that polka doted green and black dress you thought you’d already unpacked. A rise of panic settled itself into your chest as you reached the bottom of your trunk. Tossing its contents one more time, you shoved it forward and peered behind it before searching through the top shelf of your dresser. 

“What’s wrong with the dresses on your bed?” Severus leaned against the closed door of your room, arms crossed as he watched you rip your closet apart. You’d been on edge ever since lunch and it was clear to him now that you were still worried about meeting his mother. It was bad enough you’d grilled him with questions on your way over here, but watching you throwing around clothing left and right had to take the cake. How does she dress? What will she expect? Is she traditional? Does she conform to muggle standards? He didn’t even know the answers to half your questions and had no idea what to say to help ease your nerves. 

“I know it’s here somewhere,” you whispered into the void of your closet. Severus could barely hear you, but you still caught him in your peripherals, rolling his eyes as he shifted in his place. 

“Ah ha! Found it,” you exclaimed with a sigh of relief, unfolding the dress as your eyes examined it, but the more you looked at it, the more you wished you hadn’t even bothered buying it in the first place. You shrugged as you turned around and subconsciously threw it on your bed in defeat.  

You were about to turn your attention back to your closet to look for something else to wear when the mess on your bed caught your eye. Staring at it, you realized you’d pulled every dress out of your closet and rejected every single one. So what would you wear? You surely couldn’t meet his mother in these old worn out clothing you had on, no your best option was a dress. Even if you were to find a nice enough shirt, none of your trousers were adequate enough to make a good first impression. 

Hands on your hips, your eyes went over each dress laid out before you, trying to find one you thought would say ‘I’m approachable and kind but strong and defined’.

“Just pick one already.” You snapped your head in Severus’ direction, his patients clearly running out. You had no idea how long you’d been rummaging through your closet for, but you knew however long it was, the time probably went half as fast for him.  

“What do you think I should wear?” you asked, hoping for a bit of insight since it was his mother you were trying to make a good impression on. 

“It won’t matter, just pick one and put it on so we can get going.” He gestured to your bed before eyeing the clock that hung on the adjacent wall. It was already five o’clock and he’d told his mother to expect them back by five-thirty. At this rate, he’d be lucky if you made it to his house sometime before the sun set. 

“Well if you helped me pick one, this would go a lot quicker.” You hadn’t felt this stressed since you’d taken your O.W.Ls. How absolutely adoring were the things this boy does to you. “Okay fine, here,” you picked up two of your favorite dresses, ones you’d been saving to wear for a special occasion and held them up by their hangers for him to see. “Which one of these do you prefer”

Severus smirked as he eyed the soft yellow and deep blue dresses you held in your hands, imagining how well they would hug your figure, perfectly displaying the natural curve of your body. “The blue one,” he said after a mere short moment of thought. 

You stared at him in awe of his quick reaction and wondered whether his answer was genuine or if he simply picked one to help speed things along. Meeting his gaze, you couldn’t help but smile when you saw the little twinkle in his eyes that only made itself apparent when he was over joyous. 

“See, that wasn’t so hard was it,” you flaunted as you turned to your closet and put away the yellow dress you had in your right hand, hanging the blue one on the hook of the dresser door. Adjusting the door, you hid behind it as you began undressing, unhooked the dress from its hanger and slipped it on. Shifting to the other side of the closet door, you ran your fingers down the fabric of your dress as you peered into the floor length mirror. 

Your gaze finally rose to your face, and you suddenly became very aware of your messy hair. You hadn’t looked at it since this morning and you always had it up when you worked, hating to have it in the way. Your brows furrowed in nervousness as you reached up to pull on the elastic holding your hair together and take down your ponytail. 

Your hair had stiffened from being up for so long, hanging in an even worse condition than you’d began with. You quickly began fluffing it out in an attempt to loosen the strands and force it to look somewhat acceptably presentable. 

Severus eyed you from behind, admiring your frantic tactics as you wrestled your hair. He knew you’d look good in whatever you picked, but that dress truly did hug you in all the right places, the fabric complimenting your skin tone. The subtle detailing extenuating just how special you are. His eyes sinfully roamed your body before he caught your gaze in the mirror, your hands slowly removing themselves from your hair as a smile crept onto your face. 

He smiled back as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around your waist without breaking his gaze. “You look beautiful,” he whispered as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

Your grin grew like a little girl who’d just been handed her favorite sweet. Leaning into his hold, you revealed in his touch as he pressed his lips to your shoulder. “Thank you,” you whispered back, admiring how his arms lovingly wrapped themselves around you in the mirror. 

You both took a moment, holding each other in serenity, neither of you daring to move. These last few months had you really depending on his touch for comfort. You relied on his hold, his lips praising you, his hands caring for you. You only hoped you would never have to learn to adapt without him.

Closing your eyes, you let out a long breath as you felt your anxiety melt away. You hadn’t realized just how badly you needed this little moment until he’d wrapped his arms around you. How was it he always seemed to know what you needed at just the right time.  

“So…” you said, hating yourself for shattering such a lovely moment, “will you help me put away all that?” you nudged towards the mess on your bed. 

Severus buried his face in the crook of your neck as he let out a soft groan in protest. His grip on you tightened and you felt yourself being pushed back into his chest. Your grin only grew wider as leveled yourself, placing one foot a step back between him, your head leaning back, wanting nothing more than for him to keep his holding you. 

“Fine,” he finally said as he lifted his head and let his arms slowly fall to the side. “But only because I love you.”

You let out a soft giggle as you turned to face him and pull his collar towards you, capturing his lips for a quick kiss of gratitude before you both reached for the clothing on your bed, putting it away, one dress at a time. 

Time flew by as you followed Severus off the bus, looking around to find you’d ended up in the middle of nowhere, but you trusted him. Even after you’d motioned to get off the bus when the stop a few minutes’ walk from the park near his house arrived, he’d pulled you back down and told you he knew a short cut. 

But looking around now, all you could see was an endless road your bus disappeared down, a long stretch of an abandoned construction sight behind you with what you assumed were the only living trees left in the city on the other side of the road. 

Interrupting your thoughts, you felt Severus grab your hand and walking towards the road, stopping at the curve. There were no crosswalks to be found, so you assumed he’d crossed like this many times before and as you arrived on the other side of the road, a dirt path making itself apparent between the trees, you got the impression he wasn’t the only one who’d opted to take this path to Spinner’s End. 

The miniature forest you’d walked through was rather shallow and it wasn’t long before you found yourself stepping onto Spinner’s End. You were here so fast you’d completely forgotten to run through the few opening lines you’d come up with when meeting his mother. Your heart beat faster with every step you took, your palms warming in nervousness as you took a few deep breaths, keeping your eyes low in fear of arriving at his doorstep too soon. 

“Relax,” Severus said as he led you to the last house on the street to your right. “You don’t need to be nervous.”

“What if she doesn’t like me,’ you whispered. Severus smirked, looking into the puppy-dog eyes you gave him. He knew you were genuinely concerned about meeting his mother, but he couldn’t help but find it rather adoring than concerning. The way you looked at him with those big soft eyes of yours, your lips ever so slightly curving into a frown, your brows furrowed, your hand warming under his, tightening your grip as if hanging on for dear life.

“Her opinion won’t change how I feel about you, love,” he said as he quickly reached over with his free hand to tug on the chain around your neck. Your locket popped out from under your dress and landed in his hand. You looked down just in time to watch his name fade, replaced by your own.  

You let out a soft giggle as you reached for it, Severus letting go, happy to see he’d managed to bring a smile on your face. You quickly tucked the locket under your dress just as you arrived at his front door, wearing the largest grim you’d worn all day.

Severus let you go and stepped forward as he reached into his pocket for his key to unlock the door. He swung it open and stepped through, waiting for you to follow. You walked over that last step to the entrance and walked into a rather quaint looking sitting area. There was a fireplace to your right, surrounded by a simple armchair and a couch. The rest of the space felt rather empty, the walls bare where you’d imagined pictures would have hung if his family had any inclinations for such things and right away you’d noticed no dining table was present. 

It wasn’t much, but it was rather cozy. Severus closed the door behind you and you suddenly felt rather conscious of your presence in an unknown home. His mother was nowhere to be found which you found a bit odd. Surely the sound of the open door would have alerted her to your presence and you’d for some reason, imagined she’d come running, eager to meet the girl her son had been dating. Though now that you were here, realizing the lack of evidence that Severus actually lived here, you weren’t sure why you were so surprised. He’d told you she’d never been attentive, never once asking about him or given him any emotional support so you had no reason to think she’d suddenly changed overnight. 

“Take a seat and I’ll bring us some tea.” Severus gestured towards the couch as he made his way to the door, leading to what you assumed was the rest of the house, across from you. “Have any preference?” he asked just as he placed his hand over the doorknob. 

You shook your head as you cautiously took a seat, running your hands along the back of your thighs to push your dress forward as you sat. “Whatever you’re having is fine.”

You watched as Severus disappeared behind the door, leaving you alone to the estranged sitting room. It was odd to be placed somewhere you’d never once been told about or prepared for. You felt guilty for wanting to have a look around, to get familiar with your surroundings but even more so, find any indication that told you this is where Severus belonged. You’d been rather underwhelmed so far, unable to imagine him living in a place holding no apparent value for him. Of Course, you hadn’t exactly expected to find Slytherin banners hanging from the ceiling, or books scattered across the floor, but at least a picture, just one would have been nice to see.

You turned your attention to the back of the room and suddenly noticed a small antique oak cabinet standing beside a half filled bookcase that appeared to have been sitting there for centuries, and if it wasn’t for the lack of dust, you would have said it had never been touched. Looking back to the door on your left, you wondered whether you should wait for Severus to return and ask what the cabinet held or if anyone would barge into the room and find you snooping if you were to head over right now and quickly rummage through its belongings.

Curiosity winning over courtesy, you found your feet carrying you off the couch and over to the mysterious cabinet. Your fingers grazed over the delicate wooden frame of its drawers, the detailing crisp and concise. Hastily reaching for one of the knobs you gave it a tug before someone came bursting through those doors and caught you red handed. Locked. Figures. Kneeling down you grabbed hold of both knobs standing side by side and gave those a tug as well. Nothing. Surely they didn’t have anything so valuable that would need such protection, not after everything Severus had told you about his family, not to mention the fact they lived on Spinner’s End; a street known for its cheap housing. 

With a breath of disappointment, you made your way back over to the couch, sitting down just in time as Severus reentered the room, two teacups levitating around him. You smiled as you watched him settle them on the table in front of the unlit fireplace before taking a seat beside you. He’d use any excuse to use magic now that he was of age.

“Earl Grey was all we had left.” he said, sliding your cup towards you and picked up his own. You gave him a small smile in appreciation, watching him stir the steaming tea. 

“That’s fine,” you said, picking up the two sugar cubes Severus had placed on the saucer and dissolving them in your tea. “Thank you.”

You picked up your cup and continued to stir as you blew over the tea. 

He couldn’t lie, of course he’d hesitated to have you over, but he had to admit, it was rather nice sitting in this dreadful sitting room having tea in your company. You made living in this house almost bearable and he silently wished you’d stay to keep him company more often. He only hoped the evening would go over without a hitch and leave you loving him just as much as when you’d stepped over the threshold of the broken home of the Snape family.

“Sev, can I ask you a question?” he turned his attention to you as he gently lowered his cup.

“Of course.”

“That cabinet back there,” you pointed behind you, “what’s in it?” you hesitantly asked, hoping you weren’t pressing on a sensitive subject. But you couldn’t help it. That cabinet looked out of place, like someone in this house cared deeply for the contents it held. Severus parted his lips, and you readied yourself for the story you knew something that old held, one you didn’t think you’d ever get the chance to hear as the doors swung open once again and out stepped that same slim figure of a woman you’d seen twice before at King’s Crossing.

Immediately, your hands went to free themselves, placing your tea cup back on its saucer on the table as you watched her stand beside the couch next to Severus. You could tell she was young, but her heavy black eyes aged her quite a bit. Her soul had grown old while her body remained young. Her hair as slick and dark as Severus’, hung carelessly around her head, stopped a few inches below her shoulders. You could feel the familiar sensation of thick greasy strands under your fingertips just from looking at her. 

The resemblance was quite hard to miss. Severus was almost the spitting image of his mother from the hair, to the eyes, to the way his lips would twitch in the most subtle grin just like hers. The most evident difference had to be his hooked nose. Hers was much smaller, much more narrow, though it didn’t really help improve her overall appearance. She in fact, reminded you of the classic depictions of what Muggles assumed witches looked like. 

“Mum, this is (Y/N),” said Severus, putting little to no effort at introducing you. He simply sat there holding his tea as he addressed her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said, quickly jumping to your feet, stretching your hand as a polite gesture of introduction. 

You stood there nervously as she eyed your hand before cautiously sliding her lean slim fingers into your palm. Her hands were rough, like she’d done nothing but hand-on shores her entire life. Her grip was quite loose, and you feared when she quickly retreated her hand without so much of a grip or shake, she shared no interest in meeting you. 

“Dinner’s ready,” she simply stated to both of you before turning on her heels and making her way back through the door from which she’d emerged.

But she’d been the one who’d asked Severus to have you for dinner, surely she had some inclined interest in getting to know you. You nervously turned your attention to Severus who’d stood up and reached to place his own cup on its saucer and carry it as he made his way around the couch. He waited for you to follow his lead, picking up your own tea before he silently opened the door and lead you through the corridor. 

Immediately, your eyes shot to the stairs facing you as you passed through the door. Severus however averted heading to the second floor and instead turned to head through another door on the adjacent right wall. You were met with a rather brightly lit kitchen, coupled with a small round table, three seats encircling it, shoved off to the side of the room as you followed Severus. 

His mother was in the middle of setting the table and you wondered whether she preferred to do such a thing by hand or if she’d simply gotten used to doing so without magic for the sake of her Muggle husband. Either way, you were not one to judge as a guest in her home. 

You sat beside Severus and set your tea aside as you watched Eileen carry a tray with what appeared to be roasted chicken and baked potatoes. Little was said as the food was passed around and though you couldn't get the impression she thought your presence an inconvenience for her out of your head, you were at least glad she’d begun warming up to the situation. 

Her questions were quite short, whether directed towards you or Severus and dinner, though started off rather rigid, ended with a pleasant conversation of Eileen’s experience in the wizarding world. You’d initially thought you’d brought up the wrong topic when asking about her Potions career as she shot Severus quite a nasty look, but the more you’d encourage her to speak, the happier she seemed to be to share her past accomplishments with someone other than her son. 

“I presume Potions was your best subject at Hogwarts?” you asked, helping her clear the table as you took Severus’ plate and stacked it with yours before reaching for Eileen’s plate as well. 

“Amongst other things yes,” she replied, putting away the leftovers in the fridge. You placed the dishes in the sink and turned your attention back to her, watching the curious look in her eyes quickly dissolve into unsettlement. When you turned around to look where her eyes went, you found that Severus had whipped out his wand to charm the dishes. You always loved magic. It was a blessing, a gift. The day you’d found out you were a witch was the best day of your life. It changed everything, from how you valued yourself to your interests. And when you met Severus, you finally felt like you had someone in your life to be proud of your magical abilities, so it broke your heart to see his mother flinch in such a way when he displayed his own talents so evidently. 

“Tell me.” Eileen’s voice brought your attention back to her, “Do you partake in any activities outside of your classes?” she asked.

“I play Quidditch.”

You’d never seen silence fall so quickly before. Three simple words caused the ambience to change, now gloomy around you as you watched the small glimmer of a smile on Eileen's face disappear, a sour expression replacing it instead. Was she expecting an answer of another kind? Did she despise the sport?

Severus quickly put away his wand and placed himself beside you as he intervened. “Mother was the President of the Gobstones club during her final years at Hogwarts,” he explained. 

Everything had gone so well. You hadn’t made a single comment or gave any look of disgust when stepping foot into the house. His mother had been, to some extent, attentive and even began conversing with you. It wasn’t your fault. You had no idea the history behind the popularity of Quidditch, the players of the game demining those like his mother who ‘couldn’t grow up and play a real sport’, viewing her as less than themselves. 

“Gobstones?” you asked curiously.

“It’s a game of tactics, similar to the muggle game Marbles,” Severus replied, placing a hand on your back to encourage you to make your way back to the sitting room, his mother not far behind. 

Eileen scoffed at her son’s oversimplification. “Care to go for a round? I can show you how to play,” she said, her tone rather uninviting.

For all intents and purposes, your brain told you the only correct response to that question is ‘yes’. But that little glimmer in her eyes, her mischievous grin returning to her face, told you to run for the hills. If she was the President of the Gobstones Club during her time at Hogwarts, she must have been good at it, meaning you’d no doubt lose, though you had no idea why she was so eager to play a game with someone unable to challenge her talents. 

Severus sighed as his shoulders dropped. He knew where this was going, and it was nowhere good. Still he said nothing when you shot him a quick glance and instead shifted uncomfortably, letting out a huff of annoyance. 

“Sure,” you replied hesitantly. 

Eileen walked over to the whimsical looking bookshelf in the far-left corner and stood on her toes, blindly letting her hand search the top of it. She very quickly found what she was looking for and let her feet lower her back to the ground, revealing a rather short black shriveled wand, clearly unused for quite some time. 

She then stepped forward and crouched in front of the oak cabinet and wove her wand. The left door on the bottom shook but remained shut. Suddenly you heard the sound of something heavy crash behind you. You turned around to see Severus pointing his own wand at the furniture that now attached itself to the walls of the house, leaving the floor completely bare. 

Your curiosity peaked, forcing you to bite your tongue, keeping from asking why such a game would require so much room as Severus walked back over to you. He appeared nervous as he took your hand and quickly pressed his lips to your knuckles as if silently apologizing for a mistake you had yet to discover. 

The loud crack coming from the cabinet door Eileen was crouched beside opening had you spinning your attention back to her. You watched as she removed a small bag and quickly closed the cabinet door before joining you in the center of the room. 

She first removed a cloth which Severus took from her, laying it out on the floor. As predicted, a circle appearing to be about three feet wide was laid out on the cloth. Eileen then dumped the remaining contents of the pouch near the center of the circle. What looked to be a little more than two dozen round marble shaped stones scattered with two apparently larger ones contrasting in size and colour. Severus levitated the darker, more bronze looking one towards him while Eileen did the same with the bright golden one.  

“I’ll play with you,” spoke Severus, “And this is our colour,” he gestured to the stone in his hand, which you grasped before you glanced over to the circle, counting fifteen of the same stone in miniature form. It felt heavier than a classic marble, like it was made of metal and as you looked back to see Eileen’s marbles, you began to wonder if they were truly made of gold. 

“We’ll play the basic version of the game,” said Eileen.

“So our goal is to capture all of her stones before she does,” finished Severus. 

You nodded your head in understanding and watched as Severus took the stone from you and made the first move, flicking it into the couple of brightly coloured golden stones belonging to his mother. Nothing passed the barrier that encircled the stones until Eileen’s second move where she impressively knocked out two of your stones at once. It was no surprise to see her triumph so early in the game, even if she was out of practice, you were sure she’d get back into her rhythm rather quickly. What you hadn’t expected however was the foul-smelling liquid that squirted out of the two stones that had escaped the circle, aimed directly at your face as well as Severus’. 

So it wasn’t exactly like marbles and neither had you expected it to be. Though a warning would have been nice. The game continued on and you finally began to get the hang of it, using the aim you had developed as a chaser to help capture a few of her stones. Naturally, the small skill you’d gained wasn’t enough to beat Eileen, though it didn’t matter to you who’d won. You were only glad to see her smile and accept you. 

“Thank you for dinner and for inviting me into your home,” you said politely, outstretching your hand once more as Severus lazily flicked his wand, cleaning up the mess you’d all made before returning the furniture where it belonged.

She took your hand and gave it a light shake this time, accompanied by a small smile in acknowledgment. She said nothing as she shot one last look at her son before heading back through the door leading to the stairwell and kitchen.  

Severus immediately went to open the door, waiting for you to step outside before he followed, closing the door behind him. 

“I’m sorry she got so carried away,” he said apologetically, reaching to swipe his thumb along your damp hairline before tucking your hair behind your ear.  “She’s just proud is all.”

You smiled, stepping forward to wrap your arms around his neck. “It’s okay. I understand,” you whispered. You could respect a competitive spirit and she was quite delightful when you’d got her talking during dinner, so you had to give her some credit for her hospitality.  

“Do you want me to walk you home?” he asked softly.

“It’s alright, I’ll just apparate. It’s dark enough so no one will see.”

You hadn’t realized just how much the day had gotten away from you and you had to admit, despite Eileen’s clear intention to prove something, you still had quite a bit of fun playing Gobstones. 

Severus nodded before closing his eyes and nudging to capture your lips. What initially was meant as a quick goodbye kiss turned into much longer need of desperate touch, your fingers entangled in his hair, his arms pressing your stomach into him. Your bodies molded with one another as Severus put all his appreciating for you into this one simple kiss. 

“I love you,” he whispered as you parted, lips lingering over one another.

“I love you too,” you replied, feeling absolutely no inclination to move a single muscle. You’d stay here forever, rotting in the faint odder you and Severus had yet to completely remove from your person if you could. 

You both stood there for quite a while before you reluctantly opened your eyes and lifted your head, Severus doing the same as you felt his grip on you loosen. You stepped away from him, running your fingers all along his arms before meeting with his palms. He let you slip through his fingers and stood there, watching as you gathered yourself before spinning on the spot, disappearing into thin air, leaving behind nothing but the echo of a loud crack. 

~

Next Chapter

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@dusk-realm @a-slytherin-sin @trashandshook @gbatesx @sneezy-s @emsdroid @leah-halliwell92 @dellightfullydeceitful @malfoymendes @sparklingkeylimepie @nameless-sovereign @living-in-margins @justanobodyinthisbigworld @soft-slytherin-sweetie @youtube4life10 @scarletmoon83 @fluffymadamina @sleepysnapesnake

[twokinkybeans]

Jar Of Dirt Chapter 7: Swiss  [Starker Fanfiction NSFW/18+]

Kink/Sexual Warnings: Sex Toys, Anal Penetration, Hand Jobs, Daddy Kink, Praise Kink, Humiliation, Subspace, Multiple Orgasms, Name-Calling. Other warnings: Tony's having anxious feelings about the events that went down in the last chapter.

All Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10 ... Masterpost (More to come!)

---

Chapter 7: Swiss The first thing Tony does when he wakes up the next morning is grabbing his phone and Peter’s AirPods to go through the security footage from last night. He knew something was off about the story Peter told him about kicking out a ‘random drunk dude’, but he hadn’t wanted to pry during the party. Peter’s still snoring softly and drooling on his pillow. Tony scoots closer, enjoying his warmth. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., show me all security footage that includes Peter from last night at triple speed.” He stares at the screen intently. Everything seems to be perfectly fine at first. Peter’s laughing, having fun and hanging out with his aunt and some of the Avengers. But a few minutes in, he spots him. “Real-life speed, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” he whispers and the recordings slow down. His heart thumps in his chest as he watches Beck walk up to his boyfriend with that smug grin on his lips. No. No, no, no. How did he even get into the Tower?  

His blood runs cold, and horrified, he listens to all the filth the man throws at Peter. The offer, the degrading comments about Peter’s motivation to be with Tony, the sexual insinuations. He sees how badly Peter’s trying to hold himself together, trying to stay in charge of the situation. He watches Peter force the man to the elevator and F.R.I.D.A.Y. switches shots. Tony’s jaw is clenched for the entirety of the time Peter and Beck spend in the elevator. Anxious for something to happen. "Ah…” Beck coos. “He hasn’t told you yet, has he?” Tony’s pretty sure he hasn’t blinked since Beck showed up in the footage, but now he feels the tears prick in the corners of his dried eyes. He dreads what’s coming next. What Peter is going to say. The elevator doors open and Peter remains unmoved. “Get out.” Tony closes his eyes, feeling a tear roll down his cheek. His breathing is shaky and his chest is tight. Peter’s in control. Not Beck. Quentin is not pulling the strings like he did when Tony was still with him. He sniffs once and bites the inside of his cheek, opening his eyes again to watch Beck step outside the elevator. “I’ll be looking forward to your pretty moans.” Beck laughs and walks towards the front door, blowing Peter a kiss. “Ruuffffff!”

Tony turns the screen off and lets his head hang back, taking a deep breath and removing the AirPods from his ears before turning towards Peter, sneaking an arm around his waist. Peter shifts, closer into the embrace in his sleep. Tony stares at the young man, so peacefully lying here in his arms. He can’t believe Beck came here. He can’t believe he had the guts to talk shit to his boyfriend. However, an immense surge of pride washes over him as well for how Peter told this man off. He handled it so well. Not letting the awful words get the better of him.

“You’re really living up to his perverted tendencies, aren’t ya?” Beck’s voice echoes in his mind. “Ruufffff!”  

Tony feels sick. Nauseous. He hasn’t seen the man in nearly a decade, and Tony doesn’t like how Beck still creeps under his skin, scaring him. Making him feel insecure and taken advantage of. He doesn’t like how the man’s voice makes him doubt everything. Is Beck right? Is Tony an old creep for being with Peter? No matter how much he loves having sex with him, it isn't about that at all. He loves Peter for who he is, even if they wouldn't get sexual. Is that still considered perverted?

-

At breakfast, Peter suddenly puts his spoon down and looks up at Tony. His eyes are so serious that it has Tony on edge instantly. “Tony?” Peter takes a deep breath. “You know that, uhm, I’m not with you for your money, right?”

Oh. Shit.

Tony bites down his lip and tries to keep the sudden surge of emotions under control. God. He’s such a wreck today. Peter had seemed rather unfazed by Beck’s tirade, but of course Tony should’ve known it would get to him more than he’d show. “Baby, of course I know that. Do you know just how hard it is to spoil you?” Tony speaks, trying to think about how to break it to him that he knows about Beck. He should just say it to him right out. “I watched the security footage this morning. I saw, uhm, Beck.” Peter’s expression falters. “You watched it, why?” “You’re bad at keeping secrets, kid,” Tony jokes, trying to keep the conversation as light-hearted as he can. He doesn’t want to drag the boy down into his inner mess. Peter scoffs. “I am not!” “Honey, you told me to try the whiskey I’d been drinking all night.” “Okay, maybe a little,” the boy confesses, his face a strange mixture between a goofy grin and the weight of the situation flashing across his eyes.

Tony realizes that this is the moment he should stop hiding. Peter is - funny enough - the most mature boyfriend he’s ever had. He has to tell Peter the whole story. He deserves it. “I’m very proud of you, Peter. For how you handled him.” “God. Mr. Stark. I wanted to punch him so bad.” “You did well, sweetie.” Tony takes a deep breath. “Beck’s manipulated me throughout our entire relationship. When I saw him walking towards you in the footage, I- I was scared.” “He’s an asshole.” “Took me a couple of years to realize that.” “Years?” Peter asks, carefully. Tony had shortly mentioned his exes before but he’s never elaborated on them. He always told Peter they should only focus on what they had going on right now. That that was the most important thing. “Even after he left I thought it was all my fault. You know?” Tony hates how unsteady his voice sounds, but he has to push through. Peter deserves to know the full story now. “Sometimes, I still think that. Of course, in hindsight I can see how abusive and toxic he was. He’s very manipulative; made me do things I didn’t want to do. When I said no, he’d push through or tell me he’d leave if I didn’t. When I finally told him what I liked, he ran off to the media to go public about it.” Tony looks down, almost reliving that moment. “I figured out what he was up to and could shut it down just in time.”

Peter slides off his chair and walks towards Tony, hugging him from behind tightly. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, Tony,” he whispers. “But he’s wrong about everything he said last night. I’m here. And I love you.” Tony closes his eyes, reaching up to pull Peter in closer. “He’s delusional,” the boy continues. “With the whole barking thing he did? As if I’m your dog or something like that.” Peter scoffs. Tony swallows at the hurtful stab in his chest. Oh, if only Peter knew. “Please, don’t let his comments get to you,” Peter says quietly. “You don’t have to tell me or try anything you’re not ready for. Once you are, I promise you I will stick with you,” Peter pauses. “Literally.” Tony’s surprised laugh fills the room. “You’re perfect, baby. Thank you.” “Mmmmh, you’re going to love me even more when I give you your birthday present!”

Tony had nearly forgotten about his birthday today and he breaks out into a grin. He would push away whatever happened with Beck last night, for now. “Oh, now you got me curious,” he grins. “Wait. Right here. I’ll get it for you!” The boy runs towards their bedroom and Tony shakes his head happily at the sudden enthusiasm. When he comes back, there’s a large-squared present in his lover’s hands. He pushes Tony’s breakfast aside and places the present in front of him. “Happy birthday, baby,” he whispers and Tony grins at the nickname, definitely not minding it. “I-I hope you like it.” “I like everything you give me.” Tony tugs the present a bit closer and sees there’s a note.

For the sweetest, quirkiest and most handsome man, I’ve ever met in my entire life. I love you. May this present bring us even closer. -X Peter

Tony slowly tears the bright red wrapping paper and once he takes it off, his jaw drops. There’s a stack of old records. Black Sabbath - of course, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, Rammstein, Adam Ant - Tony snickers at that one - God, that brings him back, Dead Moon, The Cramps- Oh! , Nine Inch Nails. “Pete,” Tony says breathlessly. “How’d you get these? This must’ve cost you a fortune!” He slowly shakes his head, eyes wide. Tony could snap his fingers and these records would be delivered right to his doorstep. Whatever this cost, to Peter it’s a lot. “Do you like it?” Peter leans on the counter, resting his head in his hands. His eyes gleam hopefully and Tony breaks into a smile. “Kid- this… I don’t know what to say.” “YES!” Peter jumps, startling Tony. “There’s only so many times I got you speechless, so I’m counting this as a win!” Tony laughs and moves to grab Peter’s hands. The boy turns to him and his bright smile has Tony’s heart flutter. “I- I can’t let you pay for these, kid.” “Shush!” Peter pouts like a child. “I didn’t spend every free second of last week on Craigslist for you to just throw money at me again. It’s a gift, Mr. Stark! Take it!” Tony raises his hand to caress the boy’s cheek. Peter instinctively closes his eyes and leans into Tony’s touch. "Besides," Peter smiles. "-your present is slightly self-indulging. I want to listen and dance to all of these together. Like I said on the note, these albums will bring us closer."

“That's an amazing idea," Tony whispers. "Still, let me give you something else too…” Tony mumbles. “Like what?” Peter mutters back, not opening his eyes. “Well!” Tony steps back and lets go of Peter suddenly, startling the boy. “Wait here.” “Mr. Sta-” Before Peter can protest, Tony makes his way behind the kitchen counter and grabs their Jar of Dirt from a cabinet. They’d hidden it for the party, but Peter’s dick twitches in his pants already, a slight Pavlovian response to seeing the jar again. Tony unscrews the lid and puts it on the counter, but instead of putting his hand in, he turns again, opening a drawer and taking out a folded piece of paper. Peter curiously watches Tony’s shenanigans as he sits down on the barstool, pushing away his bowl of now soggy cereal.

Tony grins and cocks his head. When he speaks again, it’s dramatic. Acted. Old-timey. Peter smiles. It’s funny. “Oh, I think it is time for us to get another piece of paper from the jar. Don’t you think so too? Peter?” The man leans in and gives Peter an over the top wink. Peter can’t help but laugh. This is silly. But he’s enjoying it. He loves seeing this side of Tony. When the older man stands up straight again, he presents the piece of folded paper he got out of the drawer and with a swift motion he brings his hand with the paper into the jar. He immediately pulls it out again, not even touching the other ones resting in it. “Now, would you look at that! We pulled out a whole, brand new kink for us to explore!” Peter hides his face in his hands, shaking his head, unable to stop smiling. Tony’s a dork. His dork. Fuck, he loves this man.

Tony presents the folded piece of paper to Peter in both hands, with a small bow, head bent down. Peter shakes his head again and takes the paper from Tony’s hands. “You’re unbelievable, Mr. Stark,” he chuckles. Tony stands up straight and proudly angles his chin up. “I aim to be.” He shifts again, holding a butler pose and nodding to Peter. “Now, if you would do us the honors of reading what’s on the paper?” Peter looks down at the note as he twists it between his fingers. He carefully opens it, occasionally glancing up to watch Tony’s expression. The man looks at Peter with wide, excited eyes. Peter can’t help but feel excited as well. Whatever Tony has planned, it must be good. He’s never been this hyped to try out one of his kinks before. Call it a breakthrough. Peter finally looks down at the piece of paper, his mouth dry with anticipation. However, he frowns when he reads the note.

Swissy.

“Um… Tony?” “Yeees?” Tony’s voice shifts in pitch as he answers. He’s nearly buzzing with excitement. “What’s… Swissy?” “Ah!” Tony exclaims, raising both hands above his head, palms aimed at the ceiling. “Boy, am I glad you asked.” Tony bends down, completely in his element, to open another cabinet door and out comes a black, square box about the size of a small picture frame. He places it on the counter, slowly pushing it towards Peter with a smirk. The boy eyes the box cautiously and he puts down the piece of paper. “Tony, it’s your birthday. I’m not taking any presents from you.” Tony stands up straight and cocks an eyebrow. “Trust me, sweet thing, when I say this going to be as much of a present to me as it is to you.” “How so?” Tony nods at the box. “Just open it.”

Peter slowly moves his hands towards the box, letting his fingers glide over the soft material. He catches Tony biting his lip from the corner of his eye and Peter’s breath hitches in his throat. God, this must be really good. It opens like a jewelry box, the padding inside holding a... Black cube? Peter stares at it for a little bit, trying to figure it out. Nothing about it seems to make sense, though. “...What am I looking at?” “Right!” Tony walks around the counter to stand next to Peter and he gestures at the box with one hand. “That-” he nods. “-is something I have been working on for a little bit.” “Okay, but what is it?” Peter has to look up, as he’s still sitting on the stool and Tony looks down at him, giving him a loving smile. “It’s a.. Toy.” Peter’s eyes go wide and Tony smiles triumphantly. “Or, I’d say the toy.” Peter licks his lips and he looks back at the matte black cube. “It’s a dildo, a vibe, a plug, yada, yada, anything I want it to be.” The way Tony enunciates the fact that he decides what the toy is, makes Peter shiver. “It’s basically a Swiss army knife, but, without the knives. Hence why I decided to endearingly call it the Swissy.” The older man chuckles darkly. ”We’re going to have a lot of fun with this.”

Peter turns to look Tony in the eye again and the billionaire could take his boy right then and there. The hungry look on Peter’s face is making Tony slightly dizzy. The older man shifts to stand behind Peter, who squirms in his seat. His hands rest on the boy’s shoulders, softly squeezing them, massaging them until they relax. Tony leans in and presses a feather kiss on Peter’s ear. The boy shivers under his touch and Tony smirks. “Go on, sweet boy. Take it out,” he whispers. Peter stares at the cube for a few seconds before carefully removing it out of the padding. He turns and twists it in his hands, studying it, trying to see anything distinguishable on it, while Tony continues to massage Peter’s neck and shoulders. Peter pulls a face. It’s still just a black cube with a rubbery texture.

“How does it work?” Peter asks quietly, a little dazed from Tony’s attention. Tony presses a soft kiss on top of Peter’s head and closes his eyes. He presses his fingers into Peter’s shoulders when he replies. “Squeeze it, love.” Goosebumps rise all over Peter’s body and he does as told, slightly squeezing the cube. Out of nowhere, lines light up, bright blue. Peter stares at it in awe. He sighs disappointed when Tony’s hands disappear from his shoulders so he can stand next to Peter again. He grabs his phone and unlocks it with a mischievous look on his face. “Hmm… What do I want you to try out first?” “You’re telling me you can control this thing with your phone?” “Oh yeah. Every time you’ll squeeze it, I get to choose what you’ll be playing with” Peter feels hot all over at the idea of Tony being in charge of him even at a distance. This is going to take their phone sex to a whole new level, shit. “Ah!” Tony exclaims and taps something on his phone. Peter gasps when the cube moves in his hands, within milliseconds, he’s holding a slightly arched dildo. Another tap from Tony on his screen and the toy starts to buzz. “Wow. Tony.” Peter chuckles. “You made this, for me?” “I sure did. Was worth all the extra lab hours for sure. You like it, kid?” “I- I do.”

Tony taps his phone again, and again, showing Peter everything that the toy - Swissy - can do. By the time all features, a whopping 27 of them, have been explained, Peter has a damp spot in his sweatpants. And it didn’t go unnoticed. Tony leans over Peter from behind, resting his head on his shoulder and creeping his arm around Peter’s waist. The young man jolts when Tony cups his hard on, his thumb rubbing slow circles. “Anything you’d like to try, boy?” Tony nibbles on Peter’s ear, causing him to whine and buck his hips in the hopes of gaining more friction against the billionaire’s hand. Peter nods slightly. “Y-yes, daddy,” he moans. “But- it’s your birthday. You pick.” Tony grins against Peter’s hair, his other hand finding its way under Peter’s shirt to slowly tweak his nipple. He increases the pressure on Peter’s dick and Peter screws his eyes shut, trying to hold back another whine. “Ohh,” Tony coos. “So good for me, Peter. Such a lovely, good boy.”

“Mhm,” is all Peter can muster up to say. He absentmindedly starts rolling his hips in the chair. Tony takes his hand off Peter’s nipple to grab his phone and change Swissy’s shape. Peter’s eyes are fixated on the toy in his hands and his lip quivers when he sees what it’s turned into. Tony then tugs on Peter’s dick through his sweats. “Get up,” he orders. Peter complies fast, nearly knocking over the stool on his way up. Tony immediately presses his own hard-on against Peter’s ass. “Take off that hoodie,” he growls. “Stop hiding your pretty body.” Tony’s free hand grabs the Swissy from Peter’s hands and the boy undresses swiftly, not wanting to waste a second. Tony caresses Peter’s soft, bare skin, leaving hot, wet kisses on his shoulder blades as he continues to tease Peter’s hard cock.

“Daddy-” Peter whimpers. “I know, baby, I know…” Tony coos lovingly. “Let me help with those pants. But first…” Tony pushes Peter over the counter with the hand that’s holding the Swissy. “Down, boy.” Peter shudders and obeys, feeling the cold, granite countertop sting his skin, making his nipples hard. Peter’s arms hang limp next to him and he angles his head sideways, whining when Tony lets go of his dick. Tony caresses every inch of Peter’s back, making his way down to the waistband of the sweatpants. He hooks his fingers in and starts pushing down, a surge of arousal shooting through him when he finds the boy isn’t wearing underwear. “Such a naughty boy,” Tony moans, squeezing Peter’s ass with one hand, making Peter whimper. “You knew you were going to get fucked again today, didn’t you? Even though I already destroyed your pretty, little hole yesterday?” Peter whines, closing his eyes. “Y-yes, daddy. I just need you so bad, feels so good- please touch me.” Tony kisses one of Peter’s buttcheeks and then stands up straight to give it a gentle, but hard smack. Peter jolts forward on the counter, an obscene moan echoing against the walls.

“Peter, Peter…” Tony looks down and rubs the spot he just hit with his palm. “I will only really touch you once you make it to the bed.” Peter frowns, unsure what it means, but then Tony’s fingers slide towards Peter’s crack. “Open wide.” Peter arches his back as far as he can, pushing his butt towards Tony and instinctively unclenching. “Good boy.” Tony contemplates opening Peter up first, but that would be against what he just said. Instead, he decides to immediately go for it and gently push in the Swissy. He knew it’d been a good idea to make the toy self-lubricating. Peter moans unsatisfied. The Swissy’s current shape isn’t very big, so it doesn’t exactly fill him up the way he’d want. Tony lets go of Peter completely, which leaves him feeling naked and alone. He senses the billionaire walks away from him and he opens his eyes to see only to find Tony standing in front of the bedroom door, phone in hand. He taps a few buttons and Peter’s cock jolts with arousal when the Swissy starts buzzing inside of him. Directly against his prostate. “OH!” Peter pushes himself into the counter with wide eyes and an opened mouth as he stares at Tony, who smirks mischievously. Peter’s eyes roll back in their sockets as he absentmindedly thrusts into nothing, feeling the vibrator buzz through his entire body. “Remember what I said, Peter.” Tony cocks an eyebrow. The boy opens his eyes, a pleading look on his face, but he does recall daddy’s words.

“I will only really touch you once you make it to the bed.”

Peter has to make his way to the bedroom by himself, knowing Tony will be ruthless. He’s still holding his phone, thumb at the ready and a dazed smile crawls onto Peter’s face. This man is unreal. Peter slowly scrambles upright, using his hands to find balance on the counter. The gentle buzzing shows no sign of slowing down and Peter takes a deep breath before letting go, so he can take his steps towards Tony. “Color?” Tony’s voice is distant, but present and goosebumps spread over Peter��s entire body. “Green,” he moans in reply. He realizes he shouldn’t have said that so soon, because suddenly the vibrator increases to an incredibly high setting and Peter gasps, locking up his joints and muscles. After a few seconds, Tony releases him and the boy stumbles, barely able to stand upright. The buzzing is gentle again. But never gone. When he manages to take two more small steps with his eyes shut, he is attacked with mind blowing pleasure yet again and this time his legs give in. He crashes to the ground, landing on his hands and knees and moans loudly as he arches, pushing his butt away from him, unable to get the friction he’s so desperately longing for..

“That feel good, boy?” “P-please-” Peter whimpers. “C-can’t move-” his body convulses when Tony brings the setting down for less than a second, almost immediately throwing it back up to even higher than it was before. Peter wails, precum dripping from his cock onto the floor as he tries to move forward. He knows Tony will never allow him to come on the floor like this. He has to get to the bed to find release. He has to. Tony dials it down again, enough for Peter to open his eyes slightly. Tony’s still at the door. Waiting for him. Peter puts his foot down on the floor, aiming to stand up, but when he tries to, Tony throws the vibrator back up once again. The boy is stuck on his knees, pressing his chin against his chest. He gasps for breath, head swimming with incoherent thoughts.

The billionaire brings the vibrations down again, but Peter knows better than to stand up now. There’s nothing more he wants in the world than to be in Tony’s arms now. To be touched by him. And Peter will only be able to get to him if he stays down. He’s going to have to crawl. God, this is humiliating, but fuck, does it feel good. Peter puts one hand in front of the other, slowly making his way over the dark tiled floor. Instead of heavy, short bursts, Tony increases the vibrations gradually. The closer Peter gets to daddy, the more pleasure he feels.

Tony is fighting himself on the inside. Cause, shit, his little slut looks so good for him. On his knees, crawling towards daddy. He never meant to put Peter in this position, but he can’t help himself. The boy is loving this, Tony can see it in his eyes. They’re both drunk with pleasure and lust. Tony relishes in the power he has over Peter. How perfectly the boy surrenders to him. He can’t wait for Peter to make it to the bed. Peter blinks fast as he makes his way to his daddy, his mouth dry from gasping and panting. When he nearly reaches Tony, he whines as the man walks into the bedroom instead of taking Peter’s stretched out hand. Tony leaves the door open and sits down on the side of the bed, patting Peter’s spot with an open palm. Smirking intently.

Peter could get there within a second if he could just collect himself. But… He’s not sure if he wants to. His leaking cock is leaving a trail of little drops on the floor and this it’s taking all of his willpower to keep himself together. And it feels so good to be on his knees for daddy. The look on Tony’s face tells Peter how much this turns the older man on. Skipping it because his spider powers could allow him to was out of the question. Peter continues his journey, occasionally having to pause when Tony decides to turn up the vibrations. There’s a sheen of sweat on his body and he smiles triumphantly when he reaches out and feels the sheets with his fingers. He made it. Peter crawls up the bed, whimpering as the toy moves inside him, his aching cock screaming at him to be touched. Tony’s undressed now, Peter doesn’t recall seeing him get out of his clothes, but then again, he was a little preoccupied.

“Well done, Peter,” Tony says with a smile. The boy drops himself face first into the pillows, gasping for air when the vibrations stick on a low setting. “Why don’t you turn on your back for me? I want to show you what you do to me.” Tony’s voice is deep, dripping arousal with each word. Peter complies and turns to his back, hands to his sides. Tony makes his way to sit on top of him, legs either side. He doesn’t sit down, though, leaving Peter untouched. The boy whines but Tony stops him by crashing their lips together in a heated kiss. Their mouths open and their tongues dance. Peter can still taste the orange Tony ate for breakfast on his lips.

Tony lets go suddenly and sits up straight again. His hand was already stroking his own cock, but now Peter can see it. Right in front of his face. Tony is jerking himself off. He still has his phone in his other hand and he sighs breathlessly. Tony groans as he throws his head back. “Can’t stop touching myself,” he growls. “You know whose fault that is?” When Peter wants to reply, Tony throws up the vibrations again, causing Peter to jolt involuntarily and buck his hips up. “M-Mine!” “That’s right, boy.” Tony sets the vibrations to a medium-high setting, watching Peter squirm under him, not finding any friction or release. All he can do is moan and pant and watch Tony’s hand pump his own shaft. “You are truly a sight, sweet slut.” Tony grins, rolling his hips mid-air, loving how Peter’s eyes are glued to his cock. The boy’s mouth is open and he twitches constantly, the vibrator teasing him non stop. “Bet you want me to fuck your face?” Peter’s eyes roll back and he nods frantically as he tries to thrust his hips up. “Yes, daddy, want your c-cock, need it. Fill me- please, anywhere!” Precum trickles down Tony’s dick at Peter’s words. “Fuck! No, you’re not getting me today-” he growls. “I already gave you the Swissy, you’re just gonna watch me now.” “W-watch-” Peter repeats mindlessly. He sounds out of it, and Tony moans. “That’s right, slut. You won’t be coming until I’m done.” Tony’s hand goes faster and faster, desperately trying to reach that sweet release. “Make me cum, Peter, use your words.”

Peter licks his lips. As much as he wants to look at Tony’s face right now, his eyes are stuck on the billionaire’s crotch. His dick is long, hard, thick and dripping precum and it must be throbbing and twitching in Tony’s hands just like Peter’s dick is throbbing and twitching against his abdomen and oh, god! “Fuck, daddy, look so hot on top of me-” Peter manages to get out. “Please, show your pretty slut your come, come all over me, daddy, cover me!” “SHIT!” Tony didn’t expect to last this short but Peter is so beautiful and his words are so filthy and Tony’s hand around his cock is pumping so fast and now he’s spilling his seed all over Peter’s upper body and face. The man jolts when he sees Peter open his mouth to try and catch some of it. The image is bored into Tony’s mind, knowing he’s going to use that exact memory to get off the coming week. That and the footage F.R.I.D.A.Y. takes of them. Peter knows about it. Agreed to it if he got to watch it too, yet he rarely asks for it.

Peter slurps obscenely, cleaning his lips with his tongue and innocently looking up at his daddy as he still twitches from the vibrator buzzing in his ass. Tony can barely hold himself up, so he leans down to kiss Peter. The boy moans when Tony starts licking his face, getting rid of his own cum with his tongue. “So good for me, Peter,” he groans as he sucks a hickey on Peter’s neck. “D-daddy-” the boy whines. Tony smiles. “Yes, sweetheart, I think it’s time for your reward.” He repositions himself slightly, shifting back so he can kneel between Peter’s legs. The boy’s thighs resting on his own, causing his pelvis to tilt forward just the right amount. Perfect for Tony to reach and feel wherever he wishes. “Hmmm, look how messy you are, sweetness.” Tony whispers, trailing his fingers through the cum staining on the boy’s chest. Dragging it along the taut, strong muscles. He doesn’t waste too much time teasing, Peter deserves to be touched. He curls his fingers around the base of Peter’s cock and starts pumping at dazzling speeds right away. “O-OH!” “How’s that feel, hmmm?” “D-Don’t stop. Mr. Stark. F-fuck!” The boy’s shaking underneath his touch, bucking his hips wildly at the slight overstimulation. He’s seen the boy reach his peak so often now that he knows that he’s just seconds away from coming. But Tony doesn’t stop. Instead, he reaches for the vibrator with his free hand, fucking Peter with it. Peter’s panting, gasping for air and when Tony angles the vibrator slightly up, a silent cry leaves the boy’s lips. His entire body arches, shuddering, when his come mingles with Tony’s on his chest. Then, he slumps down and rides through the rest of his high. Tony slows his movements down, but he’s not stopping entirely, leaving the boy a whimpering mess.

“Remember you told me how you can multiple times, baby?” Peter’s eyes widen. Fuck. Oh fuck. He chuckles breathlessly. Yes, yes he can come multiple times in a row. But his orgasms never hit him as hard when he’s alone. He’s so spent, so fucked-out already. Yet, his cock is still stirring in his lover’s warm grip. He feels embarrassed to admit, but yes, he does want to go at it again. “Gonna get the last drop out of your pretty cock, baby.” Tony growls, and slowly, very slowly, starts building up again. “Give it to me. Ask me for it, honey.” “Please, daddy!” “What’s that now?” “Please, can I come again?” The boy’s cheeks are flushed, hands gripping onto the headboard to steady himself when Tony drives the vibrator into him faster and faster. Little beads of sweat rise up to the boy’s chest, his body just taking whatever’s thrown at it. “Good boy, you make daddy so happy. Love watching your pretty face when you come.” “S-so close already!” “I know, daddy knows.” He lets go of Peter for a hot second - relishing in the whine that leaves his lover’s lips. He spits into his own hand and grips the boy’s hard cock again, making it more slick and pleasurable for Peter.

Peter whimpers when Tony touches him again, he’s so goddamn close. He doesn’t know how to speak anymore. Has lost control over all his movements. He just lets his body guide him. Lets Tony guide him. Pleasure rushes through his veins, burning all over his skin and making him shiver. “Come,” Tony’s voice hits him, hard. His body obeys, releasing yet another load of his come all over his abdomen, clenching around the vibrator which is still stimulating his prostate without pause. He’s trying to catch his breath, but Tony doesn’t give him time. His hands start speeding up again. Drawing another orgasm from him. And another. And another.

Peter feels how he’s slowly spacing out, completely overwhelmed and his Spidey-sense so thoroughly overstimulated that it gives in completely. There are colors everywhere around him. A rainbow surrounds him. Envelopes him. He’s lying on pink clouds. The experience makes him so bubbly and happy that he laughs, reaching out for the hues in front of him. “M-Mr. Stark. Do you see all these pretty colors? I-I…” Suddenly there’s a shiny blue light coming from the center of his vision and he gasps, trying to touch it. “Careful, kid,” comes Tony’s steadying voice and Peter groans, slowing down his movements. His fingers graze across something smooth and slightly cold, sending him another jolt of pleasure through his fingertips. Right next to the smooth surface, he feels something warmer. Softer. Tony’s skin. He loses himself in the sensations around him. The dancing colors, the encouraging words that he hears in the back of his head. Good boy, so pretty, so proud. His skin tingles and burns and everything just feels so perfect that it makes him want to cry. He’s vaguely aware of the dizzying sensation in his crotch, how it doesn’t seem to stop. He doesn’t want it to stop. Ever.

-

“Baby,” comes a soft, gentle voice out of nowhere. Peter blinks, trying to figure out where it’s coming from. “Right here, sweetness.” His eyes flutter open this time, and he groans when the bright daylight hits him. He feels so disoriented and he takes a deep breath. After a few seconds, he slowly starts to make out Tony’s face and he smiles, still very much dazed out. “Hi, Tony,” he slurs and giggles at the happy feeling in his chest. He moves and frowns, how did he get this sticky? Slowly, his memories seep back into his mind. The present Tony got for him. The crawling.

Oh.

“Peter, how are you feeling?” Tony’s voice is sweet and caring and Peter feels a deep satisfaction settle in his chest. “Incredible.” “You came so much, baby. You came eight times in a row, I’m so proud of you,” Tony whispers, cradling him from the side. Peter smiles, closing his eyes again and snuggling closer into the man’s chest. He’s still at a loss for words, but the impact of the situation is definitely dawning upon him. He just completely lost himself. His senses kicked into overdrive so hard that he’d hit more than just his subspace. Now that he thinks about it, he remembers everything. Not every second, but he does recall the things that went down. How Tony completely lost it as well, releasing himself all over Peter’s chest. It makes his eyes sting with tears. A few weeks ago, Tony’d been hiding himself. Now he asked Peter to watch. Deliberately showing off his pleasure. The pleasure Peter gave him. “I love you, Tony,” he speaks quietly, “-so much.” He can’t help the tears from actually spilling from his eyes now and he sniffs. Tony holds him closely. “I love you too, Peter. My sweet baby boy.” “Don’t let me go,” he pleads, “-please.” “I won’t. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

--- More: Chapter 8 Masterpost

[leiascully]

The Wong End of the Telescope

By @agirlcalledNarelle: submission for Angst fic exchange in Apr 2020. Prompt was ‘Mulder and Scully on the run angst’! Trigger warning: suicide reference, disordered eating. How did Mulder & Scully end up in the UH?

6,8K words. Here on AO3

Cotton candy pink grazed the tops of the darkened hills. It was the hour of magical thinking, when dreams fuse with reality and imaginary adventures are tethered once more by the earth’s physical laws. Scully pulled up at a trailer park, her eyes on the dirt track in front of her rather on the hills above. The energy of the hour moved around her like the parted Red Sea.  Mulder stirred beside her, stretching his arms over his head, and wiped spittle from the side of his mouth.

‘Where are we?’ His voice was hoarse from sleep. He looked at her in a daze, so boyish and trusting, having slept for the last seven hours. She wanted to reach over and stroke his warm, pink cheek, but instead she sat on her hands and stared outside.

‘Crockett, Texas.’

‘Why?’

‘Sun was coming up,’ she answered tersely. ‘It meets the criteria, and we’ve been on the go for over 12 hours.’

The sky was now a cloudless blue. Dry air promised a hot day ahead. Their last town had been in flat and endless prairie country. Scully had ached to see mountains, the hodgepodge of nature competing for survival, so she subconsciously delivered them to a town surrounded by hills in the neighbouring national park. She used to like arriving. She would enjoy discovering what made each town tick, uncovering their customs and values, until she realised every place was the same in that they would one day leave it behind.

The door to the trailer park reception opened and a dishevelled woman eyed them suspiciously.

‘We don’t open til 7,’ she called, her features distorted with annoyance. ‘Y’all will just have to wait til then.’

Scully looked at her watch: it was 6:55am. Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but Scully got there first.

‘That’s fine, we can wait. Thanks for letting us know.’ She attempted a smile, but it sat foreign on her lips. The woman said nothing and closed the door.

‘It’s only five minutes, Scully,’ Mulder muttered, kicking the gravel. ‘I’m sure she could have sprung us a key.’

‘What’s the point in drawing attention to ourselves?’ Scully replied sharply. ‘We just got here. I don’t want to have to leave before we’ve even had breakfast because you’ve gone and made yourself all memorable. We’re living by your rules, you know.’

Yesterday, she had returned to their trailer to find Mulder urgently packing the car. Gotta move, he had said. The Sheriff had come into the store where Mulder worked stacking shelves, and Mulder didn’t like the way he’d answered the Sheriff’s innocent questions. Felt there was too much room for scrutiny, and he got his feeling. The feeling when someone looked at them for too long or asked too many follow up questions. Before she’d had a chance to shower, they were leaving town.

At precisely 7am, the sign on the door of the lodge switched from Closed to Welcome! We’re open. Scully paid in cash for a week while Mulder sulked by the car. She left him to carry in the bags while she entered the stuffy trailer in search of the bed.

*

She found work a café off a main road which offered all-day breakfasts for the laborers, and milkshakes and relative privacy for the high schoolers. The first time Mulder had been a fugitive, the Lone Gunmen had set up a couple of bank accounts in different names for him to access. Now they were nearing the end of their second year on the run as a pair, and without the Gunmen’s help, they worked to supplement themselves. As Mulder liked to say, their opportunities dried up as quickly as the money in those accounts.

Ed, the manager, had thought Scully would be perfect for front of house. She preferred something along the lines of washing dishes and his expression revealed that it wasn’t the first time he’d received such a request. He’d looked her up and down and nodded slowly. Shift is 6am to 2pm, 6 days a week, Ed said daringly, you think you can handle that?

Scully filled up the sink on her first day when a boy entered, skinny, with mousy brown hair in need of a trim. He slipped an apron over his standard teen uniform of black jeans, band t-shirt and converse. She guessed he was 17, maybe 18 years old. He stopped still at the sight of her.

‘Who are you?’ His voice was both deep and weedy, still adjusting to itself.

‘Denise.’ Another of Mulder’s rules: keep the same initial. Easier to roll off your tongue. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Chet. I’m the morning waiter until 2pm, when Sasha’s in.’ He reached across her to wash his hands. It had been a while since someone other than Mulder has stood in such close proximity. Feeling crowded, she inhaled quickly and concentrated on tying her hair up. ‘You’re different to the last washer.’ Scully didn’t say anything. ‘You new in town? Did you just arrive?’

‘You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?’ Scully busied herself with the pots, and Chet took the hint. They didn’t talk for the rest of the shift.

‘Do you think it will work?’ Mulder asked when she returned 8 hours later, accompanied by the smell of cooking oil. The afternoon was caught under a bell jar, hot and still. Mulder was sprawled on the bed with newspapers spread in front of him, looking for any information that could potentially threaten them. Scully was sure that, should she ever ask him, he wouldn’t be able to articulate exactly what he was looking for.

‘It’s fine.’ She removed her shoes and sat on the end of the bed. Her feet were humming from the day’s work followed by the 3 mile walk back. ‘Same as that place in Burlington.’

‘Kansas?’

‘Sure.’ She crawled fully onto the bed and tucked her hand under the pillow, her back to Mulder.

‘Good. The more anonymous the better.’ Mulder pulled the papers from under her. ‘It looks like there are two local newspapers, but the most popular one here is USA Today.’

‘Well that’s a surprise.’

‘Whatever, Scully. I’m not doing this for fun.’ She felt him lie down next to her. The hairs on her back stood to attention, hoping he wouldn’t touch. The silence between them was a black hole, and Scully jumped right in.

‘I found work at a local motel. They’re renovating for Summer.’ Mulder said quietly after a few minutes.

‘Ok.’ Scully stayed on her side.

‘I stocked up at the store, so we don’t have to go for a little while. Do you want anything to eat?’

‘No.’ She closed her eyes against the daylight.

*

The mirror in the trailer was placed such that she could only see her shoulders up. Mulder had to crouch to see himself, and Scully very nearly had to stand on tiptoes. Before, this would have made her laugh.

Around her 40th birthday, she had gone through a phase of avoiding mirrors altogether, but now she studied her reflection with interest. Her pronounced clavicle snaked around the bottom of her neck like two thin arms buried under the skin threatening to strangle her. Feathery lines sat under her eyes from months of squinting at the road. Her cheekbones slid into shadowed gorges and levelled out to her soft chin, slack and furry with little hair. Freckles splattered like paint on a pale canvas. Grey dominated the natural auburn at her temples so that when she pulled her hair into a ponytail her mother’s face gazed back at her. The first time she saw the likeness she had gasped, remembering her father sitting next to her Christmas tree, little Emily asking to be set free in a wooden church. From then on, her hair was always down unless at work.

Mulder made her wear a baseball cap when she was out. If she dyed her hair, she was allowed to leave the cap at home. The idea of being anything other than a shade of red panicked her: this was her last thing. She was already hollowed out, a tinman pretending to have a heart. If she lost her hair colour, she felt she would finally rust over and be lost forever. What else did she have left?

*

Scully was scrubbing stubborn scrambled eggs from a large frying pan. The effort made her arm ache, and she felt slightly dizzy. Though they had shared fewer than 10 sentences since she started a week ago, she welcomed a break when Chet walked quickly into the kitchen.

‘Trade places with me,’ He said urgently. She looked at him properly for the first time. His head was ducked, chin covered in the duckling fluff of a teen too keen to prove his maturity. He was tall, she realised. She hadn’t realised how tall, given his movements were soft and quick. She wondered what his mother felt when she looked at him.

‘Why?’ She asked suspiciously. ‘I need to stay back here.’

‘Please, would you just do it for me?’ He pleaded. Scully scanned the room to see a table of girls laughing over their menus.

‘You want to avoid those girls?’

‘Something like that,’ Chet mumbled, cheeks flushed. Scully sighed and took the apron out of his hands, her palms sweaty with nerves. She took their order and found she had forgotten how to move her face. Her reactions felt too big, too staged. She tested her limits by taking another order from another girl sat by herself. When she returned to the kitchen, Chet had scrubbed off the remaining egg.

‘Thanks,’ he said gratefully. 

‘I’m not going to do it again,’ she snapped, snatching the brush from his hands. He left, and she leaned against the sink, hating herself for snapping. After almost three years on the run, her ability to make connections was off. She wrapped her right thumb and middle finger around her left wrist, measuring its circumference. Her wrist didn’t touch the fingers, and she was pleased when she could circle her wrist freely their grip. The bubbles in the sink crackled as they burst, slowly revealing a yellow glob of egg.

*

She would wake before Mulder to get to the café on time. He slept soundly, in a way he never could previously, on his back with an arm over his head. The conspiracy hadn’t been enough: he needed to be fully consumed by something, eaten, removed from life as he knew it, before he found peace.

He was enjoying his current line of work. She could tell because he once described the paint brush gliding like a toboggan, or by his swagger as he removed his t-shirt after a day of manual labour. Previously he was all about exposing the designs of others; now he was the creator. He was proud of himself. She had picked a hangnail on her pinkie, dry from constantly being in water, as he told her a tale about some wood and nails. Or it might have been shelves and a spirit level. She hadn’t listened too closely, knowing that whatever he found here would last only as long as he felt safe. Soon the time would come when his house of cards would fall.

*

‘What are you doing here, anyway, Ms Denise?’ Chet asked her. He was standing in the doorway, at a loose end. Rain kept the breakfast regulars away. Scully’s wet ponytail was plastered down her back and her soaked t-shirt stuck to her leggings. Her hipbones, sharp and round like pin heads, pressed against the sink as she leaned over, missing the usual padding of a dry t-shirt. They would bruise by the end of the day.

‘What do you mean?’ She asked flatly. With no customers, she kept busy by dismantling and cleaning the fat fryer.  

‘Just that.’ Chet helped her remove one of the baskets. ‘Why did y’all come to Crockett? To work in a café? What��s the story?’

‘No story. Just in need of a job.’

‘No story.’

‘Nope.’

‘You’re here just because you need a job. All on your lonesome.’

‘Yep.’ She popped the ‘p’ sound at the end.

‘My uncle had a friend who just turned up out of nowhere,’ Chet said. ‘Turns out he had two different families over in Louisiana. Weren’t long before he got sprung and had to go back. Now he’s awaiting trial for polygamy.’

‘So what?’ Her forehead suddenly prickled with sweat and she wiped it with her wrist. She met his gaze and held it in a silent threat.

‘Nothing’s never nothing, s’all I’m saying.’ Chet left to serve a customer, and Scully exhaled shakily. The oil mixed with the soap in the sink to create rainbows on the slimy surface. This kid was smart. A liability best kept to herself for now.

*

Scully ate an apple each morning as she meandered down the dirt roads to work, its crunch made louder by the darkness. She emptied her mind and savoured her surroundings, appreciating each ditch in the road, and the way a particular shrub resembled a sheep as she passed the ‘Welcome to Crockett!’ sign. Sporadic streetlights illuminated her solitary figure like the beacon of a lighthouse.

They had started out as crusaders, underdogs who would come out on top having prevented the end of the world. However, it was clear a few weeks in that without FBI resources, and the very real talents of the Gunmen, they were doomed to exist on the fringes of society, chasing wicker men. On their first night running she had told Mulder that she wouldn’t accept defeat if he didn’t, a memory that now makes her prickle with discomfort. That Scully is a high school student scribbling love hearts on her exercise books. That Scully doesn’t realise that unconditional love is actually anguish, pain, boredom, compromise, rage, sacrifice, not just sometimes but all the time until you’re so far in you can’t see where you stop and the other begins.

She used to feel like Mulder was the one holding the other end of the rope. But while they had been distracted buying cheap second-hand cars with high mileage, crossing state lines, eating store-bought sandwiches in the middle of the night, the rope had frayed and snapped. They each still had their end, but their futile attempts to mend it hurt so much that after a while, she just stopped trying.

*

‘Scully?’

My name, she thought idly as she swam from the depths of sleep. Not my never name, though. Not Dana. It’s my sometimes name. She tried to ignore it, but it repeated until she slowly became aware of her dull head, her dry mouth, of Mulder’s voice coaxing her back to him.

‘Mmmh?’ Forcing her eyes open, she saw Mulder sat on the bed. He didn’t touch her, she noted, and her shoulder shivered in the absence of his hand. The space in the trailer compacted with Mulder’s return. The walls closed in as he crossed the threshold and there wasn’t enough room for her.  She could see his mind humming with thoughts, but not knowing what they were, she would feel like an intruder.

‘You’re asleep again.’ He said with a hint of accusation.

‘Mmmh.’ She closed her eyes and sighed. If she was lucky, she could fall back to sleep quickly.

‘I’ve brought food.’

‘What?’

‘I’ve brought food.’

‘Oh. I ate at work.’

‘That was 6 hours ago.’ She opened her eyes again. It was 8pm already? ‘You were sleeping when I came home at 6, and it looks like you’ve not moved.’

‘I took a sandwich home with me,’ Scully lied. ‘You woke me when you left again, I ate then.’

He met her eyes and she realised she couldn’t remember the last time they’d properly looked at each other. His face was worn. She spied blue paint by his ear. He hadn’t shaved in a few days. Like her, he had flecks of grey around his hairline, and his eyes seemed smaller among the creases of his cheeks. But there was energy coursing behind his irises. He can handle this, she realised enviously. This lifestyle suited him.

She shrank as he studied her in return. He had always been interested in her mind, had always valued her level-headed scientific approach. She knew he had found her beautiful at some point, but his true love affair was with her intellect. She counted on the fact that he wouldn’t ever really see her. She liked feeling invisible. But now he had noticed what she saw when she looked at her reflection.

‘Are you eating enough?’ His question landed heavily in her stomach. She circled her left wrist with her right fingers and twisted, drawing confidence from the gap.

‘Yeah.’ She avoided his eyes.

‘Are you sure, Scully?’

‘I told you, I already ate.’

‘You look thin.’

Scully fluffed her pillows and lay back down again. ‘It’s just from being on my feet all day. And the walk there and back.’

‘Do you need a ride there each day? I can get up earlier. I don’t want you –’

‘I’m fine, Mulder. Please.’ She rolled away from him, not caring that she was still fully clothed. She felt sleep stalking her in the periphery and prostrated herself ready for it to snatch her.

*

The first rule Mulder created was that they avoid being in public together, the net result being a lot of alone time for her when her shift finished. She was to go home straight away. He would pick up their groceries on his way home, comfortable with his own vulnerability, but he resisted her attempts at independence beyond what was absolutely necessary.

Every day the trailer was oppressed by afternoon heat. The air refused to move so it felt like she was wading through blankets. She would sleep the afternoons away, passing out so heavily that she felt drugged when she awoke, limbs heavy, clinging on to unconsciousness as her senses fired up. More than once, she thought she was still in her Georgetown apartment, and it took a few minutes to remember. She would try to wake up before Mulder came home, but recently that was proving more challenging.

Her bones were dragging.

*

‘Can you trade with me again?’ Chet arrived at her elbow. She instinctively took a step back. ‘Please?’

‘I told you the last time,’ Scully replied, ‘no. I need to stay here.’

‘Please. I can’t go out there.’ He sounded so desperate that she sighed and scanned the restaurant for the table of girls.

‘I don’t see those girls here,’ she said.

‘That group of girls? With the headbands and the lettermen?’ Chet scoffed. ‘No, not them.’

‘Then who?’ Curious, Scully couldn’t help but look again. She saw in the corner a small girl with brown hair to her shoulders reading a book. ‘That girl over there?’

Chet backed away, his cheeks blushing

‘Yeah,’ he sighed. ‘Amanda Jones.’

‘She seems nice?’ Scully asked, unsure of what to say.

‘She is nice.’ He ran his hands over his hair. ‘She’s super smart, and she really thinks about things. She’s not one of those girls you saw the other day…’

‘Those other girls don’t think?’ Scully bristled at Chet’s casual dismissal.

‘I don’t know if they do or not. But they’re not very nice.’ He paused, looking out at Amanda. ‘Please. I can’t go out there.’

Scully sized him up before holding her hand out for his apron. She remembered how teenage love teetered between affirming and soul destroying. The girl looked up and ordered a coffee with such self-possession that even Scully had to admit she was impressed.

*

Dana pulled up outside her mother’s dark house. It was 7pm and she was expected for dinner, but she was met with silence. Her mother’s purse was on the hall table. Shopping sat on the kitchen counters. There was a sweet, fermented smell of rotting fruit.

Professional instincts kicking in, she drew her weapon and checked downstairs before making her way upstairs.  Her mom was on the bathroom floor, eyes closed and congealed blood at her temple.

‘Mom!’ Dana cried as she kneeled beside her. She patted her mother’s cheek urgently, and Maggie’s eyelids fluttered open. Relief washed over Dana and her arms shook as she moved.

‘Dana….’ Maggie whispered. ‘I fell….’

‘Mom, I’m gonna help you,’ Dana was unable to stop her voice from wavering. She held a damp washcloth against the side of her mother’s head. ‘When did this happen?’

‘Two days ago maybe… or three…I’m not really sure.’ Scully held a second wet, clean cloth to her mom’s lips for her to suck. ‘I couldn’t get to the phone….  I’ve been here for such a long time.’

Maggie closed her eyes and went limp. Dana felt her mother’s pulse weaken, and she screamed.

Scully sat bolt upright, throat wheezing as she desperately sucked in air. She panted, sweat rolling down her back as she held her hands out to orient herself. There was the bedside table. There was the side of the bed. There was Mulder, his strong back to her, snoring. Her mother was back at home, and Scully had to believe she was alive and well.

She slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Mulder, and sat on the steps outside. It was warm enough to sit in her t-shirt. She put her arms around her knees and lit a cigarette. She struggled to sleep past 2am these days.

Some nights she would reach around Mulder to wake him with her hands. She would take him in her mouth, and he would push her head until she gagged. Their bodies grew slippery together, and she would dig her nails into his back to gain traction as she sat on him, feeling him plunge into the cavernous depths of her. She would cry his name – his real name - in her throaty voice, the black night their only witness. It was always quick, vicious, and she rarely had her turn although she didn’t want that. She wanted to be entered, to be filled up. They wouldn’t speak after, but the next day there would be a new charge in the current between them which almost made the situation almost bearable.

Most nights, however, she would simply sit outside and smoke. She savoured her secret cigarettes, this tasty rebellion. The orange glow soared through the air like a grown-up sparkler.

The expanse of the stars made her mind spin as she gazed upwards. She remembered her childhood astronomy, spotting the Big Dipper and the Big Bear. She heard her father’s commentary. In these moments, Scully wondered if she was even really there. She might blow away on the wind’s currents, floating higher and higher until she was as far away as the stars. She felt like she was looking at life through the wrong end of the telescope.

*

The day in May came, around which all others moved, and she dragged herself to the café when all her instincts told her to stay in bed and spend the day remembering his gummy smile and the sound of his cry.

The day before, she had eyed a bottle of whiskey as she replenished her clandestine cigarettes on her way home but had ultimately decided against it. Throughout the years they had both tried to escape this day via alcohol. For her, it resulted shame and hazy memories of tear-soaked grief, Mulder’s clumsy hands holding her hair back as she vomited, raging against his strength as he tried to contain her. On his part, he turned inwards, growing snarky, mean and morose. He channelled his energy towards the cruellest insults which swirled in her head for months after. You call yourself a mother? You give him up and then claim to be a mother? You’re a selfish bitch, Scully, that’s what you are, and you have to live with that for the rest of your life.

At the café, she saw Chet hanging around her sink. Her heart sank when he smiled as she approached. She wasn’t sure she could handle him today.

‘Ms Denise!’ He greeted her enthusiastically. ‘I have news.’

Scully said nothing and turned the tap on. Chet wasn’t put off by her indifference, having worked with her for 7 weeks now and seen little else.

‘I was riding home from work yesterday and I saw Amanda had a puncture,’ his thin, reticulin fingers gesticulated as spoke, ‘so I helped her fix it, and we walked home together and had the best conversation. Turns out she’s reading '1984’, which is my favourite book. We both think it’s so clever, you know, how they reduce thought by altering language. Kinda like what’s going on now, all this war on terror talk. You know what I mean?’ He laughed to himself. ‘Man, I can’t believe she actually spoke to me.’

Scully shook her head slightly to refocus. She was bothered by something he said.

‘You love '1984’?’ She asked, looking directly at him. He had shaved his fluff but kept a small, patchy moustache on his baby face. His hair had greasy roots, and she wanted to tell him to take a shower. He was clean and musty at the same time. ‘How old are you, Chet?’

‘I’m 19. I’ll be 20 in October.’

‘Why aren’t you in college?’ She asked sharply. He raised his eyebrows cynically.

‘College? What college am I going to go to?’ He replied, voice squeaking. ‘You’ve seen this town, there’s no college here.’

‘You’re a smart guy.’ Scully seethed at the waste of his potential. ‘There are colleges nearby, with scholarships –‘

‘No, I’m just gonna work here, get some money behind me,’ Chet interrupted. ‘I’ve been talking to Ed, maybe one day I can take over this place.’

‘Chet, you can have bigger dreams than the local café for the next forty years,’ Scully was desperate to make this boy see the world was bigger than this. ‘You can do whatever you want.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘No, I can’t. I’m not that guy.’

‘Chet….’ She saw his face harden.

‘Anyway, what about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘What all are your dreams, why are you lecturing me about mine?’ His voice was raised, and Scully’s heart ticked like a metronome on the highest setting. She stepped back from the sink. This was too much attention. ‘You’re hiding something. You don’t wash your hands like a normal person. I reckon a doctor, or surgeon, someone who has to keep clean. And then there’s that cornfed guy working at the motel on the other side of town. Funny how he pops up same week as you, same accent as you, yet you don’t know nothing about anything. So who are you really, Ms Denise?’

He reeled, surprised at his outburst. Scully blinked back tears, her hands shaking as adrenaline bled through her. He reminded her so much of Mulder: observant, passionate, gentle, and he had her number. Yet this wasn’t her mini-Mulder. He was elsewhere celebrating this day with strangers, and she was in a kitchen in small town Texas. She heard waves crash in her ears.

‘I’m nothing,’ she muttered, and pushed past Chet. ‘Excuse me, I’m not feeling well.’

He called her name as she ran out the back door and threw up beside the bins. It felt good. Chunks of apple, half dissolved by acid, lay at her feet, and her teeth chattered. Chet appeared with a glass of water which she took gratefully. Her stomach churned as the water hit, but it stayed down.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. He stood next to her, unsure of what to do. ‘Today is a hard day.’

‘I can tell Ed you’re not well,’ Chet said awkwardly. ‘You should go… I can handle it today.’

It was mid-morning by the time she turned down the dirt road towards the trailer park. Mulder would have just left for work, and she wanted to crawl in bed and close off the day. She wasn’t sure what four-year olds were even like: she had a vague recollection of Matthew being into trains. She couldn’t imagine his hair colour, what his voice sounded like, whether he could count to twenty, or if he could do puzzles. She had no idea, and her ignorance of rudimentary childhood development made her feel worse.

On a whim, she ignored her thirst and walked past the trailer park entrance to the natural bushland at the end of the road, lured by the refreshing shades of green. The ground was covered in grass, with natural tracks running between the trees. Leaves and sticks scraped her ankles as she walked, and she soon found herself deep within the bushland, with only the track behind her for navigation.

She walked until her shin bones ached. Suddenly the path dropped away. The cliff was 40 feet or so and framed by the overhanging branches from the nearby trees. A creek ran through the lush valley at the base of the cliff. It looked so quiet, so unspoiled. She crept closer to the drop and looked down to see rocks directly below her. Standing tall, the breeze blew temptingly across her face and her toes crept over the edge. Then the balls of her feet. Her weight shift to her heels. She knew if she closed her eyes, her balance would falter, and who knew which way she would fall? The risk appealed. She felt dizzy. Reckless. Her hands opened by her side, her fingers stretching downwards to feel the breeze on her palms. She imagined feeling weightless.

A rustle next to her made her jump back, her natural instinct to survive proving to be stronger than her desperation to for everything to stop. She fell as she retreated, landing hard on her coccyx. The pain brought tears to her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she heard herself cry. Her chest heaved twice, three times, as she inhaled to support more sobs. Pain dripped like mercury from her fingers. She gripped her hair by its roots and let out a huge scream which echoed around the valley as her rage tumbled out. It was a relief to finally feel something. A fox squirrel shot out from under the scrubland and stood still, eyeing her as she wept. It tilted its head and ran up a tree trunk. Her right fingers wrapped around her left wrist, and she twisted her wrist in the gap. Tears splashed on the rocks beside her.

*

When she got back to the motel, Scully stayed away from the bedroom. She drank three glasses of cold water and took her towel to lie on the grass outside of the trailer, enjoying the solid ground beneath her shoulder blades. Studying the leaves above her, she realised that she still had choices. She could decide things. She could identify her limits, but it came down to how much she was prepared to fight for herself. She was a hologram of the person she used to be, and she wondered if she even had the strength to stand up. Eventually she was lulled to sleep by the rhythmic lullaby of leaves in the breeze.

She woke when Mulder pulled up. Her sleep had been light, leaving her unusually refreshed. The importance of the day crashed on her chest once more, but she recognised a very, very slight shift in perspective: today could be about more than grief. What should I do with this, she wondered.

‘Scully?’ He approached her with caution, wearing his own memories of this day on his face. ‘What are you doing out here?’

‘It’s a nice day.’ She folded her towel and stood. ‘I just wanted to be outside.’

That evening, they sat outside with a beer to toast their son. They talked, though not about William. He was interested in her trip to the bushland. She told him about the sound the trees made, and the squirrel, but not how the whispers of the breeze had dared her to see if she really was immortal.

*

She had grown used to the smell of old cooking oil and grease. It seeped into her skin and her hair. Having been there for two and a half months, it smelled as much like home as anywhere had. Half-way through her shift one Tuesday morning, she asked for a plate of scrambled eggs, which the chef handed to her in surprise. Out back, past the bins, she found Chet on his break, and sat wordlessly beside him.

‘You taking a break today?’ He asked incredulously. ‘You never take a break.’

They had reached a truce after William’s birthday: he chewed her ear off about whatever he wanted, and she offered sparse but pertinent advice. Each day, he brought her some new piece of information about the youth of the town, and she found herself invested in spite of herself.

‘First time for everything,’ she replied, hoping she sounded light, carefree. The fork was awkward in her right hand, plate balanced on her lap. The eggs were yellow and solid; she sliced into them with the side of her fork. They felt like stones clogging her throat. Her mouth salivated as she ate. Scully tried to ignore how heavy the food felt inside her stomach and cleared her throat nervously. ‘Can I eat with you tomorrow too?’

‘Sure thing, Ms Denise.’ Chet balled up the paper from his bacon sandwich. ‘You don’t have to ask.’

She managed half her plate, and fought against the itch in her fingers, the urge to lock herself in the bathroom afterwards.

That afternoon, as she was leaving the Mom and Pop store, Chet and Amanda cycled past. He was in front, and he said something which made her throw her head back in laughter, her hair trailing behind like a mermaid. Scully felt a spark in her chest: a tiny flame, a burst of energy. She drew warmth from its glow.

*

They started to spend the warm evenings outside together, the fog between them slowly dissipating. She told Mulder about the legend of the Ozark Howler, a cat-like creature with horns and glowing eyes. It was said to be found in the Ozarks but there were sightings as far reaching as Texas too. Mulder’s core ignited with new folklore, curling himself towards her in his plastic chair. She presented tidbits of information to him like proud child. They found themselves in a discussion of whether it’s realistic for one cat-like creature to cover so much geography, or if it meant a growing species, and whether that contributed to or undermined its veracity. His eyes narrowed when he learned that Chet had told her about it. Careful Scully, his tone immediately changing, you don’t want to get too close. Keep your distance. She had smiled thinly, ruffled his hair, and walked back inside before he could see her tears because, for just a minute, she had forgotten and they had felt like a normal couple again.

*

‘Mulder?’ Scully approached Mulder as he lay on the couch in the tiny living room reading the papers. Three months in and she could see he was starting to twitch. It wouldn’t be long until he wanted to up sticks, and she wanted to get in first.

‘What’s up, doc?’ He smiled. She sat next to him and pressed her knees together. She had recently bought some dye to patch over her grey hairs. Her cheeks were starting to fill out with her daily plate of eggs, though she still couldn’t consider anything more solid without her palms sweating. She noticed he had started to look at her differently: he had stopped looking through her, and she felt herself take up more space.

‘Mulder…..’ She sighed and looked at the floor. ‘Mulder, I need to go home.’ She glanced up and saw shock, fear, pass over his face.

‘Go home?’ he repeated dumbly. ‘Scully, I can’t…. you know what waits for me there.’

Scully closed her eyes, not wanting to remember Mulder’s sentence: death by lethal injection. The danger had always been real, but somewhere along the way she had lost the sense of it as she had lost herself. With this request, she had to face it once more.

‘There must be a way,’ she said, her voice shaky. ‘Please. It’s… I’m …. I’m not doing well. I’m… vanishing.’

‘I know that Scully,’ he said in his crinkly voice that reached into the dark shadows of her. ‘I see you. I think you’re right, I think you may have reached the end of this road. But what choice do I have?’

‘There must be a way,’ she repeated, the lump in her throat making her voice thin and tight. ‘We can email Skinner. I don’t want to leave you. I hate the thought you being by yourself.’ She paused to compose herself and reached for his hand. ‘You’re good at this life. You know how to duck and weave. The threat gives you energy, purpose, as it always has. I see you too, you know.’

 ‘You’re my gal. You’ve always seen all of me.’ He kissed her knuckles. ‘I know you’re struggling. I don’t know the last time I saw you eat more than a banana. I wake in the night and you’re not there.’ She stiffened but made herself stay in the conversation. It was the first honest talk they’d had in months.  ‘But can you give me some time? Just a little. Please, Scully. Let me get my head around it some more.’

‘Mulder….. There’s Matthew. My Mom.’ She hiccupped the last word, and to her frustration, started to cry, releasing the pressure in her chest. She wiped her eyes. ‘I mean, what is our plan here, exactly? Wait for an apocalypse that we’re powerless to stop? Well, I don’t want to welcome that one without my family. Or maybe it doesn’t happen, and we run for the next 20 years. Or do we draw the line at 30 years? And what happens if you fall from a ladder, or even just get tonsillitis?’

They sat in silence. Mulder had abandoned the newspaper, and Scully circled her wrist. There was still a sizeable gap and her satisfaction at this quickly turned to guilt.   

‘Ok, Scully.’ Mulder said finally, exhaling heavily. ‘Let’s email Skinner. See if there are options.’

*

That Sunday they drove two hours out of town to a random internet café. Mulder set up an email account and then they sent Skinner a cryptic message. Mulder drove three hours in the opposite direction two days later to see his reply, and he didn’t let Scully come. Too conspicuous for both of them to miss a day of work, he’d reasoned. Scully had wanted to throw her coffee mug at the wall in frustration.

They hadn’t spent more than a work shift apart since 2002, and Scully was bereft as she waited. She dropped a stack of plates at work, and spent the afternoon peeking out of the trailer window at the sound of every car rumble. It felt like snakes had taken up residence in her stomach.

She was sat the small table in the kitchen when he returned, a plate of celery, carrots and hummus in front of her. She cried out with relief as she heard the car pull up and ran to hug him as he exited the car. His sweater was soft, and she remembered how solid she felt when her body locked against his.

Once inside, he handed her a printout from the now deleted email account. Scully scanned it, seeing words like pardon, obstruction of justice, requalification, but her mind raced over the email before she could comprehend its meaning. She looked at him expectantly.  

‘It looks like there’s a shot,’ Mulder said nervously, rubbing his palms together. ‘A long shot. Skinner thinks he could get any potential charges against you dropped as long as I continue to lay low. But he thinks there’s a possibility for us both to return.’

‘And we’d be together?’

‘Yes. We could be together.’ He finally slipped a smile. ‘I may not see daylight for the foreseeable future, so I hope you like the anaemic vampiric look.’

Scully covered her face with her hands and pushed all the air out of her lungs. Her fingers were hot, and her head tingled. She laughed, feeling a little light-headed and hysterical. She pictured her Mom’s face and the laugher turned to loud sobs of relief. Mulder kissed her head and held her tightly while she calmed. The energy in his eyes had already been replaced with fear, and she realised the price of the choice he had just made for her. For them.

‘Pack your things Scully,’ He started pulling their bags from the cupboard. ‘We gotta move.’

[pi-cat000]

MSA: Winged Arthur AU (part 11)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Part 12: here

.

Vivi takes a second to think, giving him another concerned glance and he realises he’s let his smile waver.

“Okay, I’ll start.” She stops combing through the feathers, moving the hand to rub her chin, “First, I want to just say that, before everything went sideways, I remember being parked by the side of the motorway for van repairs. What happened to waking me up once you were finished, huh? It was definitely my turn to drive.”

A stern look follows.

Arthur winces, “Ah, sorry, I forgot.” Which was true. He had completely spaced, being too preoccupied with updating his ‘Lewis search map.’ He didn’t get many opportunities to do that. Not when doing so in front of Vivi invited a stream of unanswerable questions.

“Right, well, we’ll talk about that later. So, I pretty much woke up with the worst headache of my life to discover that we’d crashed into the side of Kingsman Mechanics. Not a great thing to wake up to.”

“Obviously, I searched for you first but didn’t see you anywhere. Then this lady with white hair, blue skin, and a tree growing out the top of her head, came strolling up. She was pretty cool…right up until she pulled out a giant pair of garden sheers and tried to chop Mystery’s head off. That wasn’t as cool.”

Vivi lapses into silence, frowning. “I whacked her with my bat, which pissed her off a lot. Her eyes did this crazy red flashy thing. I froze up and got sliced across the shoulder. I would have died…I almost did die.” She reaches up to massage her shoulder. 

“If Mystery hadn’t been here...”

Arthur props himself up on his metal arm, about to reach out, but Vivi continues on before he can comment, “And Mystery turned into a huge multi-tailed Kitsune, it was…surprising. He saved me. He also got hurt saving me…” 

The memory is obviously causing some distress and Arthur quickly searches around for a distraction.

“You know,” He starts, “I think I ran over a tree-lady holding a set of giant clippers resembling those tiny scissors your grandma uses on her bonsai collection. She smashed through the front window of the van.” With everything else, he’d completely forgotten about that little tidbit of information.

“A bonsai? I guess, now you mention it, she did look a bit like a bonsai,” Vivi perks up at the new information, “What else did you see?”

He shrugs, “Not much, I crashed the van right after that.”

Perfect. That phrasing implied the crash was caused by the tree-lady and not Lewis’s wacky ghost truck. He has no idea where he is in his relationship with Lewis, but Vivi’s pretty much a blank slate, and it feels wrong to sour things for her right off the bat. And he didn’t even need to lie to do it. Omissions weren’t real lies...

Vivi shakes her head, absently running her hand along a feather, before speaking with renewed determination, “They fought, Mystery and the tree-lady that is, it caused all that destruction in your junkyard. I hope he’s okay.”

“I mean, I’m annoyed that Mystery’s been pretending to be a dog for, like, ever, but he still saved me, and he was really hurt.” Vivi hesitates to glare off into the middle distance, “I wonder if my dad knew. I bet he did." She mutters the last sentence, sounding more irritated now. “I knew there was something weird about Mystery. I knew it. He’s way too old to be a regular dog.”

While Vivi goes off on a tangent, Arthur’s attention drifts down to rest, unbidden, on his metal arm. He doesn’t remember how he lost it, having only a vague notion of pain, terror and deep, all-consuming darkness. Just enough fuel for a few years’ worth of nightmares. Any real memory is gone, lost along with everything else concerning that night.

A Kitsune is a multi-tailed fox. The doctors had said that the bites on his shoulder resembled those of a 'larger than normal canid.' A wolf had been the running theory up until this point. His stomach turns, churning in discomfort. Across his back, the wings twitch in visible distress, pulling Vivi from her muttering.

“Okay…” She once again massages her shoulder with the hand not smoothing down feathers. However, her voice is now lighter and less burdened, “That was me. Your turn. How about you explain just how you came across these flappy guys.”

He wishes it were that easy. Arthur exhales, glancing over at the wing in her lap, stalling. He can’t tell if the feathers are coloured grey or just coated in a lot of dust and dirt.

“I think we’ve already covered most of it. I kind of woke up with them. Uh, when they glow gold I feel weightless?" He offers.

“They don’t hurt at all? Do you remember growing them?”

“Only when they get caught on things, and no, they just appeared.”

“And nothing else of note happened at all,” Vivi asks, blatantly curious. The undertone of enquiry causes Arthur to pause and re-evaluate. Is she probing for information? That was her ‘Arthur, you better be telling me the truth or so help me’ voice.

“No,” He answers slowly, wondering what exactly she’s searching for, “As soon as I could, I came searching for you. The rest you know….”

Arthur’s ready to go back to thinking about Mystery and arm removal now. He’d rather envision traumatic nightmare fuel than inform Vivi that the man she can’t remember loving had almost murdered him. He can’t do that.

Instead of answering, he focuses intently on rearranging the wings. This time, he doesn’t bother with muscles, picking the limp limbs up with his hands and physically moving them. Vivi lets him fuss, watching as he tries to sit upright and position feathers in a way that gives himself room to move without accidentally sitting on them.

“If that’s everything, then how did you get that,” Vivi points suddenly at his chest and Arthur immediately regrets sitting up. She is gesturing at the circular stain and ripped material above his stomach. It is a stain he has been trying very hard not to think about. Around him, the wings draw in, cocooning around his arms and torso to form a wall, separating him from her probing eyes.

Vivi continues, “…And there is an identical stain on your back.”

“An injury from the van crash,” He responds quickly. Too quickly.

“It looks like something has pierced straight through your torso. It’s too big to be something from the van.”

“Heh, funny, but that’s impossible, though.”

“You healed my probably fatal stab wound in under a second…What's to say you couldn't have done something similar for yourself.”

Arthur flinches. Subconsciously, his wings tighten further to hide the stain entirely from view. “The van crash was pretty serious, and I hit my head. I probably forgot or something. It’s healed. Why does it matter?”

“Where did those burns come from,” Vivi asks anew, eyes narrowing this time. The air vacates his lungs. She knows. Somehow, she knows about ghost-Lewis. Maybe she doesn’t know the whole story, but she has definitely seen his fiery-ghost form. When? How? While he was unconscious? Probably. He still doesn’t know how long he was out for.

“They’re from the crash,” He grits his teeth, realising he just dug himself a hole from which there is no escape. All he can do is hope he is mistaken. Please. Vivi can’t find out about Lewis like this. She is stubborn, overly protective, and this would definitely hurt Lewis’s chance at reconciliation and maybe restoring Vivi’s memories.

Vivi crosses her arms, “You’re lying.”

The statement is a fact. Arthur can’t say much in his defence, so he opts for stubborn silence. He hunches over, wings bristling, betraying his thoughts on the matter.

“Why are you lying? Arthur?” Vivi’s tone transitions to more strained, last vestiges of humour disappearing.

“Don’t do this. Not again. Please,” Her enthusiasm for supernatural theorising fades to be replaced with worry. He winces, deflating. Back when he had first lost his arm, there had been a lot injury downplaying on his part. It had caused serval fights over his wellbeing or lack thereof.

“This isn’t like that…I’m fine. I’m actually better than fine.” He’d found Lewis. Sure, the situation was less than ideal, maybe even terrible, but at least he’d found him.

Vivi searches his features, eyes darting across his face. Arthur wishes the wings would calm down in their twitching and stop giving away how agitated he was.

“Okay, I believe you. We’ll go with ‘fine,’ for now,” Vivi nods slowly, but she has got that sharp look about her and Arthur gets the sinking sense that he’s about to get called out on his bullshit.

“I just have one question. Is the source of those burns a wraith who just happens to go by the name of Lewis?”

.

Note: Vivi’s having none of it. This conversation gave me a bit of grief so I hope it came out all right. 

Part 12: here

[whiskynottea]

Death Dreams

1. Help me, 2. Wide Awake, 3. Not Yet, 4. Five Years, 5. Angel-Forest-Train, 6. You want to hear more, 7. Six Months, 8. Guilt, 9. Distorted thoughts 10. A Bad Day 11. Marks and Blemishes

AO3

This is the last chapter of Death Dreams. This story started as a one-shot, but your love made it a multi-chapter and I want to thank you for this. Thank you for reading, for your comments and reblogs, for your anons and dms. This story is special to me, and I hope I did it justice.

Roots and Dandelions

Jamie opened his eyes, welcoming the soft daylight that filled the room in a languid pace, and he revelled in the soft strokes of sunlight colouring Claire’s ivory skin a few inches away. He moved closer and buried his head below the mass of her curls, nuzzling the nape of her neck. She was smooth and soft under his lips. He kissed her shoulder, then breathed her in, the vanilla and lemon of her scent curling his lips up until a wide smile spread on his face.

He was still surprised to find feelings rushing out of him.

Joy, happiness. To smile without an effort, just because elation wells up inside you and you need to let it out, to free it to the skies. As if emotions were never yours; they belonged to the world and you had been a part of it, needed as much as a dandelion scattering its seeds in the air, or a tree taking root deep in the earth.

Jamie left Claire nestled between the quilts, sleeping peacefully in their bedroom. For so many months, she used to wake up in an instant when she felt him move out of the bed -- but not anymore. She was calm now, her brow free of the deep wrinkles his behavior used to carve between her eyebrows. Jamie stopped on his way to the kitchen and turned his head back to look at her, to reassure himself she wasn’t a faerie that would suddenly disappear.

No. Faeries don’t have scars or wrinkles of pain. They don’t go to battle, they don’t fight. They don’t frantically dig the earth with their bare hands to bring lost people back into the light. But Claire had done this. She had kept pushing her fingers into the soil, scraping and scooping up dirt, even when it was futile and quicksand had buried her efforts, covering her progress under a smooth surface. She had kept quarrying until the skin on her knuckles broke and blood ran, red and menacing against the paling white of her hands. She had continued, until the strain was carved on her forehead, lines that would never disappear. But she had reached deep enough for him to hear her heart beating for both of them. A beautiful, clear sound. The signal to bring him back, the only sound that reached him underground, in the vast darkness he had inhabited. She had shown him the way, and he had found her through the pain and despair. He found the light, and she had ended up with scars enough for a lifetime.

Jamie filled the kettle with water and opened the cabinet, searching for tea. A memory came, uninvited, and he smiled at the reminiscence of teasing Claire about tea when she had moved into his apartment, their first home.

English tea? Were they out of Scottish tea, Sassenach? Or are ye trying to invade my pure Scottish home wi’ yer subtle yet despicable tea schemes?

She had looked at him wide-eyed like a doe at first, but a moment later she’d lifted an eyebrow, ready for a retort.

The kettle went silent and Jamie blinked as he looked around, surprised not to find Claire’s whisky eyes in front of him in their old, tiny kitchen, crammed with pans and pots. He steeped his tea and started fixing the appliances on the counter until they were set in order. He cleaned the toaster, first removing the crumb tray and then turning it upside down over the sink, all the while muttering to himself how Claire always forgot to do it.

Another normalcy that hit him for its novelty. Since the veil of depression had been removed, things were bothering him again. It had been different all those previous months; when he was numb, everything seemed grey, mundane. His house could very well be on fire and he wouldn’t really care. But now, he was getting upset or frustrated more often than he would have expected. Claire had forgotten to do the laundry or had bought the wrong oat cookie brand. His sister had cancelled their trip to Glasgow again. His laptop charger had broken. Little things that suddenly mattered.

Sometimes not caring seemed the easy way -- a path he knew how to find, a well-worn shirt that had his shape and felt soft against his skin. He was terribly unused to things itching at him. Feeling them.

It wasn’t bliss that returned to him -- it was life. And life was never just the one thing.

Jamie took his perfectly brewed cup of tea and walked back to the living room. After a moment’s hesitancy, he stood by the window as he’d seen Claire do countless times, absentmindedly looking at the world outside the days he had crawled to hide inside himself. Back then, all he had wanted was to disappear. Now he stood tall and proud in front of the wide panel, drawing deep breaths of black tea, preparing himself for the day.

He had finished his manuscript. He had taunted himself for almost two months, reading and rereading, changing words and deleting sentences only to replace them with almost identical ones a few hours later. Today was the day he would send it to his editor. With a simple email, his words would fly away, seeds of a dandelion searching for soil, to take root in a stranger’s heart.

It had been difficult to let it go. Even more difficult than writing the story. A story he had written for himself, and he’d accepted that a writer is sometimes entitled to do just that. Write an uncommon story that talks to his soul.

Not that all stories are the same. Even popular stories can be vastly different from each other. Some are about the love of fallen princesses and smart boys flashing dashing smiles; others about exiled soldiers who had once been powerful. There are stories about gallant heroes and their adventures towards triumph and those about friendships lasting a lifetime, stronger than evil and disaster. All of them, stories that make you hold your breath, turn the pages to reach the final scene, always striking, moving, perfect.

But then, there are these other stories, the ones with protagonists who would never make it in history books, not strong or bold or smart enough to save the world. Maybe a little broken, maybe a little unlucky, maybe more human than they ought to be. The stories of those who lived, and struggled, and won, and lost, and didn’t change anything at the end. But they had been there. They had laughed, and cried, and made other people do so, and they had forced their way forward.

A story like his, still worthy to be told.

Jamie closed his eyes, feeling the sun warm against his face. He would wait for Claire to wake up before sending the email. And then they might go for a walk in the park, and buy a birthday present for wee Jamie. It was time to get him a new bike.

He sipped his tea, making plans, and in the quietness of the room, he heard his heart beat inside his chest. Alive. In the crisp morning, with the sun victorious against the clouds in the sky, he heard it again. And he memorized that sound, and the feeling of completeness, because he knew that other mornings would come, with mist and rain, dark and ominous.

That was not the end -- there was no end.

He could still feel depression lurking in the shadows behind him, biding its time. Waiting, to breathe in his air. But he had kept his breath safe, in the words he wrote, in the gasping laughter of his beloved ones. And he knew how to use it, to grow roots that would keep him standing.

Like Claire’s wee cactus. It had lost its vivacity when she’d forgotten to water it for months. Dark and shrinking, it had been reduced to something less. But then, when Claire had realized it, she hadn’t admitted defeat. She had started watering it again, and one day a new branching stem sprang -- green, fat and radiant. Persisting. And it grew its own roots, slowly extending them day by day seeking for soil, until the thin roots grabbed it tightly, determined to live.

He knew now, that he had such branches inside him. Parts of him that would always seek life. That would grip it, and breath it, and stand whole again.

He found comfort in the reassurance of abiding life. And he felt strong, now that he could look darkness in the eye and recognize it. He knew its empty embrace all too well. And he had vowed to remember.

He wouldn’t falter. He wouldn’t give in.

--

‘Death dreams I don’t forget,

It’s been a while since I dreamed this

Even now when I sleep I tread with care…’

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

A/N: This story was written for all those who struggled with depression and lost the battle, and for the people who love and miss them. And for those who still fight and win the darkness, sometimes barely and sometimes triumphantly, and for their loved ones, who fight alongside with them. Much love to you all.

[kiribaku-trash]

Chapter Seven of an Explosive Tale of Love and Ships

Chapter 6, Chapter 8

Read it on AO3

Masterlist

(special thanks to @bs-squad for writing the part with all the flashbacks)

———————————————–

Mina had spent enough time working with Bakugou to know when he was bluffing. She had happily exited the ship with Kaminari, Sero, and Uraraka in tow, using her magic to propel them the extra distance to shore. The witch had remained silent during the entire exchange, she was probably waiting to see the outcome of the argument before speaking. Bakugou got into fights and arguments with his crew every other week so Mina wasn’t surprised that he’d started butting heads with Eijirou only a few days after the dragon joined the crew. Although, despite Bakugou’s temper, normally it took more than saying a quick ‘hello’ to get him that angry.

Mina sucked in a quick breath and stomped through the underbrush. Obviously she had seen the way Bakugou’s face turned bright red every time Ei got too close. She had originally thought that he just wasn’t used to the dragon’s lack of personal boundaries but now she wasn’t so sure. Bakugou wasn’t a very subtle person and it was easy for Mina to assume that maybe he liked Ei more than he let on. A lot more.

Shaking her head, Mina decided she was deep enough in the forest to let her glamour drop. With a wave of her hand she dissolved the magic, basking in the energy that was no longer spent keeping up her human appearance.

“I thought your magic felt different.” Uraraka said. “I never thought I’d see a faerie in person.” She paused. “Although I said the same thing about Kirishima-kun, didn’t I.”

“We should hurry,” Sero said, squinting up at the parts of the sky that were visible through the heavy canopy of leaves. “It’s getting dark.”

Kaminari nodded in agreement. “Any ideas where a dragon would- AHHH!”

Uraraka acted quickly, jerking out her hand just in time to release a wave of magic that pooled underneath where Kaminari was standing. He hovered a few feet from where he had been walking, a massive drop right beneath his feet. Kaminari face paled at the sight, and he sighed with relief as Uraraka pulled him back towards the group and dropped him to the ground.

“That was close,” Mina said. She approached the edge of the drop slowly, taking each step with precaution. It was a steep decline, covered in dead bushes and sharp stones. Except there was one part of the drop that had nothing except a trail of broken branches and upturned dirt. At the bottom sat two sets of footprints.

“Could that be him?” Kaminari asked, his voice shaking from his sudden brush with possible death.

Mina nodded slowly. “I don’t think anyone else would come down here this late.”

The group stood in heavy silence before Sero finally spoke.

“Except for whoever left those prints.”

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

Momo let out a deep sigh of relief as the Barbarian King was hauled onto the deck of the ship. She silently thanked whoever had designed it for including the added feature of a net. She was lucky enough that a few seconds after being pulled above the surface, Bakugou immediately began coughing up water and gasping for breath. He wasn’t dead, which was always a good thing. Technically it wouldn’t have mattered, the conditions for his arrest were for him to be brought back dead or alive, but the thought of killing a former comrade (or anyone for that matter) gave Momo an uneasy feeling in her stomach.

Bakugou met her gaze with an intense glare but it was hard for him to look intimidating with chattering teeth and sopping wet hair sticking to the sides of his face. Momo’s skin paled as he rose to his feet, directing his palm so it sat only a foot away from her face. Yellow sparks danced across his hand as his arm tensed, ready to fire. Momo prepared herself for the heat and fire and pain of being hit head-on by an explosion, except it never came. Bakugou looked as surprised as she did when only a small plume of smoke and steam rose from his palm. He wasted no time to try again, only to get the same effect.

Momo stared in disbelief at the Barbarian King and how easily a bit of water was able to weaken his explosions to the point of being almost nonexistent. Speaking of explosions, Momo studied Bakugou’s hands. The leather gloves he was wearing surely would have stopped the heat from getting through, or burned up in the process. A small gasp escaped her lips as she came to a realization.

“Remove the gloves,” she ordered her guards. “Those are what are causing his explosions.”

For some reason the Bakugou found her words funny. He barked out a harsh laugh and held out one of his hands, all while maintaining an intense eye contact.

“I’d like to see you try,” His voice had a slight rasp to it. It was probably caused by spending the past five minutes coughing up river water.

Momo’s scowl deepened as she observed her guard try and fail at pulling the glove from Bakugou’s hand. She motioned for the guard to move aside and tried herself, only proving her suspicions that some form of invisible (probably magical) force was keeping it held in place.

She scoffed at the Barbarian King’s triumphant smile. She would just have to hope the magic would remain weak until they arrived at the capital. “Take him to the brig.”

Bakugou’s smirk faded for half a second before he forced it back into place.

“Who the fuck even are you anyways?” He asked, struggling against the guards trying to ‘escort’ him below deck. “You look familiar.”

Momo held up her hand, the guards paused.

“You don’t remember me?” she asked. “We were in the same division. We trained together!”

Bakugou slowly shook his head. “I don’t have fucking time to remember the name of every extra who gets in my way.”

“Then remember mine.” Momo replied, staring him down with fierce rage. “My name is Yaoyorozu Momo. One month ago I was sent on a mission to retrieve a dragon from a lost island. You may have heard about it.” Her gaze intensified as Bakugou’s lips curled into a deep frown. “I was given permission to obliterate anything that stood in my way. And that,” she said, pausing to draw her sword and point it the Barbarian King, “includes you.”

Bakugou growled at her. Momo sheathed her sword and turned away. “Get him out of my sight.” She listened to the sound of Bakugou’s struggling faded below deck and smiled, hiding a twinge of doubt. Her mission was finally nearing an end.

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

Eijirou knew that he shouldn’t have been surprised when Mina showed up in the mouth of the cave, followed by the rest of Bakugou’s crew.

“Ei!” She shouted at the top of her lungs the moment the two made eye contact.

Eijirou was frozen in place. He could feel the corner of his lips tugging upwards in a broad smile as he approached his pink friend. “Min-”

A wall of flame caused Eijirou to jump backwards.

“Don’t come any closer.” Todoroki threatened; his left side was smoking and Eijirou could feel blistering heat come off him in waves.

A high pitched squeak came from the other side of the room. Midoriya closed the space between him and Todoroki within a matter of seconds, grabbing the latter’s hand and giving it a tight squeeze. “Todoroki! What are you doing?”

Eijirou could barely hear the distant yells of his friends from the other side of the roaring flames.

“I told you we couldn’t trust him!” Todoroki yelled back. The flames grew in size, spitting red hot sparks in every direction. “They’re going to take us back!”

Midoriya squeezed Todoroki’s hand tighter. “Calm down, we can talk this out.”

“You don’t understand,” Todoroki’s voice shook.“My father will kill you if we go back.”

“Todoroki-” Midoriya paused, as if rethinking his words. “Shouto, you know I won’t let that happen.”

Todoroki clenched his jaw, averting his eyes from Midoriya’s gaze. Eijirou shuffled his feet and looked down at the floor, feeling as though he wasn’t supposed to be seeing such a close moment between the two.

With a heavy sigh Midoriya wrapped his arms around Todoroki. Eijirou felt the heat of the fire lessen, the wall of flame thinned enough for him to be able to see Mina’s pink skin on the other side.

Eventually the fire faded away entirely and Eijirou found himself sprinting over to the spot where Mina stood. He spread out his arms, about to wrap her in the biggest hug he could manage but was stopped in his tracks. Mina, Kaminari, Sero, and Uraraka all had their gaze trained on the red and white haired boy behind him.

“What’s wrong?” Eijirou asked, allowing his gaze to fall on Todoroki as well.

“That’s Prince Todoroki Shouto,” Kaminari said, shock forcing his voice to be no louder than a whisper. “He’s been missing for two years.”

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

Momo buried her head deep in her hands as she exhaled slowly. A nearby lantern swayed back and forth, casting ominous shadows across the room. She peeked through her fingers at the book layings in front of her. It’s worn cover stood out drastically against the pristine quality of everything else in the library.

Momo and her crew had arrived in the capital only a few hours ago. The moment they had docked they were immediately swarmed by crowds of commoners desperate to see the Barbarian King finally captured and ready to face the consequences of his actions. Although, after searching through pages and pages of history and records, Momo was beginning to wonder how many of said actions were actually performed by Bakugou himself.

With another heavy sigh she turned the page. The books itself was old, probably from way before she was born. It held records from all over the kingdom, most of them from the beginning of the war between Endeavor’s men and the old king. She scanned the paper with boredom, flipping the page once she reached the end of the text. She blinked in disbelief when she saw the title of the chapter before her.

‘Dragons, Faeries, and Other Magical Creatures.’

Bakugou wasn’t the only person Momo was trying to find out about. The pages fluttered with soft crinkles as she searched through the chapter until she found what she was looking for. It was only a short paragraph, but it was still enough to give her some insight on the creature she had been hunting;

‘After making deals with many leaders of the various flocks of dragons located throughout our kingdom, The Flame King used them to win the ongoing civil war between him and All Might. Although, The Flame King refused to keep his end of the deal, instead, using his newfound power over the kingdom to drive the dragons past its borders. There are rumours that a single dragon was caught and is currently being held by the king but there are no ways of verifying the information.’

Momo’s mind drifted back to the broken chains scattered across the floor of the tower. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“You should be sleeping.” A tired voice rang through the library, making Momo nearly jump out of her skin.

“Aizawa-sensei!” Momo addressed her former mentor with surprise. “I didn’t notice you.”

Aizawa simply nodded at the remark. “I couldn’t get the gloves off.”

Momo’s face fell. Aizawa was one of the best magic users in the kingdom (mainly because the rest were executed) and if he couldn’t break the curse on the gloves, no one could.

“I did manage to temporarily disable the explosions.” He continued, eyes drooping with tiredness. “I’m going to go take a nap.”

Momo rubbed her own eyes once Aizawa had left. She had been so focused on her research that she hadn’t even noticed the hours that had gone by. One look out of a small window behind a bookshelf told Momo it was the middle of the night. She rose from her chair and trudged drowsily back to her room. It was going to be a long week.

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

Katsuki clenched his fists at his sides as he watched the steady rain drops outside the small barred window in his cell. It was the middle of the night but he refused to sleep, opting to use all of his time to figure out a plan of escape. One would think that after seven hours with nothing to do but think, that Katsuki would have figured something out. But he had achieved nothing but a few bruised knuckles and a shallow crack in the wall in front of him.

A strangled sound escaped Katsuki’s throat as he fell to his knees, burying his head in his hands. He had no way to escape, he’d tried everything from breaking the bars to trying to fit out the window. Nothing had worked. His only hope would be that someone would come rescue him, but he doubted it. For the first time in his life he was beginning to regret his actions. He knew that he drove everyone away but for some reason he had thought that Kirishima would be different. He was stupid for trusting anyone, especially someone he had barely met.

Katsuki was dragged out of his train of thought by the sound of a door opening and shutting. Footsteps echoed from the stone floor. Katsuki straightened his back and morphed his face into the most defiant expression he could muster as a single person approached the bars.

“Bakugou,” Yaoyorozu said; her voice shook slightly and she avoided making eye contact with him. “I’ve just been informed that your execution has been scheduled for three days from now.”

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

A smile crossed Eijirou’s face as he watched his two, newly made, friend groups collide. He was excited to go on whatever journey they were about to embark on. Although, he could feel an emptiness growing inside of him. A void that Bakugou had left when the two had split up that he couldn't fill.

“Is everything okay?” Mina’s cheery voice rang through the air.

Eijirou put on his best impression of a smile before answering the faerie. “Yeah, I just wish Bakugou was here.”

“Why.” Mina’s voice turned dark. “He was a total dick to you.”

Eijirou shrugged. He decided against continuing the conversation.

“Are you two talking about Bakugou Katsuki?”

Eijirou exhaled deeply through his nose. Despite only knowing Midoriya for less than two days, Eijirou had quickly learned that he had some of the worst timing in existence.

“Uh, yeah.” Mina replied. “Do you know him?”

Midoriya laughed nervously. “Me and Kacchan used to be…” He paused for a moment, as if he was trying to think of the right word to use. “...friends.”

Mina blinked in surprise. “You were friends?!? With Captain ‘I hate everyone, bow down before me extras’ Bakugou?!”

Midoriya nodded. “Yeah. Me and Kacchan used to be part of the royal guard until King Endeavour came into power. Kacchan left before me, then I left with Todoroki-kun.”

“Wait, Bakugou was in the royal guard?!” Eijiro exclaimed.

“Oh, that’s right, you didn’t know that Ei.” Mina said. “Bakugou was a soldier in the guard, but he left pretty early. Couldn’t stand the guards, absolutely despised King Endeavour, and overall had a deep fascination with magical objects and artifacts and left to hunt the seas. I don’t know too much about his early life since he’s quiet about it, but I know snippets of rumours from my time roaming the kingdom before I joined the crew.” She laughed. “You’ll never believe how I joined the crew, Ei. What do you think happened? Here’s a hint: I was the last member to join before you, and it has something to do with me being a faerie.”

“Is that why he let you join? Because you’re magic?” Eijiro tried.

Mina shook her head. “Nope. I was being chased out of a village by some angry folks who found out I knew magic, and I ran into Bakugou when he was being chased by his own mob who had recognized him as the Barbarian King. We kinda just looked at each other before nodding and he let me onto the boat. Never asked questions, just let me join the crew as long as he could boss me around and captain.”

“Are we talking about how we first joined the crew?” Sero butted into the conversation, along with Kaminari and Todoroki.

Mina nodded.

Sero cracked his knuckles. “Then do I have a story for you. I was actually the first member of Captain’s crew. It all started back when the Cap got his ship…or should I say stole...”

**********************************************************************************************************

3 YEARS EARLIER…

The sun glistened off the water as the Dragon sailed through the sea, sending up a spray of white mist. Sailors bustled around the deck as the ship entered a narrow passage between two cliffs and carefully navigated the channel.

“A’right ya mangy mutts, ‘isten up.” growled the captain of the ship, an older man with a tangled beard. “We’re c’ose to the next port, but this here channe’ is a fine commonground for fi’thy thieves and pirates, so aye want all hands on deck and ‘ookout. Is that c’ear?!”

“Aye, Captain.” the crew echoed back.

Despite the best efforts of the crew, however, disaster still managed to strike that day. As they turned the corner, a ear shattering yell of ‘DIE’ echoed between the cliffs and a lone figure leaped onto the ship. His presence was impressive and commanding, and he drew two sharp swords from his belt.

“Alright you extras, listen up!” he shouted. “This ship belongs to me now! Get out now or dare challenge me. Only one way you’re getting out alive, and it ain’t through the challenge.”

The captain gave a boisterous laugh. “Why should we ‘isten to you-”

There was a flash of metal, and the tangled beard of the captain fluttered to the floorboards of the deck. He raised a hand to his freshly shaven chin in shock, his face going pale.

“Why?” growled the loner. “I’m Katsuki Bakugou, the Barbarian King. Now. LEAVE.”

The captain gulped and jumped overboard. The rest of the crew looked at each other before following suit. Those stubborn enough the refuse quickly got a boot to the face that shoved them overboard too.

Finally, there was only one member of the crew left; a tall, skinny guy Bakugou’s age, dressed in a plain white and brown sailor suit like some bartender or adventurer. With a shit-eating grin on his face, he casually spun the wooden wheel of the ship.

“When I said everybody, I meant everybody, extra.” Bakugou snapped. “Get off.”

“Oh, I totally would.” the crewmate said cheerfully. “But I’m just concerned over one thing. How are you-” he spun the wheel lazily- “gonna steer a ship by yourself?”

Bakugou opened his mouth to reply before stopping, his hand raised. “I-”

“Don’t care who you are or how great you may be,“ the crewmate interrupted, “you ain’t captaining a ship without a crew. So, wanna reconsider that little order? Cause I’ll happily jump overboard if you think you can make it to the next town without sinking. But that’s the problem, isn’t it?” There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, a glittering spark of white in a pool of liquid obsidian. “You can’t go into that town over pretence of being spotted. You’ll have to sail even further by yourself. So, wanna let me join your crew?”

Bakugou grudgingly nodded yes.

“Cool.” the crewmate smiled. “I’m Sero Hanta, at your service, Captain.”

**********************************************************************************************************

“You outsmarted Kacchan???” Midoriya asked in disbelief.

“Yep, first (and only) time.” Sero said proudly.

“That may be cool and all,” Kaminari said with a sly grin, “but did you outsmart two people when you first joined?”

“Wait, did you convince both Sero and Bakugou to let you join?” Eijiro asked.

“Not exactly, but sortoff. Let me tell you the story…”

**********************************************************************************************************

2 YEARS and 49 WEEKS EARLIER…

It had been a couple of weeks since Sero had joined Bakugou’s crew. They docked at a village port to gather some supplies for their first hunt for a magical item after finally getting their first proper lead.

“Guard the ship, Soy-Sauce, I’m going into town. Don’t burn the ship down while I’m gone, and don’t let anyone on.” Bakugou growled.

“Aye, Captain.” Sero pulled up the ramp as Bakugou stormed down the dock.

Sero grabbed a mop and cleaned the deck from the dusty prints of Bakugou’s constant stomping. He hummed a jolly sailor tune as he worked, stopping from time to time to glance around the ship and at the empty dock as lookout. Birds flew overhead, their wingbeats like the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. A brown feather fluttered down from the sky at one point and smacked into his face; he spat it out and let it glide float onto the soft rolling waves before continuing to mop.

When he finished, he stepped back to the wheel and smiled in satisfaction. The deck sparked in the sunlight, gleaming like the treasure they would hopefully find.

“Hey, SOY-SAUCE!” Bakugou’s voice echoed around the dock. “I’m back!”

Sero dropped the ramp and Bakugou climbed aboard, holding a box of supplies. “We need a signal for that so it looks professional, like an arm signal or something.” he muttered, dropping the box on some crates as Sero pulled the ramp back up. “You mopped the deck, good. Let’s go, I don’t want to be fucking spotted. Set a course for our next destination.”

“Oooh, that sounds fun, where’re we going?” a voice from above called.

Bakugou and Sero’s head shot up. Leaning over the side of the crow’s nest was a young guy their age. His joyful grin and golden eyes was hidden in the shade of a robin-hood hat tipped with two brown feathers, and he was wearing falconer inspired outfit complete with gloves.

“Wh- HEY! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?! GET THE FUCK OFF MY BOAT!” Bakugou yelled, reaching into his belt for one of his swords before realizing he didn’t bring them into town.

The stranger grabbed one of the ropes and swiftly slid down the sails, landing lightly on the deck of the ship in a matter of seconds. He flicked a feather from his shoulder and stuck out a hand for a handshake.

Bakugou and Sero simply stared at him. Bakugou scowled and crossed his arms, waiting for a response.

“Alrighty then, no handshake I guess.” the stranger shrugged. “Oh well, your loss. I’m Kaminari Denki, traveller extraordinaire! Cool boat. Where’re we headed first?”

“We? ‘You’ are getting the fuck off this boat. How the hell did you get on in the first place?” Bakugou growled.

“Yeah, I never saw you sneak aboard.” Sero added.

“Oh, I have some experience.” Kaminari grinned. “So, we headed out or nah? Doesn’t matter where, I just like to… keep moving, ya know?”

“What, are you dense, idiot? Get the fuck off my ship before I throw you off myself.” Bakugou snarled. “Yo Soy-Sauce, retrieve my swords.”

“I dunno Bakugou, he could be useful on the ship.” Sero said. “A scout, or- well, I guess I’m technically the navigator, but-” Bakugou glared at him with enough anger to make a dragon back down. Sero gulped. “Aye, Captain.”

As Sero retreated belowdecks, Bakugou turned his death glare toward Kaminari. The traveller shifter his weight nervously, his eyes darting between Bakugou and the dock like he was suddenly regretting recent choices.

“You’re Katsuki Bakugou, the Barbarian King, right? The wanted guy hunting for illegal magical artifacts? Rumor said you got a ship and a crew.” Kaminari said.

Bakugou’s scowl deepened. “What’s it to you? I could easily destroy you without breaking a fucking sweat, don’t think you could turn me in to the royal guards.”

Kaminari raised his hands. “Who said anything ‘bout the royal guard, Blasty?”

“BLASTY?!-” Bakugou sputtered.

“Point is,” Kaminari interrupted, “I like gathering magic on my travels too. Doesn’t make me too popular with the hierarchy. I’ve always wanted to sail as part of a crew. Thought it would be an exciting adventure. I saw your ship in the port and was hoping I could... join?”

Bakugou laughed. “Join? I already have one extra sailing on my ship. I don’t need two.”

Footsteps pounded on the wooden stairs, and Sero climbed up from below deck.

“Finally.” Bakugou grumbled, grabbing his swords. “Alright idiot, time to get the fuck off my boat so we can leave.”

“I mean, he could be useful, Captain.” Sero said. “Operating a ship with only two people is a little ridiculous.”

“Yeah!” Kaminari said. “I know how to handle sails in the wind, and I’m a trained scout. I also have my fair share of travelling: come from a small village in the mountains, unique variety of skills, that sort of thing.”

“Fine, I’ll say that’s useful.” Bakugou said. “But what would you do if you were confronted by a royal guard like this-!”

Bakugou thrusted the point of his curved sword under Kaminari’s chin. With lightning reflexes the traveller grabbed something from the fold of his jacket, and a wailing screech filled the deck as metal met metal. Kaminari deflected the blow and stepped back, spinning the dagger in his hand.

“I’d probably do this, possibly with some screaming and dual wielding if I had to. I’m trained in combat, specifically daggers and the art of origami!” Kaminari grinned, flipping the dagger in the air and catching it.

“The art of… paper folding?” Sero asked.

Kaminari blinked, a soft red blush filling his face. “I… I didn’t think you’d know that.”

“Alright, so you can fight. Why the hell do you want to join our crew?” Bakugou growled. “You said it yourself, we’re dangerous outlaws hunted by the Royal Guard.”

Kaminari shrugged, his eyes darting once more to the port then back at Bakugou. “Like I said, I’m not too popular with the hierarchy. Pretty much an outlaw myself. I have the same goal as you: hunting magical artifacts. Plus I just really love travel, and the sea is something that is just full of cool adventure, ya know?”

“ Come on Captain, it’s so boring being a one-man crew for you.” Sero pleaded. “Let him join.”

Bakugou sighed, rubbing his temple. “Fucking fine.” he grumbled.

Kaminari and Sero cheered. Bakugou turned his back to them, not letting them see the ghost of a smile that hung on his lips. He stared off to the port, and froze, the faint smile dropping. A trio of royal guards were making their way up the dock, searching each boat carefully.

“Shit.” Bakugou hissed. “Yo, idiots, shut up for a sec. Soy-Sauce, get the boat ready and set sail immediately. New guy, Sparky-” Kaminari gave an indigent yelp as Bakugou slapped a hand to his back and pushed him toward the mast. “Get your ass in the crows nest. Royal guards are coming.”

Kaminari paled, and he laughed nervously as he scooted up the side of the wired netting. “That might, um, be my fault. I kinda stole the Lemillion Amulet from the guard post in town.”

Bakugou stared at him. “You… stole… a magic item from-” he looked over at the three guards, who were coming closer, “fuck, from the Big Three, some of the top guards, and got away?!”

“It was going to be melted into gold! It’s a magical artifact with a deep history, not a piece of scrap metal!” Kaminari protested. “I wasn’t just going to let it happen. I didn’t know it was the Big Three, I just snuck in and slipped away!”

With a lurch, the ship pulled out of the port, Sero at the wheel. Kaminari braced himself, scooting up a little higher in case Bakugou was going to explode. Instead, the captain smirked. “You might have a use on this crew after all…”

**********************************************************************************************************

“No way, you stole the Lemillion Amulet from right under the Big Three without getting caught?!” Midoriya cried, reaching for a notebook in his pouch.

Todoroki gently grabbed Midoriya’s hand and pulled it away from the pouch. “I must admit, that’s impressive. As is convincing the Barbarian King to let you join his crew.” He aimed that compliment at both Sero and Kaminari.

“Eh, it’s not that impressive.” Sero scratched the back of his head in prideful embarrassment.

“Are you kidding?!” Kirishima exclaimed. “That’s incredible! I can’t believe you guys are this awesome!” Both Sero and Kaminari blushed from the avalanche of compliments.

“It’s not- well-” they stammered as the others laughed.

“So, Midoriya,” Mina asked when the laughter died down and everyone sat down in front of the fire in the centre of the cave, “how’d you meet Bakugou for the first time, Midoriya?”

“Oh, it’s a long story.” Midoriya went to wave it off, but everyone leaned in closer, listening intently. “Well, okay, if you want to hear it. It’s was a long time ago, so long I never thought that part of my life would come up again. Yet I’m starting to get the sense that the story might not be quite over, but the beginning of a new chapter…”

[mimiplaysgames]

A Rush of Blood to the Head (3/6)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: T Word Count: 6,698

Summary: Freedom was supposed to come with the taste of food, the enjoyment of music, the thrill of romance, and the promise of dreaming when she slept. It was supposed to hurt less. It was supposed to make the thirteen years she wasted waiting in a shadow world worthwhile. Before, her life was a meaningful sacrifice. Now it was just a mockery. An Aquanort perspective.

AO3       FFnet

A/N: If anyone is confused about this, it’s because I’ve been given requests to cover Terra saving her from her Aquanort state, and for their reconciliation. So the first thing is to cover Aquanort. This fic gave me two unique challenges: one, to keep on the theme of the song it’s named after, over a lover taking far lengths for his loved one, and two, to make this as different as my longfic as possible. I want to be able to give people a completely different experience with this one.

This Little Memory

The day was bright, yet cool. Each time the wind gently coaxed the leaves to rustle up among the trees around her, and each time she caught sound of the spring near her give way into a creek, she counted her blessings. It was hard not to be reminded of how small she really was when taking in the grandeur of the mountain she lived in.

She normally didn’t feel this way in this specific clearing – this secret spot in some crook up against a cliff side she and Terra shared all for themselves. Normally speaking, they’d get lost in conversation about anything, really. Secrets they’ve kept. Frustrations over their training or their education. Things they wouldn’t tell Ventus. Or they would spar, and talk about ways to improve, what they did wrong, what they did right. In other words, they’d get lost in each other’s worlds in a safe place like here.

Not that she minded. If anything, she would have wanted to get lost with him in more intimate ways, but the yearning was the price she paid for having a crush on her best friend. Which was not something she dared to damage. She reminded herself to feel grateful that they were even together, right now, as opposed to Terra sharing this moment with someone else.

Or maybe she was forcing herself to wander about some existential philosophy over nature just to snap herself out of being distracted by the way he was sweating. Because he really did look handsome that way, taking huge gulps of water from his ceramic jug. It wasn’t a bad life, gazing at him each time they practiced.

“We should fight for stakes,” she said, without letting him finish his drink.

Terra lurched forward, salvaging the tremendous swallow he took. He didn’t have his armor on, and she had removed her shoes and stockings. They were both barefoot, for today they practiced hand-to-hand martial arts. Kicking pads were gathered in a pile nearby.

He gave her a smug grin. He’d never back down from a competition. “Why bother placing bets when you’re going to lose?”

“Excuse me? That is a bold assumption,” she said, smiling.

Terra was by far the only person in the multiverse she would ever tolerate such condescending language from. Only because he truly didn’t mean. She knew he respected her. But she played the rivalry just as hard. It left her wanting to correct him, and she got a kick out of it.

“No, it’s a bold assumption coming from you,” he said, closing the jug with a spork and resting it at the base of a tree. “You always lose when we’re fighting close combat.”

“That’s not true.” It sometimes was. Terra had the advantage being tall and strong, after all. But only sometimes. “How about this? Whoever wins gets to ask for anything.”

Terra turned just to look at her. A look of disbelief, followed by amusement. A scoff, as if he really couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

She wondered what he would ask for.

If she was going to be honest, she wondered what it’d be like if she asked to kiss him – if he agreed, it meant that he shared the same feelings, and she wouldn’t have to play brave anymore.

“The first to land on their face loses,” he said. “I hope you like the taste of dirt.”

Lose to see what his deep wish was, or beat the crap out of him because he assumed she would fail?

Terra prepared his stance, knees bent and fingers in a snarl. His usual method was to stay grounded. To overwhelm his opponent with the sole purpose of pinning them. To grapple them. It was a defense strategy that was supported by how often he was aggressive. Terra was a relentless fighter, and without magic, she was quite disadvantaged. She had to rely on her agility and grace to tire him out, or trick him into anticipating something else. To evade his movements so that he would lose the upper hand.

The only rule they abided by was to never hit each other in the face or the head. Sparring wasn’t the time for terrible, avoidable accidents.

Aqua swung a kick, torpedoing herself right toward his midriff. He grabbed her foot. Immediately she constricted her core, summoning all her gravity to the lower regions of her abdomen, pushing her weight on the leg he took hostage, and willing the other left standing on the ground to whip another kick.

He let go, and she landed on her feet, though deeply squatted.

In a rare move, Terra leapt into the air, flipping over her in an attempt to smash her into the grass. She dodged, and swept a low kick in an attempt to trip him. He only really stumbled onto one knee before standing back up.

Now she was in trouble. She back-flipped and followed it with cartwheels to give herself some space, though it was simple for him to close the gap. Relentless.

So she changed direction, leaving him to pivot and attempt to gauge what she was doing.

If she was going to win, she had to play dirty. She jumped, and he fell for it. He brought his hands higher, as if to grab her, and she aimed for his ankles. He fell on his side and rolled flat onto his stomach.

It took a second for her to realize she won.

Before he picked himself up, she helped herself to lay right onto his back, kicking her feet up and keeping them together, just like a mermaid tail. Probably the daintiest way to pin an opponent, but it gave her an excuse to feel the pronounced muscles on his back.

“How does the dirt taste?” she asked, leaning forward so she was close to his ear.

She bit her lip. He smelled of sweat, which was to be expected. But there was also the smell of his skin, which echoed through his hair. It had a nutty aroma, with a bit of yeast to it. And it was the most amazing smell. Better than the sandalwood soap or shampoo he used.

Face still on the ground, if he felt how much she was grinning, it showed with his tone. “You win,” he said, clear as day.

“I’m sorry, what did you say? I couldn’t hear you.” Her cheeks hurt from how much she was grinning.

He turned slightly, the iris of his deep blue eye reaching as far as it could to look at her. There was a constrained smile on his face, and it was the most readable expression. He knew she was savoring her victory, and he was a sore loser. “You win.”

He attempted to get up, but she was still on his back. She couldn’t stop herself from giggling, and it was contagious enough that he grinned wider.

“Get off of me,” he said, nudging a shoulder so she rolled onto the ground.

The grass was soft and cool on her back. She had forgotten already that there was a breeze, and she watched as the leaves danced to a song of their own.

Terra crossed his legs, and held one knee up.

“What do you want? Some chores done for you?” he asked with a sigh. Yep. He couldn’t believe he lost, either.

She could be brave and ask for it. It wasn’t like she didn’t suspect he had feelings. Sometimes it was the way he lingered at her. Most of the time it was how loyal and deeply affectionate he was, even when he wasn’t meaning to be.

Or maybe she was reading him wrong. Every time she gave him a stupidly obvious sign that she was interested, he always backed out. Always.

She considered herself a brave woman. Funny how this was the one thing that scared her the most. Dammit, if only he won.

“We exchange chores all the time…” She watched as his nose wrinkled a bit, his smile forced. “You’re humiliated,” she said.

“No.” He said it with so much effort, it told her he was also trying to convince himself.

“Well, let me humiliate you some more.”

Among the jagged, rocky foundation on the cliff side was a small conclave where they kept a chest. Inside were old toys they couldn’t detach themselves from. Blankets for camping, A hammock.

And a white, leather-bound book with delicate gold borders, wrapped in tarp. They had filled it over the years with recipes they made up (mostly disgusting ones), rules for games they have created, drawings, and secret messages.

There was also a message he wrote, tucked in the middle pages, where he claimed that they would always be best friends. She shared her first kiss with him over that, because she didn’t know how to respond to it otherwise.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” he said behind her.

She could have made him read it...

If she was brave. She instead scanned through the beginning pages. “There is an oath you wrote in here. I made you write it the very first time I won a fight. You don’t remember?”

“No.”

That had to be a lie, too.

She smacked the page with a finger. “Here.” There was a scrawl with large, mismatched handwriting by two children younger than ten years old. His was scratchy and messy. Hers large and curved.

He grabbed the notebook, and shot her a side-eye. “You want me to read this?”

“Out loud of course.” She stood close by his shoulder, rolling her lips inward.

He groaned, like someone too shy to give a speech. He read:

“I hereby swear today that Aqua can and will continue to beat me at fighting.

If I ever doubt her again, I will rub mud into my armpits, eat worms, and hold bear dung in my hands-”

He finished that last passage like a question. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I wrote this,” he said.

“You used to find the dumbest things funny.”

He shot her another side-eye, and pointed to the page. “You wrote the next part.”

She bit her lip. “It’s also the most important part. You have to read it.”

He sighed, and read:

“The next time Aqua beats me, I will call her Queen, do all of her chores, brush her hair, let her win all the games we play, and give her all the sweets she wants. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Aqua dodged his glare, not putting any effort to hide her brimming smile.

“Are you satisfied?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He slapped the journal closed and handed it back to her. “So is all of that what you want me to do, your Majesty?”

She wiggled the notebook playfully in her hands. “No, servant. I relinquish your debt.”

Her giggles kept escaping her mouth as she wrapped the journal back into its tarp while he washed his face in the spring. Now that it was put back into its place, Aqua was left lingering at him from behind. He rubbed the water all over his neck, and ran through some of his hair.

As if that was the most efficient way to clean himself after how much he sweated.

There were better ways.

She tackled him, and they both fell into the water. From below her, Terra swam and reached out in an attempt to tickle her. She kicked her legs around, using her arms as a shield to protect her sides.

On the surface, they held onto the rocks that bordered the water. His eyes were the same color as the depth beneath them. Neither had picked themselves up onto shore, waiting for the other to leave the spring like they were planning ambushes.

Terra wiped his face. “Since you’re in such a pranking mood, you should go first.”

“And put me in the front line? The Master always said to watch your back for enemies. Don’t be grumpy just because you didn’t expect me to throw you down. It’s another win for me.”.

“Exactly. You are the danger.” He gestured his arm. “After you.”

The sunset was a mix of soft oranges and pinks, and it made the stone castle look like it changed colors throughout the day. Musicians played their lutes, citoles, and fiddles, keeping a huge crowd in the town square. Women in long dresses, men in their best hats, and little girls with flowers in their hair all gathered for the preparation of the princess’ birthday here in the kingdom of Corona. When night fell, the entire kingdom would set off sky lanterns.

Aqua stopped by booth after booth, trying to find at least one source of entertainment that would last her a while.

She couldn’t dance with the others, for the music did not inspire her to. She couldn’t laugh or cry with them, because the plays were neither funny nor depressing enough. The sound of children giggling was the most foreign thing. They laughed like they were safe and unafraid, when she was right there among them, like a hungry phantom wearing a long black cloak.

A little girl approached her, and complimented her pale blue and white hair, saying it looked very pretty. She gave Aqua a bright pink gerbera flower to wear.

Aqua chose to adorn it. Not that it helped her feel beautiful.

Sitting atop one of the castle walls with her legs kicked out into the air, Aqua held a cheese pastry in her gloved hand, already having bitten into it. It tasted stale. Like everything in this world. Like everything in every world, really. Her head pounded, and she breathed evenly, waiting for it to pass.

What was worse were the aches and shots of electricity that would flow into her limbs. Sometimes her fingers were in such pain that she couldn’t make a fist. Sometimes, her calves throbbed so much that she couldn’t stand or walk.

Freedom was supposed to come with the taste of food, the enjoyment of music, the thrill of romance, and the promise of dreaming when she slept. It was supposed to hurt less. It was supposed to make the thirteen years she wasted waiting in a shadow world worthwhile.

Would any other stupid girl trade a numb existence for one where the promise of living dangled in front of her, in a distance she could never grasp? Before, her life was a meaningful sacrifice. Now it was just a mockery.

There was the target. The princess Rapunzel, adorned in a mass of flowers weaved into several braids. She was with a young man, and she relished the life on the streets. Enamored by the sights. Danced to the rhythms. Gazed into the eyes of the man she was falling in love with.

Rapunzel felt life and Aqua was a witness to it.

This was the kind of life she had once dreamed about, having adventures and experiencing all of the emotions of being in love. Seeing someone else experience it instead really pissed Aqua off.

“It took some time to find you,” a voice said behind her.

The shadow vortex he came out of dissipated. Xehanort, although a younger version of him, stood by her. He eyed her pastry, but said nothing of it.

Xehanort often tried to get her to speak, but she made sure to force him to pry talk out of her. Not that she wanted him to say anything - especially not after the complete failure of a mission that happened in Castle Oblivion.

“It’s nearly sundown,” he said.

“Yes, it’s nearly sundown,” she said slowly, making sure that sarcasm oozed out of her voice. “And cows go ‘moo.’”

Becoming a Seeker didn’t help her understand him any better. Hating him was an understatement, and what she hated more was her need of him. He understood what was happening to her. He understood more about Kingdom Hearts than anyone else. And if she wanted out of this mess, she needed to help him summon it. And feel some real freedom.

She swore that death was better than being in the Realm of Darkness. But death was also better than this.

“I take it you’ve experienced some pain from the day you’ve had,” he said. Always him to shove his finger exactly where it would annoy her the most.

“I’m fine.”

“If you need Vexen to take a look at your condition-”

“I don’t have a condition.” She paused at every word, making sure to pronounce each one. She grated her teeth.

“We should retire for the night. You can retrieve the target tomorrow.” How he managed to maintain such patience when he truly cared so little for her attitude is astounding.

No, it wasn’t astounding. He needed her just as much, now that she carried two hearts. “I want to see the sky lanterns,” she said.

Xehanort mumbled something incomprehensible and sat down. She could feel his eyes gazing at Rapunzel with her lover just as much as she was.

His voice sounded like it was smirking all on its own. “Young love. At first, it’s impenetrable. At least that’s what a person struck with it would say. And it is so when the weather is fair. But as soon as a storm comes, how fickle is the heart of a man who couldn’t brave it. And he will run. Run away to solid ground so that he wouldn’t get swallowed by the waves. He’ll justify her drowning soon enough.”

Her heart beat hard at his words, and it was like taking a drill into her chest. All of it made her think of Terra.

Thirteen years she had pleaded with some force out there - that the stars, or some heaven’s light, or something out there would be forgiving to her. Begging that Terra would one day get her out. 

It wasn’t a mistake she landed in such a place. She did it for him.

She prayed that the Realm of Darkness wouldn’t take away memories of him.

How often she made her pain about him and him and him and him.

And she traded the Realm of Darkness to carry the heart of Xehanort, for his sake.

Now it hurt worse.

She wanted him to know how incapacitated it was to feel like she was on fire every single day. All for him.

She wanted him to know exactly how long she sat in darkness waiting for nothing.

She wanted to shake this information into his being, to beat him until the pain on his skin throbbed as much as her insides every single morning she woke up.

And when she had the chance to do so, he bowed down in humility and told her he loved her.

He was someone who didn’t need to be persuaded to feel ashamed or sad for her. A perfect little specimen of a gentleman.

So then what, she loved an angel?  Was she not good enough for his savior’s light all this time? Was she ugly now, like some slimy creature that crawled out of a swamp? Was she supposed to forgive him, when there was no purpose for the thirteen years she spent alone? Where was her damn angel when she needed him?

In the end, she was simply a stupid girl who did things because she was in love, and it left her with endless nights. Alone.

She was now sitting on a castle wall in a foreign world, on the urge of crying, knowing that the only person who could stop it shut a door in her face that exact morning.

It was an empty, cold castle. The second floor was just as vapid, and it all smelled of nothing. The white color was sterile and immensely bright, as if this place didn’t know sleep. Castle Oblivion was truly nothing but a remnant of what it used to be. It was simply hideous, and it watched. All she felt were pairs and pairs of eyes on her, but each time she looked, all she saw was white.

Were they tapping the walls and she couldn’t hear them? Did they follow her around? She couldn’t tell. Maybe they were invisible, but they were real.

She told herself that her little brother was worth the discomfort of being around here. When she would wake up him, his smile would make it all better. Aqua did not consider herself dangerous to Ventus – if anything, now that she had so many powers and she was stronger than ever, she could protect him. She had the ability to destroy anything that would threaten him, so she knew she could take care of him.

All she had to do was wait. Ignore the eyes until Terra eventually came. And he did, walking up the stairs with pride and defeat, carrying their Master’s old Keyblade in his right hand, and her bright blue Wayfinder around his neck. That one little star was the most colorful thing in the entire castle.

“So the lost son returns with his father’s honor. How quaint,” she said at his arrival.

Terra took a sharp breath, his eyes wide. “’Quaint?’ You don’t sound like yourself.”

“Myself?” She nearly screamed, and she stormed up to him. “You think you have the right to know what I’m supposed to sound like? I’ve spent thirteen years without you, and you don’t know a single thing about anything I’ve done that entire time.” She grabbed his shirt and pulled it. “It hurt,” she snarled.

His eyes softened. His lips quivered. He was a sad, pouty angel, who looked down on her with pity.

She could have asked him to end her life. He had the Keyblade to do it. He had the power and the strength to pull it off. She gave up her life for an angel, so then why shouldn’t he give her the peace she deserved?

Or maybe she didn’t deserve it at all. She stared at her Wayfinder. It was pretty - the first pretty thing she had seen since she gave it up. And she was selfish enough to want it back.

But she didn’t ask for it. She loved him for the man he became, even when he became the sort of man he said he wouldn’t. Now it was her turn to be exposed to that sort of scrutiny, and this wasn’t the version of her he loved in return. She didn’t have the merit for her Wayfinder anymore.

Terra held her bicep with his free hand, and it was a gentle touch. “There’s nothing I can say that would take the past away, I know that,” he said softly, as if scared that she would snap. “I’m here to save Ven.”

“I want Ven safe, too,” she barked. “I still care. I survived just to see him wake up.”

He nodded, careful to stroke her arm with his thumb. “I believe you. But I don’t know how to get to him.”

A truce for the sake of the one innocent person left in the world. She let him go and approached the door that normally would lead to the next floor.

“I’m the only one who can summon the way to his room,” she said. “But I need that Keyblade to open it.” She pointed to her Master’s Defender.

“So you just summon and I open. It’s that easy?”

She scoffed. “No, I have to give something up. A memory.”

Terra flinched.  “You’ve given up enough. Let me take care of it.”

“You can’t,” she said with a spiteful smile. “I’m the one summoning the door.”

He clenched his teeth. “This isn’t fair.”

“What should I give up this time?” she asked the castle, certain the eyes heard. “The memory of my first kiss?”

“Aqua,” he groaned, as if he had burned deeply, his eyes getting just a bit watery. “It already hurts to see you this way. It hurts to think about all you’ve done for me. And it’s too late for me to do anything about it.” He searched her eyes in earnest, as if to make sure his message was sent across. “None of this is fair on you. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

She was apprehensive at first, to take his word as some truth he felt. There was a risk that she was going to be led on by more false hope, which bartered for a high price. But she was too weak, and too desperate.

“Would you help me, then?” she asked in a hushed whisper, in case the castle heard her. She wasn’t even sure who she was betraying by such a question.

“Of course,” he said just as softly. “When it’s all done, I promise I’ll help you.”

Her eyes watered and she whimpered as she brought her hand to her head. Crying burned, like a fever that set itself free. It was best to stop. She brushed him off when he asked if she was okay, and focused on the door.

She thought about her first kiss with Terra, after reading his message that they would be together forever. Best friends, he wrote, when that didn’t suffice what she really felt. It was sweet and short, the taste of him peculiar and different. She remembered she felt excited and scared, although she couldn’t recall how that even felt like.

At the time, she didn’t think much of it, since it was innocent enough. Until she got older and put words into what she was feeling. That kiss held so much more meaning after.

But it wasn’t just this one memory she was giving up. Vexen had warned her that all the associated memories would break the links that bound them together, and she would soon give up several of them that were connected.

She didn’t say any of this to Terra, because it would make him sad. She knew she was a fool for thinking about his feelings when it was really her that was losing something precious.

The door itself didn’t change. It merely changed within, and she felt the shift, like the castle was adjusting a puzzle. Instead of a staircase to the next floor, behind that door was now a room that hadn’t seen a visitor in years.

Aqua stood there, staring at the knobs, unsure of what she was thinking about earlier.

It wasn’t painful to lose a memory per se. It only slipped her mind, like something was desperately hanging at the tip of her tongue. But she couldn’t figure it out.

Perhaps it wasn’t that important, if she couldn’t remember.

She didn’t use words to plead with Terra to open it. Her breath was heavy, and she squirmed, waiting for him to use the Keyblade. It was finally time to wake Ventus up. Whatever she lost didn’t matter anymore.

“The first thing I want to see is Ven’s smile,” she said, hoping to hear another promise from him, even when the back of her mind warned her that all promises from here on out were false.

Terra flashed his sight behind her, as if he noticed something. She spun around, expecting to be crept up from behind. It didn’t matter from what side that person would be loyal to. What was an ally to one of them was an enemy to the other. But no one was there.

Terra refused to look at her in the eye at first. When he finally did, he was painfully slow to do so. He shook his head, as if silently apologizing.

“Aqua… I can’t let you get near him.”

Before she could reply, Terra stepped back. A boy she recognized, Riku, poised for attack. Silver-haired and nearly as tall as her, he rushed her out of the doorstep, with swift and sharp attacks that kept her far back from the door. His attack pattern was furious, and she was so distracted by needing to get to Ventus that she barely paid attention to him. She slipped. Relentless.

She saw the bundle of blonde hair, sitting atop a throne she left behind so many years ago, when the door opened. Terra wore a look of regret on his face, catching her eyes.

If it was painful for him, too, she didn’t care at that moment. This couldn’t happen to her now, not after all these years. Not when he said he would help her. Ventus was just right there.

“Just let me see his smile,” she begged, sprawled on the floor while Riku watched her with his Keyblade aimed at her face. “Please.”

Terra trembled heavily, like he couldn’t decide if she was dangerous or not, before breaking their connection. He shut the door tightly. She screamed, and it echoed off the walls so much that she was sure whatever watched her squirmed away.

Aqua hoped tonight would fare better. That it would help ease some of her pain by seeing the sky lanterns float up, like new stars traveling leisurely to where they were supposed to go. It was the kind of event she dreamed of sharing with Terra and Ventus, in some era long ago. But she knew better now. After all, she had dreamed that her life would turn out much different after becoming a Master.

It was dusk. Her fingers in her right hand were stiff, and movement came with an overwhelming shudder that ricochet up her upper arm. Some part of her wanted to take the glove off, just to see if her hand had gotten worse.

She pinched the leather fabric at the tip of her forefinger, but she didn’t pull it off. What was underneath was ugly, and it would upset her.

There was also, of course, the hair. Slowly, it turned whiter and whiter, nearly removing what made her unique. She used to have hair like her mother’s: blue, long, and wavy. The same bright sky-blue eyes.

Everyone in town used to say that she looked exactly like her mom.

Maybe it didn’t matter what they said anymore. Those comparisons stopped the day of the fire. She sat in her classroom, working on some math problems, when some of the children sitting near the window dawdled at something. It attracted all of the other students to huddle near it, watching a thick pillar of black smoke rising up beyond the forest and fields in the horizon.

She didn’t know it was her parents’ house until the deputy said they were never coming back again.

She was alone, until the day a burly older man with a bushy moustache and a scar on his face appeared in her world. With him was a young boy with tanned skin, a small smile, and eyes such a dark blue that she used to compare them to the river. Until she saw the ocean for the first time.

It never really occurred to Aqua before that she was destined to lose a family for the second time.

She took another bite of the cheese pastry, now cold and hard. But it didn’t taste that way. It was acidic, extremely sour to the mouth, and it burned to swallow it. She choked and whimpered, her throat swelling that she couldn’t breathe. Xehanort grabbed her, patting her back and encouraging her to let go until she coughed it out.

“What’s in it?” she asked. Did someone poison it while she daydreamed? Did she poison it herself?

He took a bite of the pastry himself, and nodded as he chewed. “Cheese,” Xehanort said, sarcastically. “It’s delicious, actually.”

Aqua took a few moments to process what he said. “I can’t eat anymore?” Her voice pleaded, hopeful that he was going to deny her assumption.

“We have theorized that your body will find a way to sustain itself on its own, with no need for human supplements,” he said, enjoying another bite. “Very much like a Heartless. Once you finally adapt, you’ll be strong and unstoppable.”

Heartless, she didn’t care for. She stared at the pastry, slowly disappearing with each nibble, wondering about the taste. Maybe it was a cheese blend. Maybe it was smoked before it was baked. Or perhaps it was lightly sprinkled in salt and sugar. Was she going to yearn for dessert the rest of her life?

Was there anyone else in the world that understood this feeling other than monsters?

Whoops and hollers were heard from beyond. It was time for the sky lantern ceremony. Xehanort stood up quickly, as if desperate to end his boredom.

Aqua scrambled to roll over, but the piercing pain in her thighs wouldn’t let her move. They constricted, and it felt like they were being twisted around in a circle. She winced, and yelped, attempting to push herself up. She just wanted to get to the other side of the castle wall, to look over the sea and the people gathered in boats, and she dragged herself with her hands to get there.

Xehanort sighed exasperatedly, seeing her try such futility. But he did nothing to help her. If anything, he probably wanted to use this as an excuse to get her back to what he called home.

A shadow formed behind him, and out stepped an incredibly tall and barrel-chested man with his cloak hood up.

Xemnas removed his hood, and Aqua flinched at seeing him. His face was too close to Terra’s. The same eye shape, the same jawline and cheekbone structure.

Barely a few days after she arrived at the Castle That Never Was, which was sterile, eerily quiet, and spacious beyond necessity, Xemnas took her to a window on a rare clear night. To watch the stars from there, which didn’t have the same twinkle as the ones in the Land of Departure.

“I suppose it is a blessing,” Xemnas said then, his voice smooth and mesmerizing, “that I would finally get to see the face to accompany the voice that toyed with me so. This reunion has me experiencing a sense of peace, and it is foreign. But fascinating.”

He smiled at her. And it was unsettling to see such a beautiful face contort into something so ephemeral and malicious. As though he finally claimed the prize he’d been after.

He removed his glove to touch her bare hand, and feel the folds that webbed in between her palm and her fingers. He was warm, but his grip was firm.

“You feel peaceful?” she asked him.

“Indeed.” His fiery orange eyes carefully studied her hand, as if he was inspecting something he’d never seen before.

“Then where were you?” She kept her voice stern and cold. “You said you would come get me out, but you disappeared. You left me for dust.” Her voice quivered. “Why did you abandon me, friend?”

She had expected a roundabout response. “I died,” he said simply.

The spacious castle seemed to expand even more, and everything was spinning. “What?”

“You are part of a brotherhood now,” he said, locking his gaze with hers. Touching her cheek. “You are now a once and future target of Keyblade wielders. The boys you know as Sora and Riku succeeded in destroying me. It was never my intention to leave you. The teachings you once relied on for so long have not only abandoned you, but they will not tolerate your existence.”

He continued to tell her how he stood in front of her now. He was a visitor from a recent past, and her appearance here was proof that he was given a second chance to exist. That he could become whole again on the day Kingdom Hearts was summoned. And she would be free from the pain she was feeling.

She didn’t like the touch, and pushed his hand from her face. “What would you have done with me if you had freed me before?” she asked. He didn’t answer. “Was the plan to turn me into this?”

“It would have been a much different procedure,” he said.

“So you were never going to let me go? At least trading myself for Terra had some benefit-”

Xemnas grabbed her bicep, his hold tense, as though Terra’s name was an offense. None of the muscles in his face flickered, but the sudden movement was unlike him.

“You’d be wise to select your companions with care,” he said. “I’ve chosen you. I’ve kept my solemn vow and freed you. He never once came for you, with the plethora of time he had.”

She knew this was true. But Xemnas wasn’t much better of a friend. “Touch me like this again,” she said, shaking his grip off, “and you’ll be lucky to have hands left.”

That ended the conversation that night, though a silent treatment wasn’t something either of them cared for. Threats and possessive attitudes aside, his mind games were things she didn’t bother giving much attention to. This kept her in control. As much as he was enigmatic, confused over the memories he had (some she recognized and some she didn’t), the Nodoby found purpose wanting to please her.

As long as she kept Terra’s name to herself, Xemnas, the one person in the entire organization that everyone had a difficult time understanding, was easy for her.

On the night atop the castle wall in Corona, she didn’t want to see Terra’s face in him. She had enough pain for that day. She barely had the patience for her legs.

“Xemnas, I want to see the sky lantern ceremony,” she demanded, slapping a palm against the stone underneath her.

“She cannot walk,” Xehanort retorted.

“Someone tell CAPTAIN OBVIOUS that I can hear him just fine,” she said, yelling so loud that they flinched.

Xemnas did not object to her command, cradling her in his arms. “As you wish, friend,” he said. It was like picking up a feather for him, his massive strength made apparent. It made her throat constrict more to realize this. She knew why but refused to name it.

The sea was dark, reflecting all of the twinkling of the lights that it doubled the amount of what was out there. So far, Aqua felt nothing, but she waited for the lanterns to fly – maybe then she would experience some excitement and awe at the sight.

Rapunzel had a boat of her own, with the man she was with. They had that look. Aqua read about it in stories, and witnessed others who shared the same. Any moment, they were going to get closer, maybe even indulge in a kiss. Aqua couldn’t tell if she was angry at herself for being too afraid to ever kiss Terra for real, or angry with him for never understanding her and stepping forward on his own behalf. Skipping on such an experience was never a life she wanted to live.

The lanterns were let go in a smooth ascent, drifting upward, illuminating the sky. They even replaced the stars.

But it was empty all the same, and she whimpered because she yearned for something more. What would it look like if they shared a boat together, under this view? What if he was there and kissed her that very night?

There wasn’t a point in daydreaming on wishes and what ifs. It was likely that soon enough she wouldn’t be able to feel anyone’s kiss on her lips anymore. But thinking of that boy and his ocean-blue eyes was an agony that made the pain on her fingers and legs pale by comparison. She wished Castle Oblivion took all of her memories away.

She buried her face into Xemnas’ coat, losing herself in the cologne he wore. It smelled of patchouli.

This gave both of the men the signal that it was finally time to leave. Through the dark corridor they went, before the ceremony was over. It was cool and familiar, so much like the feeling of being in the dark all those years.

And best of all, the darkness was numbing. Her muscles slowly relaxed, like she was home. It was a wonder what life was like before she knew it.