#I kin all three harder than I’ve ever kinned anyone

[constellationgrayson]

To all my fellow bitches who kin any one of these three, just know I love you you are the best and you deserve the world. Also go to therapy

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 5, chapter 6

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Content warnings: None

The golems faced off against one another, three rocky shapes grappling and striking at each other, the sound of stone on earth rising up into the brisk morning air. Nihlathak observed, circling the demonstration with interest. Blaise leaned against a rocky outcrop, arms crossed over her chest, watching the barbarian elder. He had taken them to a spot further down the mountain that hadn't seen battle in some time, so it was just the three of them.

"Impressive," Nihlathak said eventually. The approval sparked a flicker of warmth in Morgan for a moment, before he remembered that the barbarian had been speaking with Icharion. There was no knowing what they had discussed, but this praise couldn't be trusted. Nihlathak continued his examination. "You control each one separately?"

"Yes."

"And you can turn any earth to your command?"

"More or less," Morgan said. "Soil is easiest. Sand is harder. Stone is harder still."

"Ice?"

"Impossible. For me. That's water, not earth. Different elements require different magic."

Nihlathak looked down at Morgan's left arm. "What of flesh?"

"Not so different from soil. But I could never do this to another person."

"Ah, yes, your laws." Morgan did what felt like an adequate job of keeping his face impassive. They weren't his laws to follow any more. Perhaps Icharion hadn't mentioned his departure from the Order during their previous conversation. That was another small kindness, he supposed.

"There are more reasons than that," Morgan said carefully. "It was very complex work. And a golem will only respond to the one who created it." The appeal to practicality was probably the best argument for Nihlathak, he thought. No need to get into the other specifics.

"So if my own arm was... what did you say, irreparably damaged? Even if you could fix it for me, you would have control over its actions."

"Yes."

Nihlathak snorted. "Rather have no arm at all, then. Still. Yours. Is it any better than it was?"

"Better?"

"Stronger, faster... you know, better."

"The golem part is more resilient," Morgan said after a moment's thought.

"It's a lot stronger," Blaise piped up. "Remember Diablo?" Nihlathak's eyebrows shot up.

"Yes, that was-"

"You turned your arm into a sword and stabbed him in his big stupid face. It was the best thing I've ever seen," she declared, and the warmth flared back to life. Morgan met her beaming smile with a small one of his own. Blaise may have been exaggerating for effect, but at least he could trust there to be a kernel of truth behind her compliments.

"Resilience," he repeated. "And leverage." Blaise rolled her eyes. "It's no stronger than the rest of my body. Just a little more solid. I wouldn't want to use it that way in most circumstances. Remember how much trouble I had with the shield," he reminded her.

"Diablo?" Nihlathak was staring in disbelief between the two of them. "I heard whispers of his defeat - that was you?"

"Sure was," Blaise confirmed. "Haven't been telling that story much, though. Where'd you hear it?" She gave him a steady, evaluating look.

Nihlathak waved his hand. "I cannot remember where every story comes from. But this is great news! Surely now we will prevail!" His gaze fell back on Morgan. "Especially if you can help me with a... special task. I trust you can be as efficient with your attention as you are with your words."

"What would you have us do?" Morgan asked. He hoped it would be something challenging, something he could really focus on. Nihlathak glanced back at Blaise, whose arms were still crossed, before answering.

"There is a mighty sword, a twin to my own blade. The two of them together are imbued with such power as to make slaying Baal as easy as slaughtering a lamb. It was stolen from us long ago, but marvellous things have been happening ever since you stepped into my city. If you can find the twin sword for me, I would be able to overcome any obstacle, even the Lord of Destruction himself! But if the tales are to be believed, it now lies in the depths of the frozen river caverns, and I fear you may have trouble with your golems there."

"I would have to see the area to know for certain," Morgan said. It didn't sound like an especially difficult task, which was disappointing. But on the bright side, it was also something he had experience with, which meant he'd likely be successful. It would be good to accomplish something finite, tangible.

"If you know where it is, why don't you just go looking for it yourself?" Blaise narrowed her eyes at the chief elder.

Nihlathak's brow wrinkled. "I am the last chief elder. I have many responsibilities. I must attend to my people, my city. I cannot even take the time to grieve the other elders properly. I cannot spend all my time down in the caverns."

"So you would take us off the battlefield, where we can help your people, to hunt for a sword you've heard a story about." Blaise was acting a little strange, Morgan reflected. She didn't generally seem so combative. He wondered what was causing it. He would try to remember to ask, later.

"Do not dismiss stories so easily, girl. The sword is real enough. My own blade is proof of that, passed down from the Ancients themselves! It was quenched in the warrior blood of Bul-Kathos. It has yet to fail me in battle. And now that we find ourselves in such great need, its twin has resurfaced! With both swords, our victory would be certain!"

"I mean, our chances are looking pretty good already. Your people are strong and determined. This is probably going to be the easiest one yet. Right, Morgan?"

"The numbers are in our favour this time," he agreed. "But Baal has been more elusive than his brothers. We should still be cautious."

"What, like he's going to sneak away again? He wants to play king of the mountain badly enough to make a run for it, and we're going to crush him before he gets there. Simple."

"You are very sure of yourself," Nihlathak said, sneering.

"We took down Mephisto in Kurast and then we followed Diablo to Hell and killed him in his own sanctuary," Blaise returned the sneer, squaring her shoulders as she came closer. "And that was just the two of us. So yeah, I'm sure of myself. Of us," she amended.

"Please stop," Morgan said. They both ignored him, focused on each other.

"What a shame you couldn't have come to us a few days sooner," Nihlathak snarled, not backing down. "Your accomplishments might have swayed some of the other chief elders while they still lived. But they all died to protect Harrogath and I will not let their sacrifice be in vain."

"And somehow you survived all of them, huh? Just lucky, were you?"

"What are you saying, outsider? They were my friends, my kin! You think you can just walk into my city and-" Nihlathak moved to lunge forward and Blaise mirrored him. They both bounced off of the wall of earth Morgan raised between them.

"Stop," he repeated. They gave him matching glares. "Fighting amongst ourselves serves only chaos," he pointed out. "I may be able to find this sword quickly. I have some experience searching for magical items. How large are the caverns?"

"Vast. Miles of underground paths, like a maze. If it was easy I would have done it already," Nihlathak scoffed.

"You said your sword has a similar enchantment?"

"Yes, just not as strong on its own."

"May I examine it?" Morgan brought the wall back down slowly. Blaise shot him an annoyed look but stepped back, crossing her arms again. Nihlathak stared at her pointedly as he unsheathed his sword before presenting it peacefully.

Morgan held his hand out over the sword. It was impressive, large enough that he would have had to use both hands to even hold it, though the barbarian wielded it easily in one. The blade was decorated with a series of runes, slightly worn by years of use and honing but still visible. But when he touched it with a questioning wisp of magic, there was no answering resonance. There didn't seem to be anything magical about it, not even in the gems inlaid in the hilt. He widened his focus briefly - yes, Nihlathak had other magical items on his person, but the sword wasn't one of them.

"This sword isn't enchanted," he said. Nihlathak took a step back.

"What are you saying?"

"I don't feel any magic on your blade," Morgan explained. "I can sense the enchantments on your amulet, some of your rings, something in your pockets, your boots," he enumerated. "There's none on the sword."

"You're full of surprises," Nihlathak said slowly. "So you mean to tell me that you can tell if something has magic in it, but you can't feel the power of our runes?" He pointed to them one by one. "El for swiftness, Sol for strength, Dol for fortitude, Lo for vitality..." He trailed off as Morgan shook his head. "Well. You will just have to search the normal way, then. A man such as yourself must have an eye for details."

Morgan frowned. "If I can't sense the magic on the sword, I have no advantage. My eyesight isn't all that good, and any of your people could search faster than me. I'd be more use on the battlefield with my golems."

"I cannot put my trust in just anyone. The sword is a powerful weapon." Nihlathak's face grew suddenly serious. "Power does things to people. Even when you think you know them."

"You don't know us at all," Blaise said. "How is that any better?"

"I know I can trust a necromancer not to take part in the petty squabbles of men." Morgan tried to keep his face neutral at that, despite the pull in his chest. "You, I don't know," Nihlathak continued, flapping a hand dismissively in Blaise's direction.

"Icharion arrived before me. And he's probably faster. Why not ask him?"

Nihlathak hesitated for a second, then spread his arms wide. "I like you better!"

Blaise snorted. She was right. That seemed an unlikely reason. As far as Nihlathak would know, there wouldn't be much disparity between their skills or attitudes. But, as ever, there was one obvious difference.

"You would prefer I find the sword because you know I won't use it. If it's a twin to yours, it's too large for me to wield."

"See, that's why I like you better! So clever."

Morgan considered. Blaise had proven over and over that she was capable of besting even the strongest demons, with very little help. She didn't need the extra assurance of Nihlathak's aid, with or without the additional sword. But although the previous day's battle had been reasonably good, the aftermath had proven much more difficult to bear. A more solitary pursuit might take less of a toll. And the children of Bul-Kathos put great stock in symbols, according to Cain's findings. The sword could represent something important for the whole clan, not just Nihlathak. Finding it could help to bring them a little light to combat the darkness of the losses they'd endured so far.

"Let us talk it over. In private." Blaise's tone indicated this was not a request.

"Fine. I have other matters to attend to anyway. Find me when you've reached a decision." Nihlathak gave Blaise one last dark look before turning back towards the waypoint. Morgan waited in silence until he had gone through, leaving the two of them alone.

"You don't trust Nihlathak," he observed.

"Not as far as I could throw him," Blaise said.

"Why?"

"I've been talking to some of the warriors. They don't trust him either, and they've known him all their lives. He won't discuss what happened before we got here, but it's really suspicious that he's the only surviving elder. There were six others, all of them strong. Something isn't right."

"He said the other elders were his friends. He could just be grieving." Grieving those recent deaths, the people they could have met and maybe even helped if only they had been able to come a little sooner. If they hadn't had to wait for him to slowly recover. Again. Morgan looked down, leaving the rest of that thought unvoiced. Blaise caught on to his train of thought anyway.

"Hey. Hey, no. No. Don't start this. There's nothing we can do to change whatever happened before we got here. And we came as soon as we could."

"If-"

"No if. There is no way we could have gotten here in time to save them. Listen to me, Morgan. A hundred little things could have gone differently, but they didn't. Don't waste your energy thinking about things you can't change. We have our own battle to fight right now, and I need you with me."

Morgan pressed his lips together. That lie was meant to make him feel better, but it was too transparent for that. She didn't need him, not really. There were dozens of hardy warriors already intent on beating Baal back down from their mountain. Competent, skilled warriors. Ones she wouldn't have to save from peril, ones that wouldn't slow her down.

"Besides," she continued, "that sword story is clearly a load of crap. Why would he need another sword if the one he already has is so great? And why doesn't he have anyone he can trust to find it for him? You'd think there would be at least one person, he's the chief elder. It's suspicious. Not to mention the captives we picked up yesterday. Since when do demons take prisoners like that? This whole thing stinks."

It did stand to reason that someone in an important position would have at least some people he could trust. If even Morgan could manage to collect a couple of friends, surely a person as socially inclined as Nihlathak would have someone he could trust. But perhaps only one or two, and perhaps they had died in the siege. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility. However, thinking on his own friends, particularly in the context of demons taking prisoners, something else occurred to him.

"I can't feel the enchantment on Cain's scrolls either."

"What?"

"They hold magic. In the runes. It doesn't resonate like other items."

Blaise wrinkled her nose. "So there's a chance there might actually be something to his story."

"There could be."

"I don't like it."

"You don't have to go with me. If I go looking for this sword. You work well with the war party."

"So do you, and I'm not going to make you search through some sort of awful frozen cavern on your own. Let's go talk to Deckard, see if we can sort this out."

[scandeniall]

Playing Games

Pairing: Iwaizumi x Reader, mention of akaashi x reader

Request from @mel-melona: hi! I saw that you opened song requests and thought I’d drop one here if you’ve got time. So here’s the vibe, Playing Games by Anna of the North 

wc: 1642

summary: A story in which you and iwaizumi break eachother’s hearts again and again.

Breaking your own heart. It was something Iwaizumi never considered. Throughout the years he’d thought heartbreak was at the hands of others. But, to an extent, he was right. As he scrolled his instagram a simple picture completely shattered his own heart. You had been seated on the lap of none other than ex fukurodani setter, Akaashi Keiji. What stood out even more was the way your hand extended to show the shiny diamond resting on your ring finger You were officially gone, and it was all his fault.

“Let's get married.” It was the first thing you’d ever said to him. You guys were 8 years old. The way You’d ran up to him at recess caught him off guard. The flowers held tight between your fingers couldn't have been for him. The dirt staining your outfit was an indication that you’d just picked the flowers. “No.” It was the first thing he ever said to you. The way your eyes filled with tears made the young boy uncomfortable. However, before he could apologize, or cry because you were crying a voice interrupted. “Iwa-chan, you made them cry.” That was how you wound your way into Iwaizumi’s life, and the first time he broke your heart.  

----

The sun had started to set when the three of you started to make your way home. You stayed after school to watch the practice of Kitagawa Daiichi’s boys volleyball team. Your friends had made the team with ease years ago and as the three of you were almost with junior high you took every chance you could to see your boys play. “You didn’t have to wait on us you know.” You only shrugged. “I like watching you play Iwa. You're really cool” Had the golden hour sun not been illuminating you guys, you might’ve noticed the redness that crept up his ears. “Aren’t I cool too (Y/N),” your third party exclaimed. “You’d be cool if you stopped overworking yourself shittykawa.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the scold, and it was the first time Iwaizumi noticed how amazing the sound was.

“Besides, I’m gonna really miss you guys.” The words came out quietly, both boys brows furrowing with confusion. “I thought you were applying to Aboa Johsai too.” Iwaizumi covered the frantic tone with a cough. He remembered how he blamed it on dirt flying into his mouth. Even at 14, it seemed weird but you let it pass. The reality of what you were able to tell your best friends settling in. “I’m moving to Tokyo after this year ends. I’ll be going to Fukurodani Academy.” That was the first time you broke Iwaizumi’s heart.

----

He promised. He promised he’d only be a phone call away, and that nothing would change. You would talk or text everyday and it would be like nothing changed. The tears that drowned your pillowcase currently made you feel like otherwise. It was halfway through 1st year and not only was it harder to make friends in Tokyo, but you couldn't even turn to your best friend/ After All, he was the reason for the tears.The summer before you left you and Iwaizumi found yourself in your first relationships with one another. Shortly after you admitted that you would be moving after your last year, Iwaizumi admitted to having a crush on you. The awkward conversation consisted of him telling you that he thinks that he likes you. “Or I just really like your laugh and your smile, and jokes.” 

The two of you ended junior high and went into your first years of high school despite living in two different places. The promise of taking the train every weekend to see one another sounded good in the head of two early teens who were still in the honeymoon stage. However, the distance wore and as Iwaizumi and Oikawa began getting more and more involved with one volleyball there was no time for you. “Someone at school confessed to me today. I don’t know how I feel.” The admission not only led to a breakup, but the second time Iwaizumi broke your heart.

----

“Shhhh your parents are home,” you laughed against his lips. You were met with the hands on your hips sliding upwards and fingers beginning to move rapidly along the skin of your waist. The legs you had tangled with his began to twitch and you had to slap your hand over your mouth to keep from laughing loudly at the way Iwaizumi’s hands tickled you. The two of you had made up shortly after your “‘breakup”. If you could even call it a relationship given how young you were. Now halfway through your third year, you tended to travel to Miyagi twice a month to see your childhood friends. You always told your parents that you were staying at your cousin’s for the weekend, however would always sneak out with their help. You tended to find yourself sharing whispered jokes and soft kisses with your first love. 

“Are you sure you have to go back tomorrow,” The groan vibrated against your neck from where Iwaizumi had his lips rested. “We can always just skip school and stay like this.”  Your hands lightly thread through the soft strands. “Our parents would absolutely kill us. Besides I promised I’d help Akaashi, with some science problems tomorrow.” You didn’t notice it but something kin to jealousy flickered through his eyes. It was lightning fast, and he composed himself even faster. The two of you weren’t dating by any means, the distance not being worth it. Those were his words not yours. However, he didn’t know you were that close to the setter. “Is that the setter?” Iwaizumi knew the answer. Afterall, you helped with the volleyball on occasion, and could be seen hanging out with them on snapchat sometimes. Your nod of confirmation only prompted home to continue. “I didn’t know you two were that close.”

“I’ve gotten close with everyone on the team.” He doesn’t miss the way you stress the word and has to force himself not to sound like a jealous asshole. “Besides, he has the same teacher I had last year and I still have those notes.” The warmth on his body fades as you sit up, eyeing him silently. “You know, you two resemble each other. Dark haired, pretty eyed. Handsome. Maybe I do have a type.” The last words come out as a tease. However, at the slightest indication of you being interested in Akaashi, you broke Iwaizumi’s heart for the second time. 

----

Iwaizumi remembered how you cried when he told you that he was going to college in California. Your puffy eyes and reddened face made his heart ache, however he still found you to be the most beautiful person in the world. The night before he left he gave you a necklace. Just a simple silver chain that had been his, but he rarely wore. He told you it was to remember him by and for you to still feel close to him. The two of you promised to keep in contact, an unspoken promise to pick things up one day.

However, that never happened. You’d visited him once down in California and he took you to a few parties, at which he ended up ditching you halfway through the night. It wasn’t intentional, but his new life without you just seemed more appealing. The crack in our heart so tiny it was practically unnoticeable.The following days he’d apologize, with  a gentle caress along your jaw and a sweet kiss to match. Still the two of you had no title. When you returned back home, you’d two worked out a time schedule in which you two would talk. Slowly his calls became less frequent and you found out he’d be out living his new life. Your face time Netflix party dates with Iwaizumi eventually dissipated. As the cracks in your heart continued to grow, you began to find solstice in your old friend Akaashi. However, whenever you seemed to start moving on in your own life, your first love found his way back into your life.

A simple text checking in to tell you that he missed you. To a random call while it was 3 am for him, because he wanted to hear your voice. And then he got too busy again. Too busy to confirm that he was out safe, or to remind you how much he cared. Each time the once tiny crack grew bigger and bigger. Although it was unintentional, his arrival and departure served as a silent reminder to not move on. Too keep waiting on someone who just wasn’t willing to keep you. At least not in the moment.

Eventually texts turned into once a month, and then once every few months, and then only on holidays and birthdays.However, Iwaizumi would miss the subtle mentions of Akaashi and the way the relationship began to blossom. He’d waved it off as the two of you just being friends as his chance slowly diminished. 

----

As Iwaizumi read the caption, he’d found out the two of you had been dating for the last 3 and a half years. You looked so happy. The two of you are 25 now, and he had every intention of returning back home for a while, hoping to reconnect with old friends, including you. As he observed the picture, he picked up a tiny detail that anyone else would have bypassed. Zooming in, he noticed you still wore the silver chain of his. His heart briefly raced, but another look at the way your eyes shined brighter than all the stars in the sky said it all. He had lost you. Maybe not as a friend, but as a lover. For the last time you broke Iwaizumi’s heart.

a/n: i just binged this out and now its 3am but im gonna post it now anyways. This was fun and I hope i did it justice bc obviously this isnt a happy ending type song. But it was also fun to just write. Anyways thank u for requesting and song requests are open: check this post for rules (ish)

[feotakahari]

A Story About Goblins

It comforts me to imagine how I might kill you.

You’ll be first, chosen one. Last would be more satisfying, but even in my fantasies, I couldn’t beat you in a fight. The only way I could do it is if I caught you by surprise. When you’re standing over the goblin king’s corpse, your quest completed, your god satisfied, I’ll approach you from behind. My dagger will find the weak point where your helmet meets your cuirass. If your god is real, you’ll meet him before you know what’s happening.

I wonder what he really thinks of your quest to end this war? Is he the one who grants you your “holy” flames, or do they come from some other source? I’ve heard the screams, and smelled the cooking flesh. I don’t see anything “holy” in what I’ve helped you do to my own kin.

I’ll be merciful, compared to you. I won’t give you any chance to scream.

-- -- -- --

“Whatcha thinking, Ortus?” you ask.

My name is Ortrus, two Rs. It’s a traditional goblin name. But I’ve long since stopped trying to correct you.

We’re sitting around a campfire, about three miles north of a ruined human town. None of us could bear to stay the night there. The corpses are old, and the smell has faded, but the sorrow feels like it seeped into the very ground.

“I’m thinking about war,” I tell you.

“Oh. I didn’t mean to pry. You were just so quiet.”

You’re so childlike, even after all the people we’ve killed. Of course, they weren’t people to you. The humans in that town, those were people, before the goblin army butchered them. But the goblins you’ve killed, those were just sacrifices to your god.

“We’ll have our revenge,” the wizard interjects. “We’ll make the goblins pay for what they did.”

“The goblin king,” the warrior corrects.

“If that’s how you want to look at it,” the wizard says.

-- -- -- --

You’ll be second, wizard, and by far the hardest. I can only hope you’re too shocked to react to the chosen one’s death. Your ice could freeze my bones before I so much as blink. But my dagger is swift, and its enchantments will pierce through any wards you might muster. If I hurry, I’ll stop you from speaking your spells.

Have you considered that I might betray you? To the humans, I look almost human. All my goblin mother gave me was a hunched back and a drawn face, like my skull is too big for my skin. But you lizardfolk were known as monsters just a generation or two ago. It’s quite recent for humans to say “person” and mean you. Perhaps you retain a touch of suspicion, an awareness of how blurry the divisions can become.

I hope you don’t. If you do, then you’ll live, and I’ll die.

-- -- -- --

“We stomp the king, we end this,” the chosen one says. “And if another goblin king starts more trouble, we stomp him too.”

“How many goblin kings will that make for?” you ask. “The goblins are many, and the swamplands are poor. So long as they want more land, conflict is inevitable.”

“That’s the queen’s job,” the warrior says. “We stop the war, she makes the peace.”

“And then what?” you demand. “She’s not going to give them land. They’ll still want more, and they’ll still try to take it. They won’t stop until they’re forced to stop.”

“We shouldn’t fight each other,” the chosen one attempts cautiously.

It’s an old argument, and it always goes round and round in circles. I’ve listened to it far too many times.

“Ortus, where are you going?” the warrior asks.

“Anywhere that isn’t here,” I say.

-- -- -- --

I can’t spare you, warrior. You’ll want revenge for the wizard and the chosen one. But at least it will be a fair fight.

The villagers call you a knight. It’s not something you ever called yourself. You were a miner before the war, and the queen hasn’t exactly had a chance to offer you a title. But you move naturally in armor, and swing your axe as readily as a pick.

Me and my magic dagger, versus you and your skill and practice. I wonder which will win? It would be fitting if you were the one who killed me. Out of all of us, you seem the best equipped to find a future where no more humans or goblins have to die.

-- -- -- --

I like the forest. Is that odd, for one like me who was born in the swamps? I’m good at moving without noise. Not so much as a twig snaps under my feet.

But I could hear you from a mile away, warrior. Your armor weighs you down. Following after me, to make sure that I’m all right. You can’t leave well enough alone.

“None of us think of you that way,” you tell me.

“What way?” I ask, just to hear you say it.

“Like a monster.”

“Like a goblin.”

“You’re my friend, Ortus,” you tell me. “You’re Hannah’s friend, too. Shass, maybe not, but she’ll come around eventually.”

Hannah. Shass. I’ve been thinking of them for so long as the chosen one and the wizard. It would be harder to imagine how to kill someone called Hannah.

“I just need to think,” I tell you. “I’ll come back when--”

My eyes must have given me away. I see the motion behind you, and you move to dodge the strike of a hammer.

A goblin soldier, here? No, she doesn’t look like a rank-and-file soldier. She barely knows how to swing that hammer.

Lucky for you. If she hit you, she could kill you.

I could kill you.

Dagger-blows and hammer-blows don’t look much alike, but there’s no need for them to find your body. If I strike you from behind, I could run away. Claim we were set upon by a squad, and only I made it out.

Just two heroes left, to save humans and slaughter goblins. Two heroes who’ll need to die in the end.

I stand petrified, pondering, until your axe cuts through her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her as you stand over her body. I hate you because you mean it.

You turn to me, your axe still smeared with gore. “You didn’t help me.” Quieter, understanding. “You couldn’t help me.”

“I’ve seen too much death today,” I tell you. Maybe it’s even true.

-- -- -- --

It comforts me to imagine how I might kill you. In my darkest moments, I admit that imagining is all I’ll ever do.

I could say I still need you. Three heroes stand a better chance than two at killing the goblin king. There’ll be time to kill you after the king is dead.

(I don’t dare add myself to that count. I can’t call myself a hero.)

Or I could say I like you. I could say I want you to survive, no matter the cost. I’ve kept up the pretense to you and the others. Why not lie to myself as well?

I’ll always have an excuse. The wizard is right about that much. After this king, there will be another, and another. There’ll always be some reason it’s better to let you live than to kill you.

The truth is, I’ll never kill you because that’s not the path I’m on. I chose to kill my kin, because I thought it was for a purpose. If I ever stop--if I ever turn my dagger against anyone else, or no one--I’ll have to face the thought that maybe none of it helped anyone at all.

-- -- -- --

“I won’t tell the others about this,” you tell me.

“I appreciate that,” I say.

“I’ve never had to fight humans,” you say. “I can’t imagine how much this must hurt you. You’re a brave goblin, Ortus. Braver than all the rest of us.”

That’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told me.

[sterling-starlight]

Across the Blue Sea

Natalia groaned pathetically into her pillow as she lay in her bed below deck. Nadia had, of course, spared no expense in booking them passage across the ocean, and she would absolutely not stand for her betrothed suffering the journey on a small, cramped cot with a thin mattress.  Alas, not even the comforts of a feather mattress made Natalia feel much better.  They were sailing south through the Malvent Strait, to Venterre. Natalia’s homeland, if Asra’s recollection and her own faint memories were to be believed.  

The Magician had poured over as many books about Venterran history as she could get her hands on. Everything had been all but burned into her retinas at this point. The agriculture, the architecture, the language, the long and bloody wars for independence... none of it sparked anything significant. Natalia had hoped that maybe, just maybe, reading about her own culture would make her feel something more personal than: “Oh, well that’s interesting.”   Patriotism, homesickness, anything.

Even more than that... she and Nadia were going to meet Natalia’s parents. They were alive and well, after all. No reason why she shouldn’t go see them. But there was still so much of Natalia’s past that she didn’t know. What if her parents were cruel or neglectful, and that was why she had left the country to train with Asra?  What if they didn’t approve of the fact their daughter was getting married to a woman, Countess or not? ...Did they even see Natalia as their daughter anymore? When was the last time she had even spoken to them? Did Asra ever tell them...

A wave slammed into the hull of the ship. While in reality it had only been a nudge, to Natalia it felt like the world had been knocked off its axis, and then, before she could blink, it was then snapped back into its proper kilter with dizzying speed.  She bit down on her bottom lip to muffle a groan and pressed her face even harder into the pillow.  

After what felt like an eternity of wallowing in her anxiety-and-seasickness induced misery, the door to her and Nadia’s shared stateroom opened. A few painfully long seconds later, the bed sunk under Nadia’s weight, and her perfectly manicured fingers began to card soothingly through Natalia’s hair.  

“If you had told me you got so easily seasick, I would have packed ingredients for a remedy.” Nadia tutted, although not unkindly.  

“Ah didn’t ken,” Natalia returned with a strained, muffled voice.  “I’ve ne’er bin oan th’ ocean afore.” She lifted her face from the pillow and put her head on Nadia’s thigh.  After a moment of reflection, she added in a softer voice, “Nae that Ah kin remember, anyway.”  

Nadia hummed and continued her gentle caresses of her lover’s scalp.  The ship creaked, and then Nadia spoke again. “So, when are you going to tell me what is really ailing you?”  Natalia blinked up at her and opened her mouth to protest, which Nadia swiftly cut off by raising a hand. “Do not try to tell me it is simply seasickness. I have seen you when you are under emotional duress; you’re terrible at hiding it.” Her voice lowered, becoming gentle. “You did not have to hide it from me during your Trial, and you do not have to hide it from me now.”

Feeling exposed and ashamed, Natalia started picking at a loose thread on the silk pillow case. “You’re gonnae think it’s silly.” She said.  

“Humor me, then.”  

“...Fine. I’m worried aboot meetin’ mah parents. Terrified, really.”

Nadia’s eyes widened and her brows shot up to her hairline. “Why on earth would you be terrified of your parents?” She questioned. Suddenly, her expression darkened. “Do you have memories of them mistreating you? Because if so-”

“No!” Natalia interrupted firmly. “At least, Ah don’t think thay did. It doesn’t feel lik’ thay did...” she trailed off, brow pinched and lips pursed.  She closed her eyes and tried to picture what her mother and father might have looked like. All she got were hazy, dark figures, like someone had spilled ink in water, and a headache throbbing against her temples.  “Does that mak’ sense?” She added once the pain had subsided enough.  

“Alright,” Nadia said, anger fading from her eyes. “If not childhood abuse, then what?”

“Ah just... whit dae Ah say tae them? ‘Och, awright, it’s me! Yer daughter ye haven’t heard fae in at least three years. Sorry aboot that. Ah wis dead, ‘n’ then brought back fae th’ dead thanks tae magic! Also, Ah fought th’ De’il ‘n’ git engaged!” She finished her tirade with a groan and dragged her hands down her face. “They’re going tae think I’m crazy.” She lamented.  

“I think you are worrying too much about a meeting you haven’t even had yet.” Nadia said calmly, fingers twisting in Natalia’s hair.  “If there is anyone who knows the feeling, it is I. You remember how much I loathed the idea of any of my sisters coming to see me.”

“’N’ then it turned oot perfectly fine.” Natalia said smiling, even as Nadia pinched her cheek.

“Yes, yes. As I recall, you wasted no time in saying ‘I told you so’ when it turned out Nasmira’s visit was not as cataclysmic as I thought it would be. But I digress.  I have a feeling the reunion with your parents will not be as terrible as your mind is telling you it will be.  But that is a bridge we will cross when we come to it. Together.”

The tender moment was ruined when another wave chose that moment to rock the ship. Nadia’s hands gripped onto Natalia’s shoulders to keep her from rolling off her thigh. Natalia slapped a hand over her mouth with a gag, face going pale. “And after we get onto solid ground.” Nadia said.  Swiftly, she pulled Natalia off the bed and up onto the main deck before she could get sick all over the good linens.  

[whumpitywhumpwhump]

Here’s Mafia Week Day 5! Prompt: “Prove your loyalty.”

The new recruit sitting in Beck’s office kept shifting and glancing around, as though he expected Pat himself to jump out of nowhere and start quizzing him. Beck watched him from across the desk, chin propped up by one arm. The kid was young, almost as young as Beck himself had been when he joined up, so Beck tried to think of the advice he would have wanted when he was new—what did no one think to tell him?

“So, advice, that’s what I’m supposed to give you, right?”

The kid nodded, then ran a hand over his shaved-down hair.

“Ok. First thing, then. Don’t ask questions. Especially not if you’re dealing with Pat himself. To quote a fellow member of the organization, when Pat tells you to shoot, you don’t ask where or how many times—you just shoot. If he needed you to have more information, he’d give it.” Beck was never big on questions himself and it had served him well in his years serving Pat.

The kid frowned, dark brows sliding together.

“What?”

“I just—I know it’s stupid, but I feel like he doesn’t like me? Like, yeah, he let me in the organization, but every time I see him he glares, like he’s waiting for me to mess it all up somehow.”

“He doesn’t dislike you. He just doesn’t trust you, which brings me to the second thing. In my opinion, this is the most important thing you’ll ever do in your time with Pat. You need to make a good impression early—do something perfectly for him, prove your loyalty. Even better if it’s something you personally care a lot about, because he loves to see that dedication. It’ll let him know that you’re serious and he should treat you as such.”

“But how do I know what will prove my loyalty? What did you do?”

“I saved his nephew’s life, jumped in front of a bullet. Apparently, selflessness goes a long way when it’s in the interest of the boss and his kin.”

He wasn’t lying to the kid—he had taken a bullet for Simon, not long after they’d first met. Simon had been running a negotiation with the Connell family over lunch at a bookshop uptown, and Beck was supposed to observe from the background and act as backup only if absolutely necessary. Three other people were also stationed around for the same job, but they were all more experienced people, higher up in the organization.

Things had been going well the entire night, and then, as Louis Connell slid their deal across the table, Beck saw the flash of silver. The man was pulling a gun from his pocket—there was no time for warning—Beck took off running and dove across Simon’s lap. Dishes went sliding off the table, smashing; the other three guys pointed their weapons, and Louis pulled the trigger, burying his bullet a few inches deep in Beck’s back as he flew past, tackling Simon to the floor with him.

The two of them had crawled under the table, and Simon put pressure on Beck’s wound, but it wasn’t then what it was now, between them. There was no rush of warmth to any place their skin touched, no blushing smiles or soft kisses. Beck couldn’t even remember, at the time, if Pat’s nephew was called Sam or Simon, so he just never used his name.

There was a shootout above them. Two of Pat’s men down, but all of the Connell’s. When their ride came to pick them up, they took the remaining backup, along with Simon and still-bleeding Beck, back to Pat’s house. There, a doctor had stitched him up and given him some medication with no name on the label. After he was feeling a bit better, Pat came up to see him.

“That was good job you did today. I’ve heard you’re the reason I still have nephew.” He paused, and maybe Beck had imagined it, but the older man seemed to despise him just a little less.

Of course, once he’d saved Simon’s life, he couldn’t get rid of him. Simon would go out of his way to bring Beck along for different operations and hyped him up to Pat as often as possible. That got Beck in Pat’s good graces very quickly—he respected his nephew, because Simon was such a good judge of character. Saving Simon that day was the only reason he’d made it this far in the organization.

Beck sighed to himself, because Simon might also be the reason the organization turned on him. If this recruit would hurry up and leave his office, he could be on his way to the Connell hideout, to break in and steal back the case. A risky move, but one that might pay off for both of them.

“So I should try to save someone?”

“Yeah, I guess. Or something like that. Like if you were caught by our rivals, keeping your mouth shut under pressure might earn his respect, or if you get particularly good dirt that we can use as leverage against someone. Stuff like that, big moves.”

“And if nothing like that comes up?”

“Trust me, it will.”

The recruit nodded, lips pressed in concentration, like he was committing Beck’s every word to memory. It was rather unsettling to watch.

“That’s the basics, so that’s where we’ll stop for today. Be here tomorrow, same time, and we’ll start in on schmoozing—how to butter up the legal types you work with.”

The kid jumped up, thanked him vigorously, and left. As soon as he was out of sight, Beck grabbed his backpack and rushed out the door.

Laying down in the backseat of his own car, he wriggled out of his work clothes, and managed to pull on a larger, baggier set of black clothes. It would distort his shape and keep him from being too distinct. He then put in the fake contacts Simon had given him—very dark brown, to cover up his natural green. He completed the change with a brown wig, which fit neatly over his curls. He’d never done anything even remotely like this—he did bribery and leverage, not breaking and entering, but it’s what Simon needed him to do.

He slid out, fully changed, and tucked his gun in the waistband of his pants, pulling his jacket to hang down over it. With a click, he locked his car, then tucked the keys in at the top of the tire, where they were hidden from sight by the body of the vehicle—taking them with him seemed too risky.

He set off for the Connell base—Josie’s diner. With any luck, he’d be in and out of there before Simon arrived.

 He slid in the back door no problem. All he had to do was swipe a box of lettuce and say he was delivering it, and they let him walk right in. There was no need for high security at a place like Josie’s because everyone in town knew it was Connell territory and their sometimes-home base, so who in their right mind would try to break in or cause trouble there?

He set the lettuce down amidst similar produce in the kitchen, then quickly darted into a long hallway that wound off further into the building. Following it’s twists and turns led him to a flight of stairs going straight down into the pitch black. If he could guess from the vague odor of gunpowder and cigars wafting up to him, the place he needed to check out would be down there.

Beck crept silently down the stairs, eyes adjusting the dark slowly. When he reached the bottom, he could make out, vaguely, that he was in a basement, all one room. There were large pieces of furniture scattered about, but he couldn’t make anything out clearly.

He stood on the bottom step, thinking out a plan to find the briefcase down here. Perhaps if he crept back up the stairs and pushed the door a little further open, enough light would filter down for him to search by? Or maybe he could risk turning on the light—but would he be able to find the case before anyone noticed the lights?

Wood groaned behind him, barely audible. He spun around, saw a dark shape coming up fast—it connected with his forehead, his body stumbled back off the step, and spots swirled across his vision.

He couldn’t help but groan when the lights were flicked on. Through squinted eyes, he made out Jackson Connell standing over him, holding what looked like a two by four.

“Who are you, and what are you doing creeping around here?”

Beck kept his lips firmly shut.

“I said, who the fuck are you?” The man punctuated his question with a kick to his stomach.

The air rushed out of Beck with a small gasp, but he just stared at the stairs, ignoring the words. Another kick, this one harder, slammed into his gut. He didn’t even put hands up to protect himself—it wasn’t worth it yet. Kicks were fine, he could handle that.

Heavy footsteps coming down the stairs announced the arrival of another Connell, this one a stranger to Beck. He watched the large man warily as he approached.

“Who’s this fucker?”

“Hasn’t said yet. You wanna ask him?”

The big guy nodded, and grabbed a fistful of Beck’s hair, lifting him off the ground. The man slammed him against the wall, hard enough that his teeth knocked against each other.

“Name?”

Beck just gave the man a cold glare. The man nodded, then dropped him to the floor. Before he could get his bearings, a boot connected with his ribs, then another.

The kicks came too quickly for him to do anything other than take it. One particularly hard kick left a flash of hot pain, brighter than the other future bruises, and he grunted. That spotted throbbed with every pant in or out.

A second blow connected with that same spot, and he bit down on his lip to keep from crying out. It was getting harder to keep sucking in full breaths of air, and his chest was starting to ache, so he curled up tighter and tried to put his arms between his body and the assailants.

The big man was not having that, however. He grabbed Beck’s arm and used it to pull him to his feet. Then he delivered a hefty punch to his chest, and the air was knocked out his lungs. As he gasped harshly, the man pushed him across the room, sending him stumbling into a table.

The man shoved him into a seat and grabbed his arms. Still struggling with getting a full breath, Beck could do nothing as the man clicked handcuffs shut around his wrists, then circled around him.

“Now, you’re gonna tell us your name and why you’re here.”

Beck put on a lopsided grin, and the man swung his meaty fist. As it collided with Beck’s jaw, all he could think was that he had failed Simon, and Pat was going to kill them both.        

[cycat4077]

Changes: Chapter 7

There’s two chapters left and I’m excited!

Title: Changes Ship: Sonny x Reader (OC female character)

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch.6 | AO3 | Chapter List |

Chapter 7: Absence - Sonny is missing from work one day and his absence hits you harder than you expected. 

The summer is winding down and you’re near to having the backlog of SVU casefiles expertly organized and sorted. You’ve made a lot of progress, with only a few more boxes left to go. Time has flown by it seems and you realise that Sonny has actually been instrumental in making your days a little brighter. The two of you often find yourselves taking the same lunch break, perhaps coincidental or maybe secretly intentional. Regardless, it allows you both to simply enjoy each other’s company. That’s why you always get a little jolt of excitement when Sonny walks into the precinct in the mornings. You know you’ll at least have a reason to smile.

Today however, is different. Sonny hasn’t shown up for work. You take note of the other squad members as they arrive and begin their shift. You try to subtly keep one eye on the door, but person after person files in and there’s still no sign of Carisi. Your heart sinks a little further.

Eventually you tell yourself to accept that he won’t be at work today and you’re too ashamed to dare ask anyone why. It’s not that big of a deal. He owes you no explanation. Still, disappointment stems from his absence. You enjoy seeing him everyday. The way he never fails to dress slick, from his perfectly gelled hair to the crisp three-piece suits he adorns. He is the definition of handsomely presentable. Not to mention that he always makes sure to acknowledge you. If he’s busy, it may only be a smile and a nod. But, it’s enough. Looking back, you find it remarkable how in just a couple months, your attitudes towards one another have turned completely around. You’ve really gotten to know Sonny and he you. That’s why his absence hits you so hard. You miss him.

The morning continues to tick by slowly until you hear Fin pipe up as Sgt. Benson emerges from her office. “Hey Liv, where’s Carisi?” he questions.

Detective Rollins answers instead: “He took the day off. The Carisis are putting on a baby shower for Bella and Tommy.” Amanda waves her hand dismissively like this is a common reason for Sonny to miss work.

“That family and their big parties,” Fin utters to no one in particular, before taking a sip of his coffee.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the squad, you’re smiling. That sinking feeling you previously had is overcome by the comfort of knowing that Sonny is with his family. You feel somehow even more connected to the detective because of it. You imagine the delight in his smile as he laughs with his kin. He’s probably talking to his sister’s belly right now, telling the baby how much ‘uncle Sonny’ already loves them. Your heart aches, but in the best way possible.

The next morning you once again find yourself keeping watch in the direction of the elevator. Finally Sonny shows up, a smile on his face and looking rather rejuvenated. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding in. You raise your head in his direction, ready to greet him when he walks by, but instead Sgt. Benson is already calling for him. Rollins is to join him and head out on a call asap. You observe Sonny’s focus switch immediately. His posture straightens and his brow knits with concern almost as if he’s entered ‘detective-mode’. You sigh defeatedly. There goes any chance of saying ‘hi’ today. But as Sonny is flying past your station, he makes sure to turn to you with a smile and a wink before disappearing out the door.

You carry that image with you throughout the morning and into lunch. You hate to admit that such a simple, friendly gesture can make you feel so giddy. You decide a cup of coffee is just what you need to distract yourself and ready the machine.

Your stomach growls and you feel a little disheartened that it will end up being a day where you eat alone. So, you scroll through your phone while you munch on your food. After a while the coffee maker beeps, signalling you to down the final bites and fill your mug.

As you begin to attend to it, the breakroom door whooshes open and Sonny plops himself down in a chair. “Hey!” he tries to say casually, though it’s clear he’s out of breath.

“Hey, you’re back!” you reply before quickly turning towards the counter in an attempt to hide the smile that's spreading across your face.

“Busy mornin’!” he trills, unpacking his own lunch. He begins to wolf it down noisily.

“You want a cup?” you offer, pouring yourself a mug of coffee.

“Sure! Thanks, doll,” he responds through a mouthful of food.

You freeze. Doll? You’ve heard of that term of endearment before…but did he mean anything by it? You decide to shove the thought away and resume filling a mug for Sonny. You turn and set it in front of him with a smile. As you do, there seems to be a hint of anxiousness in Sonny’s eyes, almost as if he’s waiting to see if you’ll react to his phrase.

Instead, you switch to lightening the mood. “It was pretty quiet ‘round here yesterday without you,” you tease, sitting back down in your seat.

Sonny eases. “Yeah?” he lets out a chuckle and smirks. “Glad to know I was missed.”

“Didn’t say that,” you counter, blowing nonchalantly on your steaming beverage while gazing up at him through your long lashes.

His grin grows wider before he purses his lips to disguise it. Sonny then slides back in his chair to lean his elbows on the table. “Well, my ma sure did. It was good to go home for the day.” You smile sweetly in response, taking a sip of your drink. “I just can’t believe I’m gonna be an uncle again! Talk about make a person feel old,” Sonny’s brows raise as the realization hits him.

“I know what you mean,” you agree. “Seems like everyone I went to school with is already on baby number three!”

“Right?!” he exclaims with a gesture of his hand. “Ma keeps giving me hints about grandchildren, but you gotta walk before you run, y’know. Find someone, settle down, spend some time together, then you can talk babies. Besides, how the hell could I take care of a kid with my schedule right now?” Sonny rubs at his temple stressfully.

Your heart rises to your throat. He’s got the same values as I do.

He looks up to you with one eye open, “What? You think I’m nuts too?” he jibes lightheartedly. You didn’t realise that you were staring.

“No, no!” you blurt, feeling a little embarrassed. “It’s just I…think the same way about all that stuff. It’s nice to hear it coming from another person.”

Sonny’s eyes narrow while he drinks you in. A small smile forms on his lips and he nods in agreement.

“I just can’t believe it’s already August,” you say timidly, tracing your fingers absentmindedly along the handle of your coffee mug. “I’ve only got a couple weeks left.”

Sonny’s figure slumps as he stretches back in his seat. “Only a couple weeks? Seems like you just got here,” he says sympathetically. “You’re doing amazing work though. Savin’ all our asses, really. We’d be lost without you.” To Sonny’s delight, his words make you snicker. “I’ve enjoyed chatting with you. Turns out, you’re pretty cool,” he compliments.

“So are you,” you return and find that Sonny’s baby blues are kinder and gentler than you’ve ever noticed before.

“Hey, we should try to keep in touch after you leave. You know, in case one of us here can’t understand the filing system or, uh, in case I need to know how to dissect an eyeball for whatever reason.”

You scrunch your nose in laughter. “Or in case I need a legal-dictionary. Will you be on call?”

“Ab-so-lutely!” he reciprocates with a toothy grin. Sonny then pulls out his phone, flicks through it and turns it over to you. He wants my number! you think dumbfound. You quickly fumble with your own cell and do the same.

He stands up when you both are finished and smooths out his shirt. He tells you he’ll catch you later before heading back into the squad room.

Lunch is over, but you have a feeling of beginning rather than an end. 

Chapter 8 here

[loveislattes]

Save Me (Infelix/Fem!Reader) Fluffy Smut

Request/(Summary): When faced with the dilemma of wedding a horrible man and going to the forest to die, Y/N easily chooses the later. Imagine her surprise at finding not a beast that would kill her, but instead a misunderstood creature who offers her more than she could ever dream.

Word Count: About 7.1k

Warnings: Mention of suicidal thoughts and intentions in the beginning of this story! Also mentions (not detailed) of abuse and adultery. Smut, obviously. Unprotected sex, biting kink, claiming kink.

Random Info:

Obviously this is a work of fiction. I do not condone running off into the sunset with someone you just met, let alone a mythical demon named Infelix (even if it's something I would do myself).

Also, please keep in mind that this was started almost a year ago and was wrapped up to a quick finish so I could finally get it posted!

Also also, I know the Swedish isn't necessary but god damn it, I LIKE IT! I just like throwing some beautiful phrases in because I love the language and I love how it sounds in intimate moments. I shouldn't have to explain this but after the “lectures” I've gotten in the past about throwing in random “foreign” phrases, I guess I will.

Also also also, this is an AU to my usual idea of Infelix. I just really liked the idea!

Translations:

Stackars flicka- poor girl

Söt flicka- sweet girl

Så ren- so pure

Du är vackrare än månen och stjärnorna- You are more beautiful than the moon and stars

An example of the first song Infelix Plays: https://youtu.be/9G5rr7JtEAc?t=40

Growing up, I always believed the tales of the Strömkarlen to be just that- tales; I never imagined that there could truly be such malevolent creatures in the forests surrounding us. Why would we choose to settle in such a horrifying location if it were true? The woods were ripe with natural predators and prey that were dangerous enough alone, but add mythical creatures into the mix and it was plain ignorant to be there.

According to the stories told often to us as children, we were never to venture into the forest at night. There were the usual wolves and bears to hunt us, but there was also a creature known as the Strömkarlen. The Strömkarlen was supposedly a forest spirit who was an exceptionally talented fiddler: the sounds of forest, wind and water played over his fiddle strings so beautifully that anyone would be entranced. One could come with a fit offering and learn to play the instrument better than any other human. Wandering women and children were supposedly not so lucky. If you wandered into his land without the intention of learning from him with a complete offering, you were never seen again. Few had meandered through the trees to come back, and those who had were simply lucky enough to have avoided the spirit somehow.

It was with this specific tale in mind that I entered the forest hesitantly. I knew I had to do something, and this was likely the easiest way to go through with it. I knew I would back out of ending my life with a blade or poison. Someone else would have to do it. Death was a much better option than what awaited me in less than a week, on my twenty-fifth birthday. A shudder of repulsion sent shivers through my body. Just the thought of being forced to marry that man made the sick come to the back of my throat. I had been “lucky” enough to be chosen as our town head's next wife, as I was still “pure” and unwed. Even as our country took large leaps forward for women's rights daily, our town seemed to stay in the darkest of ages.

I had to escape; both the toxic community and a fate that would be only pain until my death. Everyone had heard the horror stories of being his wife. Hell, he had gone through three wives in just as many years. The bruises could not go unnoticed by anyone with seeing eyes, and the screams that echoed through dark quiet streets were unbearable to those with listening ears.

I refocused my thoughts on my path ahead and tried to put off my nervous energy by humming. It felt good to fill the silence with some noise other than my quiet footsteps. The woods were daunting during the day, but at night they were downright ominous. I had expected the forest floor to be alive with nocturnal creatures going about their menial tasks. Instead, there was a reticence. Moonlight shone sparsely through the treetops just enough to light my way. It would be a soothing experience if not for the end goal.

A heavy sigh pushed through my nostrils at the internal war waging in my gut; the instinctual will of self-preservation battling heartily with the need to save my soul from being tainted by him. If only I could find the Strömkarlen before a beast found me first. I felt if I had been wandering for hours by now, but surely it had only been an hour at the most.

Suddenly there was a shift in the air, almost imperceptible to even my alert senses, and I stopped dead in my tracks. It was like something was dancing unseen at my peripheral vision, or there was a faint buzzing too far away to actually make out and hear. Did that mean he was here? Had I found him? How did I ask for him without being rude? Did he have a name?

“Why have you come here, söt flicka? For what reason do you seek me out? You are not searching for knowledge of the strings.”

Oh how my cheeks heated, being called such an endearing term by a voice so husky, so deep, so near. Despite how alluring his tone might be, there was an underlying inhuman echo that reverberated through every bone in my body, reminding me of the danger he presented. Fingers touched my cheek and directed my face to the side, where I was greeted by both a terrifying and glorious sight. He was-

“Beautiful.”

The word escaped senselessly and immediately I regretted my slip of the tongue. How would a powerful being take to a human fawning over him? There was no denying who he was, power rolling off him in waves.

Thankfully, the man simply grinned in response. His black eyes crinkled in apparent amusement as he leaned back and looked me over.

“Well? I'm waiting for an answer,” he prompted, eyebrow lifting pointedly.

“I- I'm- uh, sorry! So sorry! I- My name is Y/N. I was hoping- Oh gods this is harder than I thought. You see, I need to die.”

Tumultuous mortification clawed up my neck and coated my face darkly as I shied away from his now narrowed gaze.

“Come again?”

“I- uh,” I hesitated and shyly brought my fingers together, toying nervously with my nails as I gathered up the courage to speak my request once more, “I have come to ask you to kill me. There is something horrible waiting for me if I return home and I'm too much of a coward to take my own life. I've heard stories of how you abduct or kill- or something- the people that wander into your lands.”

He stepped back and rose to his full height, startling me as I realized just how tall he was. I was only a few inches over five feet and he towered over me. I couldn't resist looking him over. He looked surprisingly human for a mythological being, although there were obvious traits of his genetics; the black eyes, white hair, unnaturally pale skin, and elf-like ears. When he smiled, I was momentarily entranced by the large, sharp, canines he flashed.

“I doubt there could be anything awaiting you that would be worse than death, child,” he replied pointedly, “Much less death by my hands.”

Mustering up all the courage I could, I swallowed thickly and crossed my arms over my chest, meeting his gaze head-on.

“With all due respect, sir, you have no idea what I would be returning home to. If I go...” emotion lumped tightly in my throat as I took a steadying breath before I could continue, “If I go back, I'm being forced into marriage with a man who is a well-known adulterer, abuser, and murderer. I would rather die quickly than be raped and beaten until I die by his hands.”

All of the gumption I had managed to hold onto to fell through the cracks like sand the moment a low rumble left his throat. Fists clenched, he craned his neck so sharply that I cringed subconsciously for him and shuddered at the loud cracking that filled the air. Then his eyes were back on me.

I prepared to be struck down, eyes shut instinctively to brace for the oncoming pain, and ignored the pounding of my heart beating erratically in my chest as best I could. What good would panic do? This is what I had come here for.

“Oh söt flicka, stackars flicka,” he cooed softly.

Surprised by the response, my eyes popped open, only to find his hands coming towards me, much slower than expected. Cupping my jaw, he leaned in, leaving merely an inch or two between our noses. My breath caught in my throat under the intensity in his dark coal eyes. What was he doing? He could just snap my neck and be done with it! Or maybe torture was part of his plan.

“You have such a bright soul. It would hurt me to extinguish it before you could blossom to your full potential.”

“What?”

Shocked, my reply came out blunt and rude, and I quickly backtracked with a much kinder apology, and a request for clarification.

“I know the stories of my kind. Some of us are just as is foretold, but I am not. I'm gifted with the ability to see the true alignment of one's nature, and I only steal away those who have been corrupted or wish to be saved. Do you think the ones who have returned to you unharmed have done so without reason?”

I shrugged slightly and replied, “I guess so. We were told that anyone who met one of the Strömkarlen was killed unless they had proper gifts. It only made sense that you'd just missed the ones who came home unharmed.”

He clicked his tongue loudly and gave a disappointed shake of his head.

“I'm not as brutal as some of my kin, not without provocation at the least,” he explained, “You are one of true good. Your kind are rarer these days, with the corruption spreading through our lands. I only presented myself to you because you were searching for me, otherwise, I would have just let you wander until you found your way back home.”

I nodded in understanding, chewing on my lip pensively as I let the situation sink in. When his thumbs rubbed the apples of my cheeks, a blush spread over them in response and I met his gaze once more.

“I do not wish to kill you. It would go against my nature. Perhaps though, you'd be willing to stay for a while? I could play you a song while you think your decision through.”

Hesitantly, I nodded after a moment. I was steadfast in my decision but what could it hurt to wait a while longer? Plus I had to admit I was curious to hear his music. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I quickly agreed out loud, to sit and listen to him.

He seemed pleased by the answer, stepping back with a grin. A hand sifted through his shaggy locks before he extended it in my direction. I carefully laid my hand in his and was startled by the gentle way his fingers wrapped around mine. It was completely baffling to realize that a creature I'd feared for my entire life was so gentle.

“Good. Come with me then,” he replied.

If I did not have him as a guide, I would be no doubt lost in the maze of the tremendous forest. There were so many twists and turns around gigantic trees and gnarly roots. The trek was incredibly beautiful though, even in the darkness, thanks to illuminated creatures and plant life I'd never laid eyes on before. I was so lost in feasting on the stunning land around me that I nearly face-planted into the Strömkarlen's back as he stopped suddenly and I finally registered the sound of rushing water around us. Thankfully he seemed to take my fumble in stride, a small chuckle filling the air instead of a bitter response.

“Come sit,” he instructed.

Hands gently directed me to the first large tree stump and he took the one across from me, no more than a foot away. As he sat, he waved a hand through the air, materializing a fiddle from nowhere. I'm sure I looked as bewildered as I felt, eyes wide and mouth gaping.

A humored grin flitted across his features before his expression settled into one of contentment. I shifted into a more comfortable crisscross position as he prepared himself.

“It's been a while since I've had an audience rather than a student,” he commented, aligning the instrument between his chin and chest.

The look that he sent my way spoke honest loneliness and I felt a pang in my chest, like fingers squeezing tightly around my heart. I'd never considered what kind of life a being must live when alone in the forest, shielded from nearly all contact. Honestly, though, I'd never considered the fact that his kind had emotions either. We were never enlightened on the fact that they might be more like us than realized.

I was pulled from my thoughts when the bow first slid across the strings. Immediately I became entranced by the alluring tune. It was jaunty yet haunting. Quick strokes of the bow and dancing fingers enraptured all of my attention. I could easily understand why others would put their life on the line for a chance to learn from him. He was incredible. As beguiling as his looks were, his music was even more so. As the song continued, I felt myself slowly relaxing, enjoying the moment as everything else faded away. Time and space floated away on the wind until there was only him and his music.

As his tune seamlessly led into a lighter one, I finally forced my eyes from his hands to his face. Those intense black eyes were now closed; a warm, easy smile resting on his lips. Once more I was struck by his beauty; my heart aching with the perfection he exuded. It wasn't until my hand neared his cheek that I realized I had moved in closer. Butterflies stormed my belly as I hesitated that last inch. What would happen if I touched him? Would that break the spell around us? Would it ruin the calm? Would he be mad?

Suddenly those onyx black eyes flicked opened and I was struck frozen by the stark white iris' gazing back at me. The music stopped, stilling the air around us as his fiddle disappeared into the abyss once more. Swallowing hard, I ever so slowly began to move my hand away, only for my wrist to be caught.

“I'm-

My tongue failed me and silence bloomed once more. His grip lessened but didn't retreat, instead guiding me closer once more, pressing my palm to his cheek. A shaky, startled breath fled my lips as his warmth saturated my chilled skin. The soft hairs of his beard tickled my wrist as I allowed myself to momentarily indulge in the contact.

“Söt flicka,” he murmured softly, “Så ren.”

My insides felt full of fire as he mimicked my motions, his fingers soothingly stroking down my cheek. So many emotions barraged my chest. Overall the sensations of excitement and elation stood out. Why did being in his presence cause such a reaction?

“Have you changed your mind?” he questioned.

“I- I don't know,” I admitted quietly, “How can I return home to marry a man who will only do the same I ask of you, but in a more brutal fashion? How can I willingly lie in the bed of a man who would steal my innocence in a way that would leave me scarred? How can-”

I was shocked silent as his arm suddenly hooked around my back and pulled me closer. There was a fire in his gaze as I gave in to his pull. Breathing became a struggle as I found myself in his lap, the in and out becoming an action I had to consciously think of lest I cause myself to pass out. He was entirely intimidating this close up, and yet I couldn't look away.

“I did not say that you would live only to be broken in the end.”

When he didn't elaborate on his words, I cautiously spoke up and asked, “What do you mean?”

There was a twitch in his lips before they curved into a sly smile. A darkness I hadn't yet seen resonated in that smirk and it sent a shiver down my spine.

“I suppose I cannot fault you for being ignorant. I can only imagine all the tales your elders have spun to you over the years, stackars flicka, and I have not corrected those stories yet. As I stated before, I take away those who have been corrupted. Albeit, rarely I travel out of my home for such as they generally find their way to me eventually, but in extenuating circumstances... I have been known to wander about.”

It took a moment to process his explanation but then the weight of his words settled in my gut.

“Oh.”

“One stealing purity and ending lives, much less for his own gratification, has no place in my realm of the land,” he added lowly.

Slowly his thumb traced down the apple of my cheek to my mouth, the calloused pad swiping teasingly over my bottom lip and igniting another kind of excitement low in my belly. I attempted to clear my mind of the sudden, forbidden, invasion of thoughts only to have worse images push forth as his tongue darted out to trace his lips.

Never had I been this close to a man, felt this kind of attraction and excitement. In fact, when most approached me with offers to bed me, I easily turned them down. If the man beneath me were to offer the same though, I knew I would easily find myself agreeing. Was it an unnatural ability of his that was luring me in, or had I finally found someone that I wanted?

My skin crawled with unease as I battled the thoughts plaguing my mind, and I felt the need to fill the silence before I fell prey to my own desires.

“Do you have a name?” I blurted out suddenly.

I had to cringe immediately as I realized how weak and nervous I sounded. There was no way he couldn't sense the war waging in my brain now.

He confirmed my fears with his sudden, boisterous laughter. Embarrassment wound tightly in my chest as my face flushed warmly.

“My name is unpronounceable in your tongue, but you may call me Infelix,” he replied once his laughter died down.

“Infelix,” I repeated, testing the name curiously.

Immediately I felt a shift in the air, a layer of tension growing stronger between us, as his fingers dug snugly into my lower back to pull me closer.

“Beautiful,” he muttered, then paused before adding, “May I kiss you?”

I could only blink at him in confusion for a few moments, at a loss for words, until finally, I managed a slight nod. How could I turn that down? Why would I want to? Surely he had to know how much I wanted him.

My thoughts were derailed the moment his lips touched mine. It was gentle, so much softer than I could have expected, and he ended it much quicker than I'd hoped. Though before he could pull away completely, I gave in those pesky dark desires and jerked him back down by his beard. I knew nothing of how this was supposed to go, other than the few peeks I'd seen in my younger years, but I let my guts lead my actions. Hands sliding into his hair, I pressed my lips hard against his, praying that he wouldn't be upset.

A low growl rumbled from his chest and stopped me dead in my tracks. Had I overstepped an unspoken boundary? Fear began to bubble up in my chest and I went to pull away, hands dropping down into my lap, but was caught with an aggressive hold on the nape of my neck; his hand on my back mimicking the hold.  

“Little temptress,” he groaned quietly, “Do you know what restraint you are asking of me?”

My tongue wet my lips nervously as he finally leaned back enough to meet my gaze again.

“To resist such an alluring invite is harrowing,” he added.

“I- I don't mean to cause you trouble. I'm- I just- I've never felt this before. I'm not sure what's acceptable if you would even want me...”

A low sigh escaped his nose as he shut his eyes, seemingly in pain or frustration. After far too long, his eyelids opened once more and I found myself cascading into those inky dark depths.

“The fact you question that is laughable, söt flicka. I want nothing more than to have you laid out beneath me at this moment, but-”

“Then do it,” I cut him off quickly, throwing caution to the wind at the sudden mental image of him on top of me, “Please.”

There were many different worries floating through my head but what stood out above them all was my desire for him. A need, craving, that could only be sated by him and his touch.

"You're certain of this?" he asked seriously, "Do not make this decision lightly, for I doubt I could let you go once I've had you."

A shudder climbed up my spine at just the thought of being allowed to remain here with him. Why did I want that so badly? Here was a man, a powerful non-human being, that I had just met, and I was throwing myself at him as if I'd wanted him for years. As I pondered my options, I started to understand why being with him was so appealing. He presented an exciting offer; an opportunity for a life that had never before been in my realm of possibility. It was hard finding more reasons to decline his offer than to accept it.

"If I say yes, you're truly offering me a place here? And I would be safe?" I questioned carefully.

"You have my word that I would protect you to the ends of the dimensions," he replied.

Nibbling on my lip, I hesitated before finally asking the question burning on the tip of my tongue.

"Why me? Of all the others who have wandered through?"

His dark eyes narrowed in apparent thought and the fingers on my lower spine began to trace small designs against the fabric of my shirt soothingly. I felt the hairs raise on my skin in response to his touch and had to force myself to keep still rather than wiggle under the light tickle. We sat in silence for quite some time after my question. I didn't care to rush him if I were being honest, and the answer was well worth the wait anyhow. It was a pretty heavy subject.

When he spoke, I nearly fell from his lap with my startle, but he easily caught me and continued on speaking as if nothing had occurred.

"No others have sought me for reasons other than to seek knowledge. No others have been willing to listen to my songs without it being hinged on learning to play. We do not tend to feel loneliness or emotions quite the same as humans, but there is a certain appeal to having someone here with me again. It's been a very long time since I last had a companion to converse with regularly..." he paused when a devious look swept over his face, "And it has been even longer since I've been presented with someone so beautiful."

Embarrassed under the lavish compliment, I let my face fall and stared bashfully at the stitching on my blouse.

“Come now, little one, don't be so shy,” Infelix crooned lowly, fingers coming to push my chin up once more, “Do you have an answer? Or would you like to think about it a while longer?”

While it was easy to tell his offer to wait was sincere, I could also still sense the eagerness behind his words. He had been alone for so long already. Why would I prolong that?

Still mindful of any possible unknown boundaries, I reached up once more and threaded my fingers into his soft locks. His eyes fluttered shut while an easy smile spread across his lips. A little content sigh escaped him while my fingers lightly ran along his scalp. Just seeing this happiness made my heart pitter-patter giddily. Very gently I pulled his hair to tilt his head back then leaned in.

This kiss was just as lovely as the last, sending warmth from my heart all the way to my fingers and toes. I couldn't help but wonder if all kisses were like this, or if it was because of him?

My thoughts were quickly derailed as his hands moved down along my back and came to rest on my bottom. Instinctively my breath caught and my grip tightened on his hair as fire raced through my belly. His fingertips felt as if they were laced with lightning, my skin tingling under his touch even through my clothing. A pitiful whine left my lips when he pulled away quickly.

“Is this a yes, Y/N?” he urged.

Somehow, his tone had dropped to an even lower octave than before and hearing that delicious voice utter my name... I felt lost. It took a few moments to gather my wits about me and remember that he was waiting on an answer.

“Yes, it's a yes,” I replied breathlessly.

Almost instantly he crushed his mouth against mine as if his life depended on the contact. I drew in a sharp breath of surprise only to have his tongue dip between my lips. Gods, the sensation of his tongue along mine had my thighs clenching as tightly as possible against his. Never before had I felt this all-encompassing desire to have someone touch me everywhere. It was inebriating. When he jerked away, I wasn't even given enough time to pout for immediately his lips resurfaced on my throat, right beneath my jawline. The scratch of his facial hair against my tender skin left shudders quaking through my body. Exhilarating, yet daunting. Just from the first kiss to this was already a huge leap.

“Don't be scared, söt flicka. I may not be human but I am no monster,” he murmured against my neck.

Oh no! How could he think I was scared of him?!

“I'm not!” I quickly reassured him, “I wasn't shivering from fear. Although I'm nervous, it's not you that I'm worried about. Just that fact that I've never been with a man of any sort.”

He let out a noise of understanding before his lips were once more moving down my throat, making his way to the valley between my breasts. It caused such delightful sensations throughout my body, and excitement in places I'd never admit aloud.

“I'm honored to be the first to touch you,” he mumbled, then added in a darker tone, “And the last.”

Hearing him stake his claim out loud sent shivers down my spine. My focus was brought back to his mouth when his tongue, warm and wet, trailed along the neckline of my blouse. It was like no matter where his mouth was, it felt directly connected to the apex of my thighs.

“You need to fear nothing anymore, Y/N. You are mine now,” he sighed just loud enough for me to hear, “No one shall harm you as long as I stand on this earth.”

My cheeks flushed deeper at the passion in his voice and I carefully ran my hands over his broad shoulders as he left wet patches along my skin. A sudden nip of his sharp teeth tore a shaky gasp from deep in my throat. The stinging pain actually felt nice.

“Let's take this off,” he murmured, fingers hooking beneath my top.

It was only a piece of cloth yet it symbolized so much more. A part of my conscience begged me to stop now and turn back, but it was easy enough to beat it away the moment Infelix's fingers grazed my sides teasingly. Another electric spark. My chest felt heavily as he finally pulled up my shirt.

Swallowing hard, I resisted the urge to cover up as insecurity reared its ugly head. It was the sensation of his hands pressing against my ribs that kept me from moving. His touch was grounding, delightful.

“Du är vackrare än månen och stjärnorna.”

I honestly had no idea what he had said, but it was incredibly bewitching coming from his tongue.

Infelix pulled me closer as he claimed my mouth and washed away any remaining uncertainty. Oh, how good he tasted. Ambrosia from the gods. I wasn't sure how long we spent exploring the other's mouth, but it wasn't long enough. The rest of my existence could be spent like this with him and I'd never complain.

Our embrace was interrupted rather abruptly when I went careening backward, only to be caught at the last second and lowered carefully to the ground rather than landing painfully as I had expected.

“Allow me to show you how you deserve to be treated,” he purred.

Despite being a statement, it was obviously a question of consent. Catching his eye, I gave a shy nod and was rewarded with a grand smirk. Heat blossomed over my cheeks as his long, nimble digits ran down my skin and cupped my breasts lightly. He started easy, feather-light touches stealing my breath as I relaxed under him, but over time began to explore more. Pinching, rubbing, tweaking; He did things that I hadn’t expected before, but suddenly didn't want to live without.

A sudden shock of pain drew surprised tears to my eyes as his teeth left marks in my flesh but it was easily forgiven the moment his lips graced my hardened nipple.

“Do you enjoy when I bite you?” he asked gruffly.

“Y-Yes,” I murmured.

It was as if a switch was flipped. Although still obviously restraining himself some, Infelix wasted no time sinking his teeth into nearly every bare inch of my torso. There were moments it was almost too much but it seemed he could sense my discomfort when it neared that point and he would always move onto another location. Down farther and farther he went along my stomach until he paused at the waist of my pants.

“May I?”

“Of course,” I replied softly.

His constant checking in was endearing, albeit unexpected. There was no denying how good of a soul he had, despite being something of horrifying legends.

Biting my lip, I watched nervously as he hooked his fingers under the cloth and slowly pulled them down. What if he decided he didn't like how I looked? What if he compared me to his past lovers? What if--

Warm lips on the inside of my right thigh pulled my thoughts from the brink of panic and back to the ebony orbs staring up at me, as if reading my thoughts and sensing the negativity. Once he appeared certain I was focusing on him, he pushed my legs apart and up so I sat completely open to him. Oh hell! My heart raced and my breath shook as I watched him lean in, a devious smile playing on his lips.

“Aah!”

My gasp quickly turned into a surprised squeak as his tongue delved into my untouched folds. I'd been told once by one of my lady friends that this was something a rare few people indulged in, but of course, I'd never understood the full grasp of just what it was or why; until now.

Mindlessly, I clawed at the soft dirt of the earth and tried oh so hard not to make any embarrassing noises. Oh, but it was hard, so hard. It was as if every sensation I had was suddenly kicked up to one hundred. The cool soil felt like silk beneath my nails as I left behind crevices in the ground. The noises of the forest creatures that were so minute before flared back to life with vigor. Every flick of his nimble tongue against my body felt simultaneously molten and icy, saccharine in the best of ways.

When he pulled back slightly, an unstoppable whimper left my lips.

“You do not need to be so quiet, älskling. There is no one else around to hear you.”

He... wanted me to make noise? Men had been ensuring my silence all of my life, and while Infelix was different, one could never be certain.

“You're sure?” I questioned nervously.

A sharp bite dug into the squishy part of my thigh, tearing a shocked yelp from my mouth, before he chuckled darkly.

“Of course, Y/N. I want to know how I'm making you feel, when I'm doing something you love,” Infelix replied.

“O-Okay,” I murmured.

He wasted no time going back to his previous motions, but with much quicker strokes than before. The pleasure was so immense that I didn't even notice him moving until a slender digit was pressing its way into my core. If my brain were any more coherent, I'm sure I'd have registered the discomfort more, but as it was, it was barely a blip in my thoughts. It wasn't until he thrust it in deeper that a real niggle of pain came through.

With a hiss, I fought against the fight-or-flight response that bubbled to life and kept still under him. It wasn't that bad, I told myself, I knew there could be pain at some point.

Despite the logic part of my brain trying to keep my emotional part calm, I couldn't help the edge of worry that now stood out so brightly; And just when things were so good!

Infelix mumbled something that I couldn't quite make out but it didn't seem to matter once his finger pushed against something inside me that quite literally knocked the wind out of me. My thighs clamped around his head as I jerked to nearly sit up and uncontrollable moans poured out with a cry of his name. Tears pooled behind my closed lids. So good, and yet too much! How was one supposed to handle this?! Another crook of his finger and I went tumbling back to the ground, releasing my hold on him in favor of scratching at the grass and moaning praises.

A throaty laugh filled my ears as the only warning before he repeated the motion, not stopping afterward this time, instead quickening both finger and tongue.

“I-Infelix, I- Oh!”

With a shake of his head, he buried his face further into the apex of my thighs and then I felt a sucking on my sensitive nub. He was going to make my heart stop if something didn't give! The way his tongue moved in such perfect motions, slow then quick, hard then light, I could feel my entire body trembling as sweat beaded across my skin.

“Yes, that's it. Duktig flicka. Come for me,” he growled.

It was a battle to keep from thrashing, my entire body screaming at me to wrap around him and squeeze him tight while soaking up every sensation he was lavishly gifting me. My nails marked harsh crescents into his shoulders as my head snapped back with a scream. It was with great embarrassment and ecstasy that the knot in my belly finally broke.

“Infelix! Oh gods!”

A cold snarl joined my frantic moans and cries as I marked up his flawless skin. The dangerous noise only added another level of pleasure through my veins. It seemed he finally took pity on my frantic twitching and whining after some time, and drew back with a husky chuckle.  

“Your sounds are the most angelic I've heard in my lifetime. I could listen to you singing my name for days,” he moaned roughly, “Alas, I know your body can only take so much. Thankfully, there will be many more days to cherish you.”

As mortifying as it was to hear such praise, the need to have him was more powerful. I couldn't wait to experience him in whole after that experience. I was practically burning up with the need to feel his skin against mine, have him fill the places that ached for him so.

“Please,” I whimpered, “Infelix, please.”

With a devilish smirk, the gorgeous demon leaned over me once more and rested on one forearm by my head, his hand sinking into my hair while the other reached between us. The shock of his hot length pressing against my entrance had me jumping and gasping.

“It's okay, Y/N. I've got you,” he murmured.

Before I had the chance to respond, a sharp pain shot through my core and an unbelievable fullness overcame my senses. Unable to control it, a weak cry of pain escaped and I found myself clinging onto him for comfort. Soft whispers filled the air around us and gentle kisses brushed against my lips, no doubt an attempt to distract me from the pain. It worked, very, very well. My hands found his shaggy locks and held on for dear life as he began moving.

No actual pain, but definitely not comfortable yet. Thankfully Infelix took incredible care with each rock of his hips. Whether it was from the incredible build-up or his extensive knowledge, the pressure and discomfort soon turned to unbelievable pleasure.

“Oh, Infelix. This- You- Amazing!”

He cut my stammered words off with a heady kiss and chose that moment to pick up the speed of his hips.

It was madness. Nothing on earth should feel as good as he felt. I was drowning in the bliss pounding through my being and wasn't sure I ever wanted to come back up. And then it hit me hard. This was now part of my life, my future. I could get lost in this beautiful, inhuman, man whenever we wished, and if it was this good now, how would it feel many times from now when we were more comfortable? That thought alone brought me near the breaking point once more.

“Good girl,” Infelix groaned as our lips broke apart, “Let me feel you come undone.”

His fingers immediately dove between us and found my oversensitive bundle of nerves. As if on command, my world crashed down around me once more, somehow even better than before. I could feel the burning in my throat as I screamed for him again, but couldn't bring myself to stop it. The ecstasy seemed unrelenting, surging higher with every thrust of his body into mine.

“Are you going to take all of me, Y/N?” he gasped out, nipping at my lower lip with a groan.

Speaking was impossible at this point so I nodded frantically at him. Of course I wanted everything he could give! He'd opened the gates to something so sinfully heavenly that I couldn't wait to have everything.

A heart-stopping snarl escaped his mouth before he latched onto my lips hungrily. Suddenly his hand jolted from between and snagged my jaw, shoving my head aside while his mouth resurfaced against my throat.

“Mine. All mine.”

Blinding pain seared through my neck without warning and set off another round of earth-shattering bliss as it quickly turned to pleasure. Between all the emotions and sensations, I felt him slow in pace and the warmth spilling into my core. It was with hot cheeks that I realized exactly what had occurred. Part of me found it terribly mortifying, but the majority of me found it incredibly arousing. He was true to his word; I was now his in all senses of the word. A little grin curved my lips at the realization and I gave in to the need to touch him again, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as he rested his forehead against my temple.

“You are incredible, älskling,” he muttered lowly, “How are you feeling?”

I took a few moments to inventory everything that I was feeling and couldn't help but laugh a little.

“I feel wonderful. It's unbelievable that something I feared and worried over for so long turned out to be so... exciting.”

Infelix pulled back after a gentle kiss and immediately I missed his warmth and weight. As if sensing this, he patted my leg lightly and offered a smile.

“We need to get you to an actual bed with some water and food.”

…..

The sound of a door shutting tore me from the sweet embraces of sleep. Who could be coming into my house at night? As I slowly started to sit up, a dull ache bloomed all throughout my lower body and reality hit. I wasn't at home, and that meant the only person that could be entering the home would be the very man who had caused the delicious burning now plaguing my bottom half.

As soon as Infelix entered the bedroom, my face flared uncontrollably hot as he started stripping his clothing. The dancing flame of the candle from the corner of the room made the sight a dozen times more sinfully beautiful. I hadn't quite gotten to see just how toned his body was before. He was slender but not in an unhealthy manner. For a moment, it made my thoughts drop negatively as I compared my curvier form to his. He dropped his shirt aside and turned towards the bed, smirking when our gazes met. The bad thoughts were easily dismissed at the hunger and longing in his expression.

“You're awake. How do you feel? Do you need anything?”

I had to giggle at his concern.

“I'm okay, and no thank you. I appreciate the offer.”

A squeak of surprise escaped as he launched himself suddenly at the bed and immediately I found myself pinned under him. My heart hammered hard in my chest, as he rubbed his nose along mine, barely brushing our lips together.

“I want you to know that the man you feared shall no longer be a threat to anyone,” he spoke after a few minutes of silence, his voice serious and low, “While he would never be able to bring harm to you while you are with me, I could not sit by and allow him to hurt any other innocent either.”

For sometime I couldn't react. I wasn't sure how to react. There was something akin to guilt bubbling up, but relief came through most. Relief that I had somehow avoided that horrible situation. Relief that I hadn't just passed the curse onto some other poor woman. Guilt that I should feel bad that a human being had been killed, and yet honestly didn't.

“His soul was dirtier and more tainted than I had seen in years, min söt flicka. I don't know how he escaped my knowledge for so long, and for that, I apologize but I promise he will no longer hurt anyone.”

Hesitantly, I brought my palm to his face and ran my thumb along his sharp cheek bone before pulling him into a gentle kiss.

“Thank you. For everything.”

[kariachi]

@kuphulwho A long bit of fic (like, nearly 2000 words) that isn’t quite for that au we were talking about earlier. More like, vaguely adjacent to it.

Kevin has a suitor. Looma sets Tasks. It’s a whole thing.

~~

Coming to the palace at all should’ve been considered an act of courage. Or foolishness, as his friends swore up and down. Kreth was an adequate enough fighter, but the prince- The prince, who came into his shop three times a week to buy parts, could more than easily beat him. May the Goddess help him, he was a more powerful fighter than his sister, who’d proven herself unweddable already. There was no way he could win an engagement challenge, but he had to try. He couldn’t imagine another way to get a prince- adopted yes, off-worlder yes, but still a prince- to notice him.

Maybe he’d get lucky and be challenged in turn to better results.

So of course, when he’d declared his intent to the royal family, it had been the princess to step forward. Immediately Kreth began fighting off panic. This was off script, it should’ve been Overlord Zaell stepping forward to accept his challenge in her son’s stead. Maybe this was part of preparing for her eventual takeover? She’d looked back at her mother, then turned to him with a grin.

“My brother’s aren’t Khoron,” she started, and Kreth could’ve died right out of pure nerves (this is why he’d never become a warrior, he didn’t have the constitution for doing more than defending his store), “and I’ve questioned whether it’s appropriate to marry them off the Khoron way.” Somehow her grin got wider and more frightening. “Especially since they’ll most likely be supplying my heirs, surely the challenge would have to make up for both of us.”

He was going to die, a sentiment only heightened when he glanced towards the princes and saw ‘his’ with his face in his hand. The elder of them looked horribly amused.

“We’ve spoken before about the differences in these things between our cultures,” she continued, “and from Earth there’s a challenge I think is very appropriate for the situation.” She managed to stand straighter and taller and Kresh tried to do the same. He was well taller than her, but she still seemed to loom over him. Named appropriately, apparently.

“If you want to marry my brother, Prince Kevin of the Red Wind Kingdom, you will bring me three things- the sweetest sound, a star from the sky, and the fresh head of a forgehunter.”

Yep, definitely going to die. How? He ran a shop too small to have employees, how was he supposed to get a fucking star? And a forgehunter head?!

And then there was Kevin, out the corner of his eyes. A smile, small and apologetic and sending his heart straight into his throat like it always did…

“As you ask, Your Highness.”

~~~

Of course saying it was easier than doing it, and three days later found the door to his shop closed and Kresh sprawled behind the counter, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t know where to start.

“Are you alive in here?”

“Well since none of you will let me die in peace I suppose so.” The door to the backroom slammed loudly shut and his sister Prehra knelt by his side. She too looked horribly amused.

“Still trying to figure out how you’re going to win your little prince?” He didn’t even turn his head.

“I’m a failure. I can’t do this.” Tutting, she shook her head and stood up. The till chimed, but Kresh ignored it. He owed her money anyway.

“You know how his brother sometimes shops at Luxxi’s?” Her sister-in-law’s shop, little everyday things- hairclips, pens, that sort. The elder prince was an uncommon customer, but Kevin’d once said he enjoyed the quality of buttons they sold there.

“Yes?”

“Well, according to her, Zin asked him to confirm the gossip about this whole weird situation and he said that the key to the whole thing was to the smart about it.” The entire royal family hated him, he was sure of it.

“Because that answers any question ever asked.”

“I think,” she said as she knelt by his head, counting out money, “it means your expected to be creative with it.”

“There’s only so many ways to get creative with bringing in a fresh forgehunter head.” Prehra tutted again.

“You’re a smart man, I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

~~~

‘The sweetest sound’ was the least straightforward of the ‘items’ required of him, so Kresh decided to start there. It was practically a riddle. What was the sweetest sound? It had to be subjective, right? So was he looking for what she considered the sweetest sound? What Kevin did? That of the greatest segment of the population? (If the right answer turned out to be the sound of sugar boiling or something, he was going to throw something and someone, possibly Princess Looma herself.) In the end, he decided to hedge his bets on his own preference and gossip that the princess was just as bad as he was.

The next time Kevin walked into his shop, flashing him one of those heartsnatching smiles, he started recording.

~~~

‘A star from the sky’ was somehow easier and harder at the same time. At least there was a riddle and hope involved in this one, it was a straightforward request, but oh was it a request. There were plenty of creative ways to interpret it, and things he could do for it, but he didn’t want to risk not meeting standards…

He wasn’t a wealthy man, but he also wasn’t new to risky investments. There’d been no time limit, so he took a few months to track down and purchase a boxful of iron meteorites that he immediately upon delivery took to one of the smaller local forges to be worked. On his way back, he’d stopped into another local store to commission a simple box in the dimensions he needed.

A week later he had had a star-shaped box in his livingroom, along with a cut sheet of meteorite iron to match and the equipment to attach it to the lid.

He was careful to fill the box with the sort’ve parts Kevin was always looking for.

~~~

The forgehunter head that really had him worried. He wasn’t a warrior, not anywhere close, and it often took several of them at once to kill one of the great, spider-like beasts. It was a certainty that bringing back the head of a baby one wouldn’t be near enough, not for a prince, not for Kevin, not when he was already being smart enough with the other items that he kept thinking this must be some sort’ve trap. No, he couldn’t go easy, he couldn’t go smart, he was going to have to get an actual head, actually fresh, from an actual adult forgehunter.

As soon as he figured out how to do it without dying.

He’d been in the process of fretting over this, compulsively cleaning the shop into the night as he considered if he could maybe scrape together the money to get somebody to kill one for him when a loud thud had sounded in the backroom. Rarely a good thing, especially since he knew none of his kin would be visiting. It was a tense Kresh we made his way to the door, grabbing his battle axe along the way and slowly, cautiously, opening it to find a forgehunter head.

A forgehunter head, as fresh as could be expected, its wounds cauterized to prevent mess, and a stripped tail passing out of sight outside, familiar to anyone in the capital by now.

Kresh’s heart lodged in his throat.

The next morning, as the papers talked about the fresh meat gifted in the night to the orphanages, schools, and hospital, he packed up the head and his other gifts and made his way back to the palace.

~~~

His gifts- a star box with a meteor lid, a forgehunter head, and a recording of his prince’s laughter gathered over several visits that was playing on repeat- sat on display in front of him as Princess Looma and Prince Argit looked them over with critical eyes and Kresh tried not to fidget.

It was very difficult.

They kept muttering between themselves as their family watched on, in tones too low to be understood even if Kresh had known the languages they were speaking. There was gesturing, eye rolling, snapping of teeth, checking inside the box and then more muttering over the contents.

“So,” Overlord Zaell asked when, he assumed, she got bored of the show, “has he met our exacting standards?”

“Well,” the prince said, still eyeing the items, “the head’s pretty small.” Kresh glanced up to see Kevin, stood at Warlord Gar’s side, silently glaring murder.

“We already knew he wasn’t a warrior,” the Warlord pointed out, and his children hummed a reluctant agreement. Crossing his arms, Argit looked Kresh over.

“Don’t make us regret this,” he said, “or you’ll regret it.”

All the tension of the past months sloughed away like sand from a glass as the princess lifted him off the ground in a hug and the warlord and overlord stood to clap hands on his shoulders. Everyone was talking, congratulations he thought, but there was nothing in his world but Kevin, still stood by the thrones, with such a smile on his face.

Like a hidehund who’d managed to snatch a whole beast from the dining table.

~~~

“So, were you hoping to move into the palace or…?”

“I assumed I had three years to judge the extra space versus your sister’s… enthusiastic reputation.” Leaning on the counter, Kevin snorted, still with that smile on his face after two days.

“Yeah, she’s a bit of a spitfire-” Kresh would’ve have been surprised if she could, if some of those rumors were true “-but she’s a nice sort. And she likes you, she and Argit both, no matter that little show they put on to rattle you.” Pausing in the sorting of his latest purchase (Prehra had pulled him aside when he’d told his family to remind him that fiancés got a discount, no more) Kresh levelled him with a concerned look. This wasn’t the first time they’d spoken since his won his prince, but they hadn’t really talked about… things.

“Even if I’ve put their brother’s honor in danger?” He’d been thinking about that since the head had been dropped off, a stone of guilt sitting in his stomach even as he couldn’t bring himself to reject it and get one himself. It was cheating, he hadn’t earned this, and though the damage going along with it would do to his reputation if anyone realized was great, the damage to Kevin’s was…

Kevin looked at him in confusion, then realization, then simply waved the matter off.

“When a man’s set Tasks,” he said, the capitalization audible, “there’s no rule saying his potential spouse can’t help if they want. In fact, there’s some very famous stories where they do pretty much half the work.” Kresh resisted the urge to chew his cheek.

“Really?”

“Yep.” A wicked edge came to his smile. “Besides, like I said, they like you. Why do you think you got set Tasks in the first place?”

“I assumed to ensure an early grave.” Kevin chuckled.

“I’d have never forgiven them.” Flashing teeth, he used the counter to lever himself high enough to kiss him, a welcome surprise that killed all of Kresh’s higher brain functions. “Looma knew damn well you couldn’t win me in an actual fight.”

“I, suppose I should thank her then.” He could never remember sounding quite that faint.

“Yeah, we probably should.”

[masked-disciple]

1, 4, 5, 6, 11, 15, 21, 22, 23 for the writers ask?

1. Tell us about your current project(s)  – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

Currently, I’m working on a fic titled A Monstrous Manifesto, which is a fic entirely inspired by Cat Valente’s poem of the same name. Every line is a chapter, every noun is a part of that chapter, and every single beast named corresponds to a Spectre, allowing me to dig directly into their heads and demonstrate their full psychology. 

Progress stopped unfortunately back in July on part four - a fiend, which I picked Deadly Beetle Stand for, because I just couldn’t get into his head. Kiril played soundboard for it and I’ve been humming and hawing over him trying to figure it out, but let’s be real it’s gonna come to me in a dream.

Because see here, most folks who’ve read my works, if told to point to my best, it’ll either be a) my breakthrough with Armour Adventures (which tbh if I redid I’d do better on), b) In Kismet Marcescence (which I need to sit down and plot out properly before I continue), or c) rather unexpectedly to me, Green Grows The Asphodel. Guess everyone likes that soft MiAlba where Alba gets his bastardization arc, but also I let him speedrun it in Broken Shine The Stars and people seem to like that one too, so.

The thing is with AMM is that this would be my greatest work. Like AA, it’s gen, but here’s the one advantage I’ve realized I actually have over pretty much everyone else in this fandom: I am myself a monster, fictionkind and all. I’m a Devil and a feral little beast, which means when you offer me Spectres - warriors of the dark and death who are all based around animal motifs - I take one look and go “oh! You’re like me!” and proceed to write them as actual monsters while having some unspoken and long-winded conversation about what it means to be human, what it means to be shunned, and what it means to belong among the broken.

It means that I write Spectres wildly different than anyone who isn’t Kiril (who is on the same wavelength as me and we argue back and forth about the inner details of everyone’s monstrosity), which means when I do it, nobody’s seen this shit before and apparently people seem to think it’s cool. So AMM is the very epitome of that style, of that psychological and philosophical discussion. I don’t really have a background of research in either of those things, so any similarities to works or theories already out there is entirely coincidence. Cat Valente’s poem was the first stepping stone I ever took to accepting myself for who - and what - I am. I owe as much of my identity and confidence to her as I do Zamorakian philosophy, which built my personality and is a major part of how I survived the middle school era of my life. The least I can do in return is offer the best of me out into the world.

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

“Somewhere deep below conscious thought, below his training and the life and this Lemurian body, buried under lifetimes of war, buried under the idea that a Spectre was a fighter, his blood remembered how to love the memory of the fallen.” - Beneath Blood Ties

BBT is one of my most unappreciated fics, which makes sense as it’s set almost two thousand years prior to Classic, starring a fourteen-year-old Lemurian Minos and the Saint who raised him, Aries Kirien, whose name is probably still spelled Kiriel at least once in the fic because no beta we die like Gold Saints.

The original inspiration comes from Seanan McGuire’s Once Broken Faith, and the line in question is Toby reading the Luidaeg’s blood memories after the latter told a young Karen that she couldn’t speak Faerie even in her dreams - she speaks it in her blood memories, and Toby notes that her blood remembers.

It stuck with me, though I’ve read OBF approximately a million times. It, along with A Killing Frost and An Artificial Night, are my three top Toby books. And it responded to me as someone who’s fictionkind: I couldn’t speak the language I spoke as a Devil in my dreams, or in the waking world, but I know some part of me remembers it. Would know how. The Chaorruption filters all of that into English because it thinks it’s helping, but if I were a magical creature right now, in this world, I’m pretty sure my blood would remember.

So I wrote about Minos, and the sorrow he carried. The premise of BBT is that a Pope realized some Spectres come back, went around before they became Spectres, and kidnapped the lot of them to train as Saints, leaving them all traumatized as fuck, unsure of who they were or who they followed, and messed up for lifetimes. I also wanted to show more that Spectres were more than what the Holy Wars made of them, and about digging through that exotrauma to remember that they could be kind.

Spectres, originally, would make sense as really just Hades’ servants and the ones who keep the Meikai running. Pretty sure that means they know every single death rite that’s existed in the past three millennia. Pretty sure they know how to be respectful of the dead. Pretty damn sure that below all that soldiering and war, they’re all really exhausted librarians who want to do their job and also dig graves.

But I like this sentence here best, because that’s pretty much the climax of the plot here: that there is, in fact, something underneath all his exotrauma, all the current trauma he’s been dealing with. That below all of that bitterness and war, he’s a better person than what Athena made of him.

Idk, I just think it’s neat and no I’m not projecting being ‘kin on him again. /j

5. What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?

Albafica, to nobody’s surprise. I mean, come on. A guy with a fuckton of traditionally-feminine beauty whose looks keep getting brought up, is very introverted, has seen some shit, just wants to kill people who hurt what he cares about while also not hurting the people he does care about, really wants you to keep your damn distance, is super touchstarved, and holding onto his humanity with his fingertips? Come on the only things he’s got that I don’t is an actual male reproductive system and naturally blue hair.

Once you realize that especially in TLC Athena’s actions are pretty damn horrific, especially to her Saints, Albafica has the perfect setup to become a Spectre. Seriously, if he’d been offered Luco’s deal but while holding a dying Lugonis, do you really think he wouldn’t have taken it? I explore that more in Broken Shine The Stars, but like. Albafica is the perfect fallen angel of a character. He has genuinely good intentions. He’s hurting so damn bad and only fucking once in his entire onscreen performance is that acknowledged (shoutout to Luco for that one), and if you take his sorrow and let him turn it into anger, he’s a glorious monster indeed. Albafica’s descend into monstrosity and Spectrehood is exactly what would happen if I got angry and also hadn’t been fucking nerfed physically.

I love him way too much.

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

Surprisingly, Aiacos. Alba’s hard as fuck to write. Aiacos, though. You’ve heard me go off about Aiacos at length, but like. He’s the very embodiment of the worst person you can become while still loving, still surviving. Aiacos is the type of person we’re all capable of becoming, and we all should be terrified of becoming, because every single choice he’s ever made is completely understandable and that much more horrific for it.

It’s somewhat unsurprisingly easy to get into his head. He’s fun to write because he scares me. Because if I let him do all the dumb, selfish, sadistic-looking, survival-focused things, then I don’t have to worry about doing it myself. I let him look out for only himself when the pieces are down, so I can do better.

Also I haven’t seen anyone else write him that way (Kiril being the obvious exception here), so it’s double the fun because new territory.

11. What do you envy in other writers?

Hey. Hey you fuckers who can plot shit. Give me the number of the demon you sold your soul to. Let me PLOT SHIT.

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

Summaries! Titles are easy, I steal them from songs and Toby books. They’re just fancy wordplay and I have literally a list on my fic spreadsheet of titles I want to use. Summaries, though, are very important. People don’t pick fics based on title and tags, they pick based on summary. They’re your hook into the work, so you’ve got to give the audience your premise short and sweet and actually sounding appealing.

Sometimes I can write them no problemo. Other times, they’re a fucking nightmare. I try to imply the tone of the ending in my summary, because I have absolutely been blindsided by the ending in a way I really didn’t like because I thought the summary was hiding the ending. (Example - there was this one fic that made it sound like my OTP was going enemies to lovers, and it wasn’t, it wasn’t, it needed the fucking dead dove do not eat tag, stopped just short of serious nonsexual noncon (which wasn’t tagged at all), and ended very unhappily and it messed me up for days, I did not like it.)

So for my summaries I set the scene, set the tone, and imply the tone of the ending so you have a vague idea of where it’s going. Easier said than done.

21. What other medium do you think your story would work well as? (film, webcomic, animated series?)

Anime, probably! Manga wouldn’t lend itself too well to my style, but I’d enjoy short anime episodes, I think. I honestly don’t know. Someone tell me what my stuff would work good as. I dunno.

22. Do you reread your old works? How do you feel about them?

For fic, all the time! I write what I want to read, and since six out of seven of the Dohko/Kagaho works on AO3 were my fault, I’d better get used to reading my own writing for pleasure. Fortunately, I like most of my writing recently, so that’s pretty all right!

Don’t ask about what I had up on ff.net. Don’t. It’s old and bad and I didn’t know how to write.

23. What’s the story idea you’ve had in your head for the longest?

Hmmm... I want to rephrase this better as ‘what fic exists only as a concept and has done so for the longest out of all the concepts of fics currently in my head’, and hmmmm. Honestly, it’s either Shion and Aiacos’ romance fic where they also get a daughter (which has a title actually, The Lost Sea Fantasia, but still hasn’t been written); or it’s Wyvern Rose and the Trials of Lightning, which is about 15th century Rhada’s two daughters, the elder of which is surprise-given his surplice and his job when he dies right before Hades does, and the younger of which is kidnapped by a spiteful goddess who doesn’t like the elder of the two.

ToL is a fic that I have somewhat plotted out, but really needs a lot of work. I’m not really sure how to go about writing it, because whenever I sit down to sketch it out, it never comes to me. It does, however, lend itself well as a bedtime / campfire story that Albafica tells Regulus while they’re out on a mission together, as part of Alba sneakily teaching Regu how to be a Spectre without anyone knowing. It’ll stay a concept for a long while until Rose crashes into my headspace and actually fucking tells me more about herself other than “oh yeah btw I’m fucking Julia” like thanks, already knew that from Julia herself, tell me more about you you awful little Judge of a dragon princess.

[ask game here!]

[hotheadhero]

Huntsman’s Dragon, Preamble

This is the preamble to a focused starter (link here). It opens with a flashback that doesn't adequately allude to the full thing, so I would encourage viewers to read this fully... buuut it IS roughly 2000+ words in length, so it's understandable/I can't force otherwise if you don't read it.

Prologue

He remembers lazuli eyes staring brightly down at him o’er golden belly and golden wings, long whiplike tail swishing teasingly just out of reach. He remembers swiping for it, jumping, leaping, chasing; but always even the smallest of tide-polished scales darts further away than his stubby hands can grasp. He remembers huffing and dropping his rump on russet autumn leaves, furious that he has failed even so simple a task. It’s just like catching lizards and crawdads, he thinks! What could possibly be so hard about it?

(The answer, of course, is that neither are as deft in the air as his current prey. Neither of them are dragons.)

“This sucks!” he cries petulantly into the woods. “You can fly and I can’t! How is that even fair?! Can’t I play with you, even just a little…?”

He doesn’t expect anyone will hear him this far from the village, least of all the dragon; yet lo and behold, it alights and approaches him slowly, eyes wary, wings tucked, ears flattened against its horns, spines raised like hackles on a cat. ‘Strange,’ he thinks; ‘Didn’t Father tell me scared things never come close?’ But the greater part of him is enraptured, amazed that a little king of the skies might actually have listened to him when even Julian would not. (He should have been frightened, for even on all fours, its shoulders are still level with his chest; both its tail and wings could knock him flat in one sweep.) Round-eyed, he reaches out with a stubby hand. The dragon looks like it could eat him for breakfast, yet it cringes away from his fingers. Forked tongue flicks out to graze their tips—pulse racing, Caspar holds still. Very still.

He is certain the dragon can feel his heartbeat in the still autumn air.

It doesn’t move from tongue-licking distance. Slowly, he uncurls his fingers, rests them on the dragon’s snout. It flinches back with a startled chirp—Caspar flinches and gasps in turn. They stare at each other for several long moments, round sky-blue eyes meeting slitted lazuli.

A leathery tongue brushes fragile skin once more. Then the rest of the dragon comes, scaled head gliding smoothly ‘neath callused fingers.

The boy resists an urge to whoop out loud—doing so will surely frighten his new friend away. Instead, he simply watches the little dragon nuzzling him; then, slowly, he begins to wiggle his fingers to and fro atop its head. Those tide-polished scales feel so much more divine than they look, like silk and plate combined. It twitches under his motions, but relaxes almost as quickly. Unblinking lazuli eyes stare up at him. Are they perhaps as curious as his own? Whatever the reason, it doesn’t run away from him. Maybe, just maybe, it likes him.

You know what? He likes it too.

“I think I’ll call you Linny,” he says softly. He’s kinda proud of that name–it looks like a lindworm, all long and snakelike, and it’s cute besides! By now he’s finished stroking its nose and moved up towards the short ridges over its eyes. It chirps at him in response, and he smiles. “I bet we’re going to be good friends, Linny…”

---

Thread Start

“Oi, didja hear aboot the dragon a’ Oghma Moontens?”

“‘ow could I not? Made off with me neighbor’s best cows just a moon ago, and me neighbor’s babe too. Poor lass still squalls at night, wouldn’t ya knew.”

Definitely the right village, he notes as he hitches Ulric’s reins to a stable pole beside the pub. Daevin had been a sprawling place on the regional maps, but now several of the distant buildings were wrecked clear down to the foundation. The dragon must have attacked this place recently for folks to be talking about it so openly—perhaps it had even attacked only once, if they had not learned its attack patterns well enough to hide. He’d ridden almost a fortnight from Enbarr to get here, ever since Gilead summoned him back from Arundel to update him on his current mission. “I’ve reports of a demon loose in the Oghma Mountains,” he’d told him, “ransacking towns, stealing the villagers’ valuables, and attacking the weak and foolhardy besides. My scouts confirm it’s a dragon, black-scaled, size fit to block out the sun. We don’t know where it came from, but it’s not part of the Grand Council, so it falls to us now to take it down. Be sure to wear your best gear. Failure is not permitted.”

Yeah, yeah, Caspar snipes at his internal Gilead-voice. For however much his father enjoys parading about in armor in the capital, all it’s ever done for him while traveling is earn him wary looks and wide berths, even when he’s doing nothing more dangerous than stabling his horse. He knows how they think: Even lone armed men coming into an otherwise peaceful town almost never bodes well. But even after years on the job, the way the villagers’ tongues still as they finally register the stranger in their midst still injures him. He’s not some creepy mage come for their scalps—heck, he’s even in plainclothes this time. At least, as plain as he is comfortable with.

Padded chestnut gambeson rustles as he straightens up from Ulric’s flank (he did bring his plate, as instructed, but it’s safely tucked inside two of the young destrier’s saddlebags) and takes a step towards the villagers. There are three of them talking. The youngest-looking one shrinks back as he approaches; Caspar gives them a smile and holds up his hands in placation. (He’s long since learned the value of his smile in distracting from the battle axe and other weaponry he carries.) “Easy, guys; I’m just here for a bit of information,” he says. An innocent tilt of his head. “Heard there was a dragon in these parts. Anyone I can talk to, to learn more?”

The bearded salt-and-pepper man relaxes before his companions, nods at the tavern just behind before tilting his head up. “Ye can talk ta me. I’m Mayor Borjondy. Run the pub jus’ behind ye. Ye from the capital, lad?” he asks. “Come ta slay it fer us?”

“That’s right!” His grin doesn’t falter as he steps forth with an open hand. “Caspar von Bergliez,” he introduces; “part of the Spectrum Imperial Guard. This isn’t my first go-around; rest assured.”

Borjondy nods as he takes Caspar’s hand in his burly, weather-beaten one. “Aye, thought so. Ye sound like a city boy, though me ears tell me you come from the east.” He completes the handshake and then drops his hand, expression pensive. “Been here all me life, I ‘ave, save fer me travelin’ days. We’s a simple folk, spend ‘ar days huntin’ an’ minin’. Don’t wan’ any trouble, unda’stand, but it would seem that trouble’s foond us.”

“Killed me wife an’ brother, it did!” the youngest man interjects. “Woulda killed me too if I ‘ad’nt run!”

Weren’t things like this what the Interspecies Accord was meant to prevent? A moment’s anger shoots through him that a dragon could violate the Accord so callously, but Caspar forces himself to remain calm. “Saving others like them is exactly what I’m here for,” he says, reaching out towards the man’s shoulder by way of reassurance. But the (hopefully) soothing touch does little to soften his glare. “Sounds like you’ve seen the beast, then,” he observes. “What did it look like? Can you remember?”

His question only causes the man to shake harder. “B- Black…” he stammers. “An’ ‘uge! Got paws like oxen, an’ wings kin block the sun! Oh, my poor Greta…”

The grief in his face mirrors in Borjondy’s as he steps closer to calm him down. “It’s killed some a’ my men when they was out huntin’,” he explains; “even tracked ‘em back here an’ wrecked ‘eir homes. ‘twere a livelier place, once, but now all ‘at’s left are the old ones and babes, an’ whoever’s brave enough ta stay an’ protect ‘em. But—it’s not a Hevring beast; that much I kin tell ya fer sure.”

“Not a Hevring drake?” Caspar is vexed. “How do you know that? Aren’t they the only dragons living in these parts?”

“Aye, ye’d think so, but this one’s black as pitch, not green like they say the Hevrings are. Come from the northlands, it did, though me lads here say it’s holed up in the eastern moontens now.”

“Those fookin’ Hevrings…”

All eyes turn to the third villager who until this moment has not said a word.

Heedless of (or perhaps relishing in) the attention he has drawn, the interloper prattles on. “Some a’ the womenfolk say them Hevrings’ll come an’ save us from it, but it seems to me they value their own an’ their kin’s scaly hides more ‘an any ‘coexistence’ they blather on aboot in the capital. Council a’ Seven, me arse,” he mutters viciously. “I bet it’s a council a’ four with three dragon fookers instead.”

Caspar bites back his rising retort. How dare this man lump his father in with the likes of Vestra and Gerth? But arguing will get him nowhere, and there’s still more he needs to know. “Where can I find it?” he asks. “Any known weaknesses?”

“Most times the beast stays close to the moontens, but not the mines. Ye’ll prob’ly find it if ye travel nor’east a’ them, towards Faerghus. Make sure you git ‘im good for me, lad,” the middle villager blurts then, seizing Caspar’s arm with a sudden fervor. “Ain’t no way we kin rely on them scaly twats if this is the sorta shite they pull.”

Borjondy nods sagely. “Agreed.” Then he looks directly at Caspar. “Call me old all ya like, but I kint help but feel as if this is an omen of some sort. Keep yer wits aboot’cha, lad. Somethin’ tells me the Council could fracture over all’a this in the future.”

Fracture? Last he’d heard, there was no evidence of discontent between either human or dragon halves of the Council of Seven. Then again, things were always strange when dragons were involved, so the young huntsman forgoes comment and dips his head in an informal but appreciative bow. “Thanks, mayor,” he says. “I’ll have its head before long—you have my word.”

He would simply have to ask Gilead about all this later.

---

The village of Remire is unsettlingly quiet as he rides into town, and it does nothing for the mounting disquiet of his mind. Only the furtive peek of eyes from behind the tavern window alerts him to the presence of any living souls in the area; and even then, it disappears almost quick enough to be imagined. Perhaps they’re all terrified of the dragon living nearby? Pondering it does not make his odds seem any more favorable.

For all his bravado back in Daevin, he isn’t actually certain how he is going to kill the thing once he sees it, especially without any other huntsmen to back him up. Slaying wyverns is one thing; they are universally weaker and less clever; but dragons? Most successful prior accounts spoke of trickery, of outwitting rather than physically outmatching the beast, and Caspar has much more confidence in the strength of his axe arm than the cunning of his mind.

He frowns. Miring himself in worrisome thoughts borne of too little knowledge would do him no good. Best he simply get out there and search for its lair. Maybe there he could find some clues as to what its goal is, what it wants with the villagers when it never bothered them before. Maybe there’s something he can use against it there, some way to take it down.

(And if he should find the beast inside its lair?)

(He’ll just. Tackle that problem if and when it arises.)

[orangeoctopi7]

Responsibility

What am I doing? Stan asked himself for the umpteenth time that morning. He was sitting in the parking lot beside the hotel Ford was staying in, fidgeting restlessly as he waited for them. He’d gotten impatient and just drove over at 10 am, even though he knew they probably wouldn’t be leaving for another hour.

Maybe he’d come here because being so close made it just a little harder to run away. And there was a big part of him that wanted to run away. Who was he fooling? Things were never going to be the same between him and Ford. He was just setting himself up for disappointment, he should know better by now.

But Ford asked me to come. He reminded himself. He asked me. He's a straight-forward guy, he wouldn't ask me to come if he didn't actually want me around… Still, the doubts in his mind persisted. If I bail on him now, after he asked me to come with him and I said yes, that'll just give him one more reason to hate me. The second he doesn't want me around, then I can leave. That was reasoning both his hopes and his fears could get behind.

Finally, just ten minutes before check-out time, Ford and his assistant, Mc-Whats-his-name, rolled into the parking lot with their luggage. They loaded it into a small pickup truck parked just a few spaces away from Stan's car. The assistant got into the driver's seat, and Ford walked over to Stan’s already rolled-down window.

“Gravity Falls is pretty far out into the backwoods. It’s hard to find if you don’t know where to go, so follow Fiddleford closely.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know how to find my way around.” Stan schooled his expression to be as disinterested as possible. The last thing he wanted was to seem desperate.

Stan followed the little truck out of the parking lot and onto the interstate. With every exit they passed, that rebellious fear inside him whispered: You could just turn off here, and by the time they notice you’ll be long gone. Each time Stan shook his head and pushed a little harder on the accelerator. I’m not turning back now. These nerds need someone with sense to look after them.

And gradually, as he passed by more and more exits, his fears quieted and his hopes grew. Here he was, going on a road trip with his brother! Sure, they were in separate cars, but still! They’d be living together for the first time since the science fair incident. Maybe this was exactly what they needed to finally make things right between them.

He clamped down on the growing hope just like he’d clamped down on the whispering fears. Don’t get your hopes up. No matter what I hope might happen, the only reason I’m being invited out here it to be a glorified science experiment.

-_-_-

After a couple of hours on the interstate, they finally reached the exit that would take them to Gravity Falls. Of course, there was still a good hour of driving down the winding timber roads of Roadkill County before they reached the cabin. Ford glanced into the rearview mirror to make sure Stan was still following them. Yes, there was the STNLYMBL license plate, right on their tail.

“You been checkin’ that rearview mirror so much, you might as well’ve sat backwards the whole trip.” Fiddleford joked.

“Just… making sure he made the exit.” Ford said stiffly.

“Don’t worry, if’n he makes a break for it, I’ll let you know.”

“Do you really think he’d do that?” the researcher asked his friend worriedly.

“I dunno, he’s your brother.” McGucket shrugged. “But we are bringin’ him out to a cabin in the middle of nowhere to do experiments on him. If’n it were me, I’d run, even if it were my kin doin’ it.”

“I’m not going to treat my own brother like a lab rat!” Ford bristled. “I know ethics isn’t a strength for either of us, but I do have some morals. Stan underwent a major postnatal genetic mutation that completely altered his senses and physical abilities. He seems to be stable now, but from the sound of it I don’t think he’s had so much as a checkup since then. What if that rapid mutation had a negative impact on his health? I know he seems fine, but what if it weakened his immune system? What if it accelerated his cellular degeneration? What if the mutation is continuing, but it hasn’t physically manifested yet? What if it’s shortened his lifespan? What if-- ”

“Stanford, calm down! I get it, you just wanna make sure yer brother’s ok. But does he know that?” Fiddleford jerked a thumb back at the red car following them.

“I highly doubt Stanley would have agreed to come if he didn’t.”

“I dunno… back in Portland you were just goin’ on and on about helpin’ him develop his powers and be a better crime fighter. Seemed like you were less concerned about yer brother and more concerned about the Spider Man.”

“Well I don’t want to alarm him! My fears about heretofore unseen effects of the mutation are currently just that, fears. I don’t see any reason to worry him with them until we have evidence that he might be in danger.”

Fiddleford nodded. “Makes sense, I guess. It’s just, I know things between you and yer brother are strained.”

“That’s a gross understatement.”

“I’m just sayin’, it’d probably do you some good to extend an olive branch, so to speak. He probably won’t wanna stay long if’n he feels like you only brought him here because of his powers.”

“I doubt Stan will want to stay long regardless. He has his own life to get back to, being the Spider Man. I suspect he only agreed to come in the first place out of some sort of familial obligation.”

“Maybe.” McGucket didn’t sound convinced.

-_-_-

It was late afternoon when they finally reached the cabin. Stan gave a low whistle as he got out and stretched. He’d always stuck to the cities after he left home; it was easier to pickpocket on a crowded urban street than some podunk town. This was the first time he’d ever been in a densely wooded area like this. It was beautiful.

“D’you need help unpacking?” Mc-Whats-his-name asked.

“Nah.” Stan shook his head and grabbed his pillow and an armful of clothes. As he looked up at the cabin, with its peaked roof and many triangular windows, he began to feel uneasy. His fears were getting the better of him. Better not unpack too much. I’ll be lucky if he lets me stay more than one night.

“Come on, Stanley, I’ll show you where you can stay, then I want to get started right away.” Ford called from the porch, already carrying his luggage into the house.

Stan followed his brother inside and up the stairs. He paused on the landing when his eye caught the strange design on the rug beneath his feet. It was a gold triangle on a red background, with a single piercing eye in the center and lines radiating out from it. He felt his spider-sense twinge. That was weird. His spider-sense had always been a full-on warning of oncoming danger, like all his nerves were yelling “Watch Out!” at once. This was different. He felt the same way looking at this image that he used to feel whenever he was up someplace high. Like an alarm bell was going off in his head saying “This is Dangerous!”

“What’s this?” He asked Ford, who had noticed him stop and look down at the floor.

Ford’s eyes grew wide with surprise for a moment, but then he grinned like Stan had just asked him to brag about one of his experiments.

“Oh yes! That! It’s a, uh, cryptid I’m personally very interested in. This image is found all over the world, in countless times and cultures, but the, um, creature itself only seems to, ah, show up for one particular person, once a generation. I’ve seen it depicted in some cave paintings not far from here. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“More like creepy.” Stan shuddered.

Ford’s grin flipped to an annoyed frown. “Well, I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.” He sniffed.

“I think that thing’s creepy too.” Fiddleford whispered to Stan as Ford continued up the stairs. “He’s got ‘em all over the house, gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Yeah, well, Ford always loved his creepy junk.” Stan shrugged and followed after his brother.

They reached the attic and what was clearly meant to be a storage room, although there was a full-size mattress sitting under yet another triangular window.

“Here were are.” Stanford spread his arms wide, “Sorry it’s such a mess, obviously I wasn’t expecting to bring anyone else back with me from Portland. You can just shove everything into that corner behind the door. I’ll find some sheets for you before you go to bed.”

Stan took it all in as he plopped his pillow and the few clothes he’d brought in with him on the mattress. “Still nicer than most of the motels I’ve stayed in.”

Ford frowned again and exited the room. “Well, like I said, I want to get started right away. I think we’ll just start with some bloodwork and a basic checkup.”

“Bloodwork?” Stan grimaced.

“Don’t be such a baby, Stanley, it’s just a finger-prick.”

So Stan followed his brother back down the stairs and into what appeared to be a library. There were bookshelves everywhere, but there were also quite a few experiments in various stages of completion set out on some tables, so it was really hard to tell the purpose of the room.

“We’re gonna do blood work in here?” Stan asked.

“Of course not, it’s not sanitary! We’re going down to the lab.” Ford stepped over to the bookshelf sitting closest to the door into the hallway and pushed aside a few books on the top shelf, revealing a hidden panel in the wood. He pushed it aside, pressed a series of buttons, and the bookshelf swung open like a doorway.

“...Ford, do you have a freakin’ secret lair under your house?”

“Yep!”

-_-_-

Stanford drifted off to sleep quickly that night. It had been a long day, what with the three-hour drive and trying to make his previously estranged brother feel at home up in the attic, all the while taking blood samples and running tests on said brother to make sure his superhuman mutation wasn’t slowly killing him. So far everything looked fine, but the results of the blood samples wouldn’t be done until tomorrow night.

Ford was a bit surprised when Bill appeared to him that night. Usually the muse’s visits were few and far between, a rare, privileged occasion. But ever since work on the portal began, these dream-visions were becoming more and more regular.

“GOOD, YOU’RE FINALLY BACK! BUT IT SEEMS LIKE YOU’VE BROUGHT ANOTHER DISTRACTION BACK WITH YOU!”

“I know I said I’d get right back to work on the portal when I returned,” Ford said sheepishly, “But I didn’t expect to actually meet the Spider Man, and I certainly didn’t expect him to be Stanley, of all people!”

“YEAH, CRAZY COINCIDENCE. I’M JUST HAVING A HARD TIME UNDERSTANDING WHY YOU’D BRING HIM BACK WITH YOU TO STUDY WHEN YOU’VE ALREADY GOT YOUR HANDS FULL WITH THE PORTAL PROJECT.”

“I didn’t bring Stanley back just to study!” Ford insisted. “Why does everyone have such a hard time seeing that? Undergoing a major genetic mutation like that could have some serious consequences on his body systems. I just want to make sure there aren’t any hidden side-effects.”

“SO YOU’VE GOTTA PUT YOUR WORLD-CHANGING MAGNUM OPUS ON HOLD FOR YOUR DEADBEAT BROTHER.” Bill sighed in irritation. “THIS IS WHY I CUT TIES WITH MY FAMILY A LOOOOONG TIME AGO.”

“I-I’ve cut ties with my family, for the most part….” the researcher stammered. He didn’t want his muse to think he was weak. “But I’m largely responsible for Stan undergoing these mutations, and as such it’s my responsibility to ensure they won’t have any negative long-term effects on him!”

“SURE. RESPONSIBILITY. I’M SURE THE IRRESPONSIBLE LOSER WHO USES HIS INCREDIBLE POWERS TO PICKPOCKET AND GET HIMSELF OUT OF JAIL FREE WILL APPRECIATE THAT. I DON’T BLAME YOU FOR BEING JEALOUS.”

“What? I’m not jealous of Stan! Far from it!” The thought had never even crossed Ford’s mind.

“C’MON SIXER, LET’S BE REAL HERE. YOU DID ALL THE WORK OF RESEARCHING THE EFFECTS OF RADIATION ON SPIDERS, OF RAISING THEM, OF STUDYING THEM. AND THEN YOUR BUFFOON OF A BROTHER TIPS OVER THEIR CAGE AND HE GETS ALL THE POWERS AND THE FAME OF BEING THE SPIDER MAN. AND WHAT DO YOU GET IN RETURN? SHUT OUT OF YOUR DREAM SCHOOL! WHO WOULDN’T BE JEALOUS?”

Ford hadn’t even connected these dots, but now that Bill mentioned it, the muse made some very good points.

“YOU WISH IT WAS YOU.” Bill said in a sing-song voice.

“Yes.” Ford heard himself say, although he hadn’t consciously thought that. “I mean, no!” He corrected quickly. “It seems that Stan’s suffered quite a bit despite his powers. Maybe even because of them. And without either of us realizing it, his role as the Spider Man helped my thesis that led to my research grant. I might not be here today if it wasn’t for him.”

“OH, I THINK YOU’D STILL BE HERE.” Bill assured him, “FATE BROUGHT YOU TO ME. IT’S YOUR DESTINY TO OPEN THE GATEWAY. I’M JUST WORRIED YOUR BROTHER BEING HERE WILL LEAD TO TROUBLE.”

“He won’t.” Stanford assured the muse.

“YOU’RE SURE YOU WON’T GET DISTRACTED AND LOSE YOUR RESOLVE?”

“Absolutely. I’ll make time to work on the Portal, don’t worry.”

“OK, BUT REMEMBER, I’M DOING THIS FOR YOU. IF YOU WANT YOUR GRAND UNIFYING THEORY OF WEIRDNESS, YOU’RE GONNA NEED ME AND THAT PORTAL.”

“I know, I know, and I’m very grateful. I just need to take care of Stan first.”

“WELL, I SUPPOSE THAT’S THE MOST I CAN ASK OF A MORTAL LIKE YOU.” Bill said with a long-suffering sigh. Ford frowned like a kicked puppy. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint his muse. “BUT HEY, JUST TO SHOW THERE’S NO HARD FEELINGS, HOW ABOUT A GAME OF INTERDIMENSIONAL CHESS BEFORE I GO?”

“Yes! I’d love that!” the researcher agreed eagerly.

-_-_-

Stan woke with a start in the middle of the night when his spider-sense went off. It was yet another strange twinge like earlier in the day when he’d seen the rug. But this one was ten times stronger. He jumped out of bed and looked around wildly, but he couldn’t find anything that could be setting off his internal alarm.

What was going on? Normally his spider sense let him know exactly where the danger was coming from before any normal person even realized there was something wrong. Then Stan would jump out of the way and the indescribable sensation would pass. But this weird twinging spider-sense wasn’t going away, and he couldn’t seem to find what was making him feel so twitchy.

Maybe it was coming from outside? Stan cracked the window open and crawled out onto the exterior wall. He didn’t see anything, even after he climbed up onto the roof for a better view. And it wasn’t like much could hide in the bright light of the nearly-full moon.

“What the heck is going on?” Stan whined to himself. The continuous tingling of his spider-sense was really starting to grate on him. It was making him want to scream, but he didn’t want to accidentally wake up Ford, or his assistant.

Wait, that was it! The whole reason Ford had brought him up here was to study the Spider Man’s powers, maybe Ford could figure out what was wrong! Stan climbed back in his window and snuck down the stairs, trying to remember where his brother’s room was.

Ford was clearly dreaming when Stan found him, but the prolonged spider-sense ringing in Stan’s head made it a bit harder to care. The con man not-so-gently shook his brother awake.

Stan gasped when his brother’s eyes snapped open. For just a split second, they glowed a sickly yellow. But it must have been a trick of the moonlight, because he blinked and Ford’s eyes were their normal earthy brown, and blinking blearily awake.

“What… why…?” The researcher blinked a few times as he tried to figure out what had woken him. He frowned in annoyance when he realized it was his brother. “Stanley what do you think you’re doing? Why did you wake me up?” He demanded.

“Y’know how I said I can just sense danger some times? Well I’m sensing it now!” Stan explained, “I’ve been feeling weird ever since I got here, and just a few minutes ago it woke me up when it got worse. I tried to look around to see what was causing it but I can’t find anything! And…” He trailed off.

“What?”

“It stopped.” Stan said in confusion. “Just about when you woke up, it stopped.”

“Great, then go back to bed. And don’t ever wake me up unless there’s an emergency, I need my sleep.”

“This is an emergency! Or it was! I dunno, this has never happened before!”

Stanford yawned dismissively. “I have a theory that this danger sense of yours actually detects weirdness. It’s acting up now because you’ve never been in a place with such a high concentration of weirdness before. I promise I’ll look into it later, just let me go back to sleep.”

Stan wanted to argue that his spider-sense had never acted as a weirdness detector before, but he could also see that he wasn’t going to get any more out of Ford until morning. And the sensation had passed. Maybe he would be better off waiting until daylight to try and figure out what happened.

20-8-1-20 20-9-20-12-5 23-15-21-12-4 13-1-11-5 7-15-15-4 11-5-25, 23-15-21-12-4-14'20 9-20?

Klw hsrva pn oqlafrltbg szf azeg. Fftwuiydg owh qy Fvvg Qcl uiuksml me, cgj kbf'b mqdbxl ks zxa.

Nfl smltew? Tyl iwrk ejbs ghsi jsbwyq? Lpv'e utiv qw aohyp.

[ja-barakrispy]

The Moon in Your Eyes - Chapter One: Jasey

OK, so this is an original story that I have written - it’s your typical teem romance story, full of lil dramas, about a 16-year-old girl who moves from Baltimore to a new school, and falls in love with an aloof ‘bad-boy’ type, who has also had his fair share of heartbreak in recent years. It’s honestly a tumblr-perfect teen story.

Lots of music and pop culture mentions as well - the likes of Harry Styles, Elton John, Nirvana, Lewis Capaldi (my characters have really good taste in music, if I do say so myself), and both main character’s favourite film is Donnie Darko. Just so you know the characters a little better, and to give you as a reader a better idea as to wether these will be characters that you can relate to!

The chapters flip between the point of view of Jasey (the female protagonist) and Spencer (the male protagonist), but I will highlight this at the beginning of each chapter.

Posting this online is a BIG confidence thing for me, as I love writing, but have 0 confidence in my ability. BUT I have enjoyed writing it so far, and feel like maybe others would enjoy it too?

Any feedback, likes, reblogs would be so greatly appreciated! If this gets like no response, I probably won’t post any more, but we will see!

                                                             One                                                             Jasey

Warnings: Few curse words, slight anxiety.

Word Count: 1,848

A/N: These characters have all been created by me, and this is not based on true events - any character resemblance to anyone alive or deceased, and any story resemblance, is purely coincidental.

I checked myself over in the full-length mirror one last time. I tugged at my burnt-orange, corduroy skirt, the buttons running down the centre of it cold against my fingers. I pulled up the polka dot tights around my knees, and straightened out my over-sized, white sweater embroidered with maroon, orange and yellow flowers over the chest. I’d paired the outfit with plain black Doc Martens – because really, you can’t go wrong with Docs.

   I’ve always tried to look my best. Back in Baltimore everyone used to say I dressed like hipster/indie kid hybrid, but I never really cared. I was always comfortable with my look, and that was all that mattered to me.    But there was something about my outfit today that I questioned; what if people thought I was… overdressed?    Usually, I wouldn’t care, but today was my first day at Nightingale High, and I wanted to make a good first impression. What if the people here were a little more refined than I was?

   My dad is a Chemistry Professor – he used to teach at my old middle school, so when he was offered a position at Orley University, just outside of Pittsburgh, my family packed up our life in Baltimore and headed west. I was excited. Mostly.

   Born and raised in Baltimore, leaving it behind was tough. But, really, I guess I kind of knew I was ready for life’s next adventure.    As I stared myself down in the mirror, I clasped my necklace close to my chest and began to fiddle with it between my fingers.

   “Jasey, come on, we gotta go.” My older brother, Tyler, called me from downstairs, snapping me out of my trance.

   I grabbed my backpack, took one last glimpse into the mirror, and made my way down.

   Tyler was waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase, tapping away on his phone. I gently slapped him on the forehead as I passed him – no reaction.

   Tyler was 17, and going into his Senior Year at Nightingale. Being so close in age, we always used to get mistaken for twins, until 9th Grade, when he started to get taller and bulked out from playing football.

   “Sociable as ever, I see, Ty.” I rolled my eyes slightly.

“I am being sociable,” He looked up, gesturing to his phone. “Everyone back home is sending me good luck texts, and I - being the polite young man I am - am making sure I reply to everyone individually.” He gave me a sarcastic smile, as I folded my arms across my stomach.

   “Hey, you are home!” My mum pointed a finger at Tyler as she entered the hallway from the kitchen, her British accent still as evident as ever.

  My parents are both from the UK – my mum is from Chelsea in London, and my dad is from Glasgow in Scotland. They moved to the US 16 years ago, when Tyler was a year old, and mum was pregnant with me, along with my two older half-sisters from my dad’s first marriage, April and Norah.

   “Yeah, OK.” Tyler sighed. “Roddie, we’re getting in the car.”

   Roddie is our youngest sibling – 13 and just starting 8th grade at Westinghouse Middle School. Roddie isn’t short for anything; not Rodney or Roderick; he’s just Roddie. Our mum is obsessed with Rod Stewart, and when she was in labor with our littlest kin, she’d put on a playlist she had created, ready for her sprogs arrival. ‘Hot Legs’ by none other than Rod Stewart himself popped up on shuffle at the exact moment my wonderful little brother made his appearance into the world. And so, Roddie was born, named after the man who was there for our mother during his birth.   “I’m coming!” Roddie ran into the hallway, nearly slipping on the laminate flooring.

“Have the most amazing day, all of you,” Mum embraced all three of us in a group hug. “I love you guys so much.”

“We love you too, mum.” I smiled sweetly at her. “See you later.”

   We piled into Tyler’s car, mum blowing us a thousand kisses, as we pulled out of the driveway and headed to our new schools.    Tyler switched on his car stereo, Drake blaring through the speakers, which prompted me to put in my headphones. I scrolled through my Spotify, before deciding on shuffling the songs in my Elton John playlist.    My phone pinged, a new text illuminating the screen.

Isaac Good luck at your new school today, Stinks. I’ll be thinking of you xxx

I smiled as I read the message.

   Leaving Isaac back in Baltimore was tough. We’d been together for just over a year, and he was the first guy I’d ever really had feelings for (if you discount Warren Princeton in the 7th grade).

Jasey Thanks sweet cheeks, missing you so much xxx

Isaac Facetime later? xxx

Jasey Wouldn’t miss it xxx

I caught myself smiling as Isaac and I sent a stream of messages back and forth.

   “Aw, texting your boyfriend?” Tyler said, making kissy faces.

Rolling my eyes, I took the ear-bud out of my left ear. “At least I have a boyfriend,” I raised an eyebrow at him. “You can’t seem to keep a girlfriend for more than five minutes.”

“I need to spread my wings.” He shrugged. “I don’t like being tied down.”

I rolled my eyes again – harder than last time – and sighed, “whatever you say, Romeo.”

   “Besides,” Tyler grinned. “How could I pick just one girl, when so many want me?”

Roddie began to make retching noises from the backseat, as I belly laughed. “Oh, Tyler,” I gasped for a breath, “You really are something else.”

   Before we knew it, we were at Westinghouse.    As we pulled up in the drop-off layby, Roddie unclipped his seatbelt and shuffled to the edge and the centre of the backseat, so that he was closer to Tyler and I. He put his arms out in front of him, his thumbs hooked together and pinkies sticking out from both hands, almost resembling a bull. Tyler and I both did the same, this time connecting all of our pinkie fingers together. We started to chant softly and slowly; ‘Tanner kids rule’. Gradually, we got faster and louder, eventually swapping to a vocal Mexican wave of ‘woahs’, before breaking our finger circle, lifting our bull-formed hands over our heads and shouting our last name – “Tanner’s out!” It was cringy, and ever so corny, but we’d been doing this since Roddie could barely talk; it was our little tradition.

   “See you guys.” Roddie smiled, climbing out of the car.

“Have a great day, bucko.” I waved.

Roddie skipped up the steps to his new school, excitement in his eyes, before turning back to the car and giving us a cheerful wave. I blew him kisses as Tyler waved back.    “OK,” Tyler began, once Roddie had disappeared inside. “Let’s go take Nightingale High by storm, little sis.”

                                                        *     *     *

We walked up the school steps together, shoulder to shoulder, holding our breath until we walked through the front doors.    The hallway was alive with hundreds of teens, some stuffing their blue coloured lockers with bags, books and binders, while others stood around chatting, chortling and checking in on what had happened over the Summer. It was almost too loud to hear yourself think, the buzz was electric.    The school’s crest was displayed on a huge banner above the doorway, as well as laminated onto the floor in front of us – a nightingale bird, with a lamp hanging from it’s beak, displayed in blue and gold.

   “So, this is it.” I breathed in. “I guess we should go and find the office.” Tyler placed a hand on my shoulder, looking down at me. I nodded boldly, as we searched the hall for any clue as to where we needed to go. I noticed a board a little way further into the hall, which had a map of the whole school. “Over here,” I tugged on Tyler’s arm. “We need to carry on down the hall, and take the second left.” Tyler studied the map. “OK, let’s go, I’m ready for this.” I attempted to pump myself up.

   In reality, I was petrified.    I grew up with all my friends in Baltimore: we had known each other since Pre K, so I’d never really been in a position where I had to prove myself as worthy to a bunch of new people in one hit. Making friends is a lot easier when you’re 4-years-old.    Now, I had to try and make fresh friends, and settle into a new school environment, all whilst trying to maintain my high grade average.    Tyler and I followed the directions on the map and came to the main office. A young woman sat on the other side of the desk, and greeted us with a warm smile. She looked pretty young - perhaps only in her early 20’s - her short blonde hair framing her soft face.      She gave us both our timetables for the semester, along with a locker number and combination each, and a map of the school to keep.    “You’ll both need to go to your homeroom classes first, and if you need any help at all with finding your classes, the teachers, and I’m sure your fellow students, will be more than happy to help you out.” She smiled.    Tyler and I said our thank yous and headed back out into the hallway. It wasn’t as busy as when we’d first arrived, but the after-Summer-buzz was still apparent.

   Tyler studied his timetable, his brow forming into a frown. “My first day of a new school, and they give me all the worst classes – I hate this place already.” “I dunno,” I smirked. “My classes don’t seem to be so bad.”

Tyler grabbed my timetable out of my hands and whispered each class to himself; “English Lit, Music, Astronomy, Art…” He opened his mouth wide and made his frown even deeper. “Study Hall?

“So I get all the whack classes, and you get let off with a fuckin’ Study Hall?” Tyler whined. “Sorry dude, I didn’t write the timetable.” I held my hands up.    I jumped slightly as the bell rang, signaling the start of our first period of the day.

   “Right, I’m out. See you later, loser.” Tyler began walking to his homeroom class, flashing the ASL for ‘I love you’ to me as he walked away. I put my fingers up in the same formation, “Hope you have a shitty day.” I called after him.    I looked down at my map and timetable while simultaneously walking, trying to figure out where my homeroom was.    I came to a bright red door, with one singular square window in the centre. The door had ‘C7’ engraved into a plaque right at the top – I was in the right place.    “OK,” I breathed, prepping myself to go inside. My stomach flooded with anxiety, filling to the brim with intense butterflies: “you can do this Jasey. You are OK.”

[dbhilluminate]

DBHI: Redemption- "The Open Door", pt. 2

ARE YOU A FAN OF DETROIT? DO YOU LIKE GAY SHIPS AND COMPLICATED, LOVEABLE BOYS?? Then please keep up with our fic, you’ll love it, I promise!

(Chapter art by dark_dumb)

**Co-authored by grayorca15

Characters: Trevor Langley, Dylan Fleur, Dennis Lenore (mentions of Rhea Fleur, Dahlia Fleur, Spencer, Nicodemus) Word Count: 8,354

Trevor finds the wayward Fleur sibling and discovers there's a lot more to the boy than rumors let on.

• Archive link • Chapter Index • • Related Works • Characters •

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July 4th, 2041 - 7:56 PM

The appearance of the elusive gremlin was as unsurprising as it was surprising, just as he both was and wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting. His honey-brown skin, auburn red hair, and generous number of freckles pegged him a Fleur without a doubt, but compared to the rest of his kin (including the youngest boys), he was certainly the most informally-dressed. Typical of most art students, he favored comfort over fashion, while still maintaining some sort of hipster style. A loose gray v-neck shirt under a long-sleeved black cardigan that hung down to his calves, obscured the waistline of a pair of slim-cut, tattered jean-shorts (spotted from years of dry-brushing to switch colors) down to his knees. About five different black corded necklaces of varying length, set both tight and loose over black-inked tattoos splayed around the back and sides of his neck, completed the picture of the family ‘black sheep’ in exhausting detail. Though most worrisome was the ever-growing smirk twitching its way into his cheeks the longer he stared at the newcomer that had knowingly breached the boundary of his territory. It didn’t bode well for anyone trying to not get roped into upcoming shenanigans. “If you’ve got a thing for redheads, you’re in the right place, but she’s already spoken for,” Fleur teased as he snapped one more rubber band into the side of his shoulder. Trev stared him down but didn’t bother affecting a scowl or a flinch, having seen it coming. “I know, so your warning is hereby rendered painfully redundant,” he stated with a tilt of his head, still preoccupied with studying the young man’s appearance. “Yeah…?” The boy’s brows twitched with a soft pop between the eyes, a misdirect for the extra stretch taken to grin. “Then who’re you?” A simple enough question, except when it wasn’t. Trev only bothered with crossing his arms. He wasn’t about to launch into that topic all over again with the family outcast. “A guest of Detective Lenore. So you can see why I am in the know of his and - Miss Fleur’s association.” After letting that information sink in for a moment, he added, “And I needed a break from the company, in part because of it-” The rubber band on the tip of his finger stretched back, poised to fire, but it halted when he instead gave a half laugh and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I could tell- I heard you coming a mile away,” he commented before letting the band fly, this time flinging across his visitor’s other shoulder. “Those hurried, annoyed steps really carry in here when you’ve got two wooden blocks in your soles.” “Very astute observation,” Trev retorted, eyes narrowing, slowly coming around to the thought of disliking this one’s company as well. As if the arm-folding wasn’t hint enough. “That said, me and my hurried, annoyed steps will just be going, then.” Predictably enough, the moment he tried stepping away, another band zinged toward him. He stopped short just in time for it to wing by his nose, having anticipated it.

“It only gets more peopley the further you get toward that side of the house,” Fleur informed as he loaded another rubber band, tilted his head, and squinted skeptically. “Didn’t you say you wanted a break from that…?” “Yes, well, your mansion is so small, I went looking for no one and still ran into you.” The redhead pursed his lips, clicked his tongue, and chuckled with a coy grin. “Sure you weren’t just drawn here by my charm? I’ve been told it’s magnetic.” “More like repulsive, so I’ll just be on my-“ Trev happened to look away at just the wrong time- the next rubber band clipped him right across the forehead, harder than the rest. Expecting the boy to look as cross as he felt, Trevor huffed and turned back to find him on the verge of bubbling over with laughter, chest rattling with only the faintest hint of a wheeze. Exasperation didn’t begin to describe the feeling the sight evoked. “What are you- stop that,” he demanded, patience finally worn thin enough to warrant a reaction. “C’moooon…” Fleur drawled as he primed another rubber band and rolled his head against the wall he’d been leaning on, ankles crossed and shoulders slumped. He creased his brow and turned muddied green eyes to regard him, and from somewhere behind the couldn’t-care-less façade flashed a moment of sympathetic candor. “You really wanna go back to all that weird family bullshit…?”

The accuracy of his assumption caught him off guard, but considering they were the only two people in the house actively trying to avoid the festivities, it wasn’t an unreasonable conclusion to draw; however, it was his choice of words that grabbed his attention. “Weird family bullshit” at an event thrown primarily for friends was entirely too specific. No, he thought with a small pout. He didn’t want to go back to it. Trev knew the last thing he wanted was to be needled and patted on the head and told everything would work itself out. All he had to do was ‘chin up and smile and play along’. They made it sound so disgustingly easy. Standing here letting himself be a target of another sort was hardly better, but in a way, this cursory annoyance was easier to bear. Trev’s fingers curled into fists and he let his arms drop from their folded position, shoulders hunched in clear aggravation. “Say I do. Are you going to follow me all the way back?” Undeterred, another shot snapped Trev across the hip, causing him to flinch and flare his nostrils. “Sure you wouldn’t rather do something fun instead…?” “I have my own idea of fun, and it doesn’t involve-“ Another shot slapped across the back of his hand before he could finish the thought, and he yelped quietly and yanked it out of the way a split second too late. “...rubber BANDS, for starters. “Then let’s do something else, ya wet blanket,” Fleur suggested in a mocking tone. “I am, I’m leaving, something you can’t-“ Another popped him square in the middle of the forehead. “Seem to-” Followed by another in the neck. “Grasp- for the love of- KNOCK IT OFF!” “Ah ah ah-” the man scolded with a smirk as he impudently wagged a finger and loaded another rubber band. “The punishment will continue until morale improves.” Trevor’s lip curled, the corner of his eye twitched in irritation and one finger lifted in idle threat as he warned, as calmly as he could manage, “If you keep shooting those at me, I am well within my rights to confiscate them as evidence of-“ But it only served to embolden his assailant’s taunting. One, two, three, then four pelted him in rapid succession, leaving Trevor flinching, backstepping, and sidestepping, as he attempted to block every last one. “-haraSSMENT!” The second half of his threat stuttered out with an angry huff. “Go ahead and try,” his opponent laughed, “But be warned, I have worse things in my pockets that’ll find their way onto your clothes before you can get to them.” As that constituted a fair warning, a second scanning look with a few extra filters layered on confirmed as much. His heads-up-display outlined about a dozen round objects filled with some sort of liquid, stuffed into the deep outside pockets of his cardigan, as well as a few unconventional inner pockets. Trev grimaced and shook his head at the sight, less perturbed by what the contents could be than the fact his mind engaged such programs on automatic -depending on the input given, like Fleur admitting to being armed for mischief- without his consent. Of course it would scan to see what concealed weapons there might be. Convenient as those features were, sometimes he missed the days when he was too naïve to have ever been aware of those programs. But now that they’d come to an impasse, he couldn’t get closer, as much as he couldn’t walk away- “non-negotiable nonsense”, as Spencer might have called it. Coining such a term to describe the paradox which typically triggered a deviant break had been astute of him. Trev’s expression soured at the reminder, and he turned away. “Go find someone else to pelt and laugh at. I’m-“ The redheaded, squinting blue-eyed face he almost stepped into stopped him cold. “You’re what, Langley? Off to places unknown?” He turned to hide the embarrassment flushing into his cheeks but found himself stuck between two people he didn’t want to speak to. Naturally someone had come looking when he didn’t return with a fresh drink like he’d claimed to have left for, and of course, that person was Dennis. Better go find your missing puppy, Lenore, before he trips and falls down a foxhole, Trev retorted inwardly. Interestingly enough, his company also seemed perturbed by Dennis’ sudden arrival. The Fleur rolled his eyes and exhaled a loud sigh. “Go away, Den,” he muttered as he turned his whole body and leaned back with his shoulders flat against the wall, slight tension evident in his tone and body language. The boy’s fingers stiffened and his jaw clenched as the Detective peered over at him from behind Trev’s shoulder. Not that Langley was curious enough to ask, but there was clearly more to the story there. At least, for now,, they could agree on finding Lenore’s presence a bother, albeit for different reasons. “Hmph. Knew you’d bite if I brought bait.” His choice of adjective was enough to get a raised eyebrow out of Trevor, if not a revolted frown. He did not appreciate the notion of having been brought anywhere without being told he was the lure in a given plan; but then again, Dennis couldn’t have counted on him getting fed up and walking away. Or had he? After a pause, he glanced back at his mentor and adjusted his frames in nervous habit. “I’m sorry, sir. I was on my way back before this one decided it was worth wasting time to interrupt me-” The next rubber band whizzed past him with a sharp fwip, picking up enough speed to make sure it would hit Dennis right in the chest. Olive green eyes leered over at him from the direction it had come. “Told you once, Detective- you’re not my type.” “Yeah…? Well, what about this one?” A thumb and a loosely closed fist gestured toward a slightly flustered Trev (who sputtered a surprised look of protest and puffed his cheeks) as Lenore took a few steps forward to stand next to him. The boy exhaled long and slow in response, eyes rolling even further into the back of his head before closing completely. “Still deciding,” he mumbled in blatant annoyance. “But I don’t need you to go shoppin’ around for friends for me.” “No, you probably don’t- but this one is a cut above the other kids you’ve been hangin’ around, even if he’s a tough one to crack. You think you could loosen him up? Without getting any of that stuff on the floor?” This much confirmed the balloons definitely weren’t full of water. Trev frowned again, only this time it was out of bewilderment. “What ‘stuff’ do you mean?” The boy sighed with an audible groan and turned to face them, pushing himself up on the wall to stand up straight. “I’m tryin’, but he’s not makin’ it easy,” he retorted as he shifted his weight and snapped another one at his thigh, at which Trev jumped aside with a half shrieked ‘STOP IT!’ Politeness be damned, this was getting to be too much, too fast. Dennis’ expression shifted from exasperated to something like smug as he glanced between them. Over what was the question. He looked like someone who had just discovered a reason to be proud of some unintended brilliance; or, much more likely, he was only making that face as to further addle the situation. “I could tell you, but that’d ruin the surprise.” The creeping grin returned, smaller than it was before, as he threw Dennis a skeptical squint laced with curiosity. “What a mood you’re in…” Fleur commented impishly, as if he was reluctant to see him go. “Why can’t you be this fun all the time?” Before he could answer or Trev could protest, he let one last band snap across his target’s neck, harder than he had yet, and braced himself for the impending reaction. A foot chase was the last thing Langley thought he would be doing tonight, but enough was enough. He had hit his threshold for dealing with irritation, however low or high said bar was set that day. Words clearly weren’t going to stop this assault, so the next best thing to do was make it stop. “I warned you- MULTIPLE times...” Trevor hissed as he stormed over, reached for his sleeve before he could get too far, aiming for the pocket from which most of that ammo had been drawn. “Now hand, them, over-!” But Fleur was far more nimble than he’d anticipated, and reflexively stepped back in the half-second before Trev could get a secure grip. With a low chuckle of delight, he blitzed out of the way of Trev’s hand, dipped under his arm and bolted through the door of the room he’d been in and out of all night, the hem of his cardigan flapping in the wind draft behind him. With a disgruntled sound somewhere between a groan and a shout, Trev rushed after him. Dennis might have said something to the effect of “mind the floors”, but in that moment all Langley was really interested in was a bit of payback. Secret weapon or not, if anything went his way he would get every one of those remaining rubber bands and stretched them until they- Langley stopped cold in the threshold as a water balloon struck him in the chest and exploded in a canary yellow mess all over his burgundy jacket, splashing a few large drops over his shoulder into his hair and into the hallway. Trevor held his breath until he could feel the thick liquid seeping into his shirt and dripping down his blazer. “What in the-” Paint. The little devil had filled them with PAINT, because of course he did. “I warned you,” the redhead scolded in a sing-songy tone as he tossed another balloon between his hands and flashed him a coy grin. “Follow me, and you’ll only catch another,” he warned with a wink as he trotted back a few steps toward an open door at the back of what looked to be an enormous art studio, furnished just as chaotically as he looked. Trev grit his teeth and clenched his fists as his face flushed a darker shade of red than ever, inwardly mortified at what Dennis would think of the now-spattered suit. Now he really wasn’t going to let this stand unanswered. “I said, get back- hey!” One unfortunately-placed puddle of paint foiled a second attempt at catching his sleeve. Trev’s lunge stopped short as he slipped, and his hand caught empty air as the boy laughed and skipped out of the way; another balloon filled with indigo pigment splattered onto his shoulder as he broke the fall with his left hand and right knee. Some of the smaller splashes of yellow on his suit morphed into an unsightly mahogany brown as the new color mixed in with it. “Watch your step,” his quarry chimed from the doorway, just before he turned, sprinted out onto the veranda, and vaulted over the balcony railing with an effortless hop. Trev did his best to up and follow, not wasting his breath on more fruitless shouts, but the paint on the sole of his shoe made for poor traction. One leg skewed out from underneath him and he made a few scrambling steps before he caught his bearings, then pushed off from the floor with one hand and charged after him. His target was already halfway to the tree line and pulling away quickly by the time he’d reached the balcony. This shouldn’t have been any contest, but it was quickly turning into a farce of a chase, like a fox trying to outrun a hare that was armed with paint bombs to keep its pursuer’s traction down. “We’ll see about that,” he huffed as he hiked himself over the rail in one smooth motion, absorbed the landing with a deep crouch, and took off again. The mansion wasn’t close enough to the lakefront that he could see it at a distance, with all the bands of trees between them, but he could tell where Fleur was headed- the northwest-facing property put the backside exits pointing southeast toward Lake Saint Clair. His target knew the area well enough that he didn’t even slow as he turned to glance over his shoulder, then took a sharp left turn into the tree line off the stone path. The road was well-trodden but unpaved, and he was running barefoot through god knew what; but whatever grit and sticks might have been poking into his feet didn’t appear to slow Fleur down. For a moment Trev thought he’d lost sight of him until a particularly loud crack of blue lit up the sky and traced a form moving through the trees to his right. “Got you! Come here, you bloody…!” In the middle of nowhere among the foliage were several rope and tire swings, a stone fire pit, and two wooden park benches that looked like they’d been there a while... But no Fleur. Langley paused momentarily in the clearing, only to be blindsided from above by another balloon full of orange paint, now coloring his right thigh. With a protesting groan of “Oh, come on!”, he lunged for the boy as he dropped from his perch on the rope-swing platform and managed to snag a handful of his sweater before yanking him back in his direction. Fleur took an off-balance slide in the dirt with a wild look and bumped into him shoulder-to-chest, as Trev reached into the pockets of his cardigan and pulled out three pieces of ammunition with a triumphant “HA!” But he only smiled back with a devilish grin as a crack of red and white light illuminated the area with successive loud booms. “Hey now, aren’t you coming on a little strong?” he teased as he reached into one of the inner pockets. “Well, I’m not about to stick my hand down your trousers to see if-” A handful of bright green paint slapped across his cheek while he was only halfway through his snarking, leaving him furiously gawking for a moment long enough for his prey to escape, laughing all the way. Somehow, he felt like the supercilious hare going after the cunning fox, not the other way around. It only took a few seconds for his aim to calibrate the weight of the paint balloon, and calculate the trajectory and speed necessary to hit him at a distance, but when he’d finished he wound up like a major league ball-player and pitched it as hard as he could- successfully clipping Fleur’s arm in bright red paint. It wasn’t a direct hit, but he was trying to throw around all those sneaky trees. Finally, he had made his mark, and with Trev now holding the majority of what remained of the paint bombs, it meant he had the advantage. The hunt was on. Another couple minutes of running beneath an increasing amount of fireworks popping off overhead yielded another brief victory resulting from a misstep on (who by now he was pretty confident was) Dylan’s part. In the darkening twilight, in between bursts of flashing light, the maintenance shed managed to sneak up on him. Wide eyes turned to look for his pursuer but spotted him a moment too late. A balloon overfilled with white paint burst open with a particularly large splash, drenching his right hip in white gesso. “And that’s for my suit!” Trevor shouted in vengeful victory; but just when he thought he’d won, Fleur threw his head back against the hollow shed with a soft, clanging thud and let out a rolling laugh. Dumbstruck as he was by his behavior (because being covered in paint didn’t seem to bother him at all), he was quickly learning that this was typical of him. In fact, if Trev didn’t know any better, the way he smiled looked like he was saying ‘This is exactly what I wanted’. Too distracted by the nuance, if only for a moment, Trev didn’t even notice as Dylan slipped away and chucked one of the smaller balloons still in his pockets, and matched his last hit with a small splash of blue on his hip. “How many of these things do you HAVE!?” he half-shrieked in dismay as Dylan sprinted toward the lake, and began the chase anew. Ten minutes and another shot to his left leg after they’d started, and Trev was about ready to admit defeat and call it quits; but by now they were so far from the house and so deep in the woods, he couldn’t tell which way would lead back. Even if his internal map of the property had updated the further on they went, like the unexplored canvas of an open-world adventure game, there were still too many blank spots to get lost in. And he would rather not have Dennis have to assemble a search party to come find them; he hated being the center of anyone’s attention enough as it was. Heedless of their antics, the fireworks show launched into its third, loudest, most explosive phase yet. Wherever they were shooting them off from, it sounded close. He could hear the shrill whizzing, screaming, and shrieking of each payload as they propelled into the sky, and felt the explosive percussive blasts in his chest cavity like an uncomfortable pressure in his gut. Only so much of the bursts of light from the fireworks illuminated the undergrowth beneath the elms and oaks, but it was just enough for him to notice Fleur’s footprints had disappeared from the path. The tracks came to an abrupt halt after a sharp right off the trail, as if he had grown wings. In addition to being nimble and quick, it seemed he was also stealthy enough to get the drop on him, quite literally. Langley figured out where Dylan had gone (or rather, not gone) a second too late. Trevor barely had time to brace himself as the boy leaped from his perch in the tree above and tackled him to the ground. Wrestling for several moments just to get a grip on the squirrely foe, he finally rolled him over onto his back and gripped both hands in as many layers of clothing as he could, stood, and hurled him back toward the beaten path, harder than intended. For being so observant, he’d failed to account for how light Dylan was. The boy flew further and longer than he’d anticipated, arms and legs flailing almost comically as he tried to flip himself so he wouldn’t land on his head. His back and shoulders took the brunt of the landing, momentum absorbed by the damp soil as he hit, but he just took it in stride with a tuck and roll and sprinted along the lakeshore. Much to his dismay. It was unbelievable that he was still running. How could he have so much stamina when he looked like he only ate enough to keep his family off his back? With a long, tired sigh, Trev wound up with the last balloon he had, and threw it right at the back of his head, hitting him with enough force that it knocked Fleur clean off his feet. A stumbling face-first trip into the damp grass and sandy dirt of the marshy lakefront was all it took for him to decide he was finally too tired to continue. So instead of getting back up, he lay giggling on the ground for a few moments. But at least he hadn’t been hit by a rubber band or paint balloon in almost two whole minutes. “Now will you please leave me be...?” Trev whined after him. “I just - ugh.” Now that he didn’t have to worry about any surprise attacks, he took a moment to absorb the disheveled state he was in. Between the mud on his shoes, the paint streaks over his body gummed up with bits of leaves and shredded rubber, and the half-covered lenses of his glasses, it all added up to one conclusion: he was a hot mess, but that wasn’t really news. The only difference was, the outside now matched the inside. Trevor frowned. “This is terrible. You’ve ruined my only suit.” “Nah, it looks way better than it did when you got here...” Dylan joked with a beaming smile as he rolled over, sat up and ran a hand through the back of his hair to fling free as much of the dirt and paint as he possibly could. Too mentally and emotionally exhausted at the moment to protest, Trev caved and plopped down next to him on the beach. “That shit’s acrylic, it’ll wash out with water,” the freckled imp explained, gesturing to the lake as he leaned forward over bent knees, pulled a hard-earned cigarette from behind his ear, and lit it. Already Trev had started to paw and scratch at the green paint drying onto his jaw with a grimace. Beneath it was a cool tingling sensation, as his projected skin hadn’t yet reformed from the trauma of the impact. “C’mon… you really still wish you would have stayed inside? You’ve finally loosened up a little,” he scoffed and mumbled with the cigarette between his lips as he capped the lighter, then looked over at him with a small sigh and an expectant look. The faint cloud of smoke that puffed into his face stung his eyes and nose, but he cringed for another reason. Trev held his breath until it had passed before answering with a hearty dose of sarcasm. “It didn’t loosen anything up. If anything, I’m in an even better mood than I was before, only thanks to - oh, come on, it can’t have dried that fast!” The sarcasm gave way to real dismay. He rubbed at the bigger smear covering one eye and left an impressive track along the side of his face, though didn’t make any real progress to clean off any of it. The thought rankled instantly. “Are you happy now, then? Got what you were looking for?” “Yeah, actually,” Fleur confirmed as he tapped at the end of the cigarette and folded one arm over his knee, then directed a big grin his way. “You know- you’re not bad for a stick in the mud.” The sun was gone. The fireworks hadn’t stopped, they’d only changed in location- now instead of them launching from the Fleur estate, they’d begun firing off on the other side of the lake’s impressive horizon. For a few quiet minutes, they sat and watched the faraway spectacle, until Dylan brought up a sore subject, unintentionally. “Guess I should’ve figured you were an android if you came with Den and Dahlia.” To anyone else it was a casual enough observation. These days it tended to matter who was what just as much as it didn’t. Trev wasn’t so political about it as others were, owing to his seemingly-unique situation. Their opinions didn’t line up with his, but as much as it felt like the case most days (being an anomaly), he hated to think he was the only android who had ever been fooled so completely for so long. Nevertheless, daily reminders were bad enough without someone putting it into words. He cringed again as the skin projection finally dialed in on the missing portion along his jaw, feeling a faint spreading of warmth as the false epidermis melted back into place. It gave him away, if nothing else had up until this point. “Great. Just when I was starting to fool myself into thinking it wasn’t true all over again...” he muttered under his breath as he tried to unbutton a loose cufflink and use it to scrape more paint out from under his eye, only taking his glasses off as an afterthought when he realized they were in the way. A look of pure confusion crossed his company’s face. “Sorry- what? Fool yourself?” He dodged the need to answer that with another slightly-ridiculing question. “And so long as we’re comparing, what does that make you? Some kind of - French-African type?” The redhead’s smile faded just a little, and he rolled his eyes. “Take it easy... alright?” There was a real gentleness in his eyes as he looked at him and reassured. “Doesn’t matter to me either way what you are, I just wasn’t aware of it.” “And there you have discovered my reasoning for wanting to be left alone. Bravo.” After everything he’d endured since arriving at the Fleur’s estate that evening, he wasn’t exactly in a frame of mind to be placated by that. Trev took another dig at the caked-on acrylic, and his skin receded like water being pressed out from under a sheet of paper. “I don’t want to talk about it, to you or anyone else, understand?” “Fine, I get it- I won’t ask,” he replied, apparently un-insulted by his curtness. Of the small handful of redeeming qualities he’d discovered thus far, this was one of them. It was extremely hard to offend him, though it was proving to be more of a curse than a blessing. Just when he thought he was safe, Dylan took one last balloon out of his pocket and smashed it over the back of Trev’s head with a couple of fond pats to his shoulder before laying down in the dirt. Instead of wasting energy on a hapless wail, Trev sighed deeply and lulled his eyes shut to brood. Another silence passed between them, though that time it was just a little more comfortable, as opposed to tense and awkward. Instead of prodding further, Dylan had actually made true on his word not to ask; in spite of what he may have thought about the boy, it was one more small thing to be grateful for. “So, what’s your story…?” Fleur asked after about ten minutes of watching the distant fireworks and listening to the humming and chirping of insects in the night. “I mean-“ He paused mid-thought to tap the butt of his cigarette and knock the ashes into the dirt on the other side of him. “How’d you end up here, with Detective Lenore?” It wasn’t as much of a change in topic as he would have liked, but it was just enough. Trevor hesitated to answer, but Dylan’s silence as he took another drag on the cig was as insisting as asking the question over and over, without being as demanding. Trevor drew his knees to his chest looked away as he fidgeted and leaned over them. As much as he had kept to himself over the last few months, the desire to talk to someone about his trauma eventually overcame the shyness. It was more than most in the academy had bothered to do. Keeping everything to himself hadn’t exactly discouraged developing a reputation as a misanthrope. Appealing as it once sounded, the more time went by and he realized he missed people as he once knew them, that want had to win out somewhere. Besides- by the looks of him, it appeared Dylan Fleur wasn’t that far off from a kindred spirit. Trev stopped fidgeting after considering the offer to speak freely a little longer, then slid the paint-spotted glasses back on. “I’m from… out east. Boston.” One word there sufficed to explain the where and why of the equation in a single breath. If Dylan was really stuck on the idea of getting to know him, he’d have to work harder. “It’s where I met Detective Lenore. He found me- wandering the streets, trying to get out as they were… headed in. I wasn’t thinking straight at the time. He clocked me over the head and handcuffed me to a water main behind a laundromat for safekeeping. They found me again after Nicodemus was arrested. The rest is… well, here I am.” His company froze visibly, stared at the horizon and held his breath for a moment longer than planned before he turned and exhaled the smoke in the opposite direction. It hadn’t quite been six months since the Horsemen -a violent group of android supremacists- had rolled up on the unsuspecting city of Boston and turned it into hell on earth overnight. For two weeks they’d held the city and all its inhabitants hostage under threat of nuclear detonation in the form of a dirty bomb that would have killed all human inhabitants and left Purgatory to the Androids. Nicodemus and his Horsemen had eventually been taken down by Archangel brass (with the help of one rogue RK900), but it was only after the military’s efforts to save the city had resulted in the deaths of nearly a thousand people, humans and androids alike. It was considered a national tragedy and had again fanned the flames of prejudice spread by gangs like the Watchdogs (human supremacists, hell-bent on making sure the line between human and android remained defined). Clearly, it wasn’t the answer he was expecting, but it sure explained a lot. To his credit, Dylan didn’t divert from the heaviness of the subject right away. One dark, freckled hand lifted to run through the longer lengths of hair as he turned back to him and grimaced sympathetically. “You were there…? Fuck… I’m really sorry...” His response was more genuine than Trev had expected from the family misanthrope. But then again, based on the way his family had been talking about him, he’d assumed little more than to expect nothing short of a spoiled brat. So far, though, Dylan was proving to be the opposite. Impish did describe him well, but so did kind. “Sorry’s not your name, either,” Trev muttered in a muted, underwhelmed tone, arms folded once again. The weak impulse to joke, he couldn’t quite rise to; just as well, Dylan didn’t take him up on that. “Look- say no more, y’don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he assured as he put his mostly-spent cigarette out in the dirt, stood and waded into the water up to his knees. The cardigan came off, followed by his shirt, revealing several tattoos in addition to the branches wrapping around his right wrist and thumb- across his shoulders and the back of his neck was a lotus flower, the petals spreading out and around the sides of his neck in inky black brush strokes. The other, on his upper left arm, an ornate floral piece, and an hourglass on the underside close to his body; all of them were in black and white, and still a few years fresh, no greening or bleeding of the ink to indicate their relative age. It seemed he wasn’t afraid of a little pain if he was willing to sit long enough to have such detailed work done. “So, what’s your name?” came the question as he stooped down to rinse the paint off his shirt, then wadded it up into a sopping heap and scrubbed at his jeans with it to remove as much of the white paint as he could. Trev attempted to wipe some out of one eye, but only smeared the coagulating mess back above his ear in an unintentional homage to Nicodemus’ bullet. He could still feel the furrow in the panels there, even if it wasn’t visible with the skin projection running. “Trevor,” he replied, a little less annoyed than before, even with paint gunking up his hair and sticking to his fake skin. “...That’s it? Didn’t Dennis call you somethin’ else?” “Langley,” he added as a begrudging afterthought. No use in hiding such a crucial detail if it had already been revealed once. “And you are?” “What- you mean you didn’t hear my name bein’ thrown around by my disappointed family?” he teased with a quiet smirk thrown over his shoulder. “It’s Dylan. Fleur. Unfortunately.” It was true- their response to his absence was nothing short of exasperation, borderline apathy, and irritation, but Trev knew that giving someone the chance to introduce themselves, apart from what others had said of them, was key to understanding them. Archangel had afforded him the same courtesy once they had gotten back to Detroit. “You were clearly intent on doing something else tonight,” he noted instead, elbows propped on his knees, eyeing him warily from his spot on the ground. Dylan nodded and gave a crooked shrug. “What can I say? I got tired of big dinners and parties a long time ago.” Trev squinted, tilting his head so as to look out from behind sullied lenses. “Why?” he persisted, curious rather than judging. “Aren’t you one of them?” It kind of defeated the point of family to separate oneself from the pack. Dylan stopped from scrubbing the last of the paint off his pants and half turned toward him in deep consideration. It was clearly a loaded question with a multifaceted answer that he wasn’t yet willing to give. As he slung his shirt over his shoulder, he reached for the sweater that was still floating in the water a foot behind him, rolled his eyes and shrugged. Trevor knew a sore subject when he saw one, so he dropped it. Seemed they were both a study in living removed. “Forget I asked, then.” “It’s a long and boring story,” Fleur replied dismissively as he rubbed the pink paint off his face with the dripping wet sweater. The bright color transferred to the cotton fabric in a wide swath, leaving a slightly opaque layer smeared across his cheek until he swiped a clean sleeve over it again. “So boring, you’re carrying around balloons full of paint for laughs?” Dylan scoffed, popped his brows and shook his head as he dunked the cardigan in the water again to wash out the paint. “No- I was getting ready to do something else when you found me, but this sounded more fun.” Naturally, that only raised more questions than it answered. What purpose would water balloons filled with paint possibly serve, if not to be thrown at other people...? “By the way,” he added as he lifted the sweater out of the water, still sopping wet, and hurled it at him. Trevor jumped as it slapped over his face with a loud, hollow PLOP and pushed his glasses uncomfortably high up on his nose. “You should wash up before it dries.” Trev tugged the wet fabric free with a grudging groan, but took his advice and started scrubbing at the paint on his cheeks. Most of the lighter streaks were easily saturated and wiped from existence. On a whim of a program recommendation, he sampled the substance out of curiosity and determined it was exactly what Dylan claimed. The molecular formula ghosted across his vision to add itself to the pile of data still compiling. His company snorted in amusement at the sight of him licking paint off his finger, not at all subtle in calling attention to it. “You can’t get high off that shit, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Dylan teased, then bent forward to submerse his hair in the water. Hands rubbed vigorously at his head for a few seconds before he whipped it back and pushed as much of the water as he could out of the thick mop of auburn red. “How far out here are we, anyway?” Trev asked in idle thought, rubbing the glasses between the folds of the sweater as he looked out over the lake at the last fireworks going off in the distance. Dylan shook the water out of his hair and wrung out his shirt as best he could, then pulled it back on and ran his hands through his hair in a futile attempt to push it out of his face. “Far enough that no one would hear you scream.” It was a joke. Obviously. But he delivered it with such deadpan finality Trev couldn’t help a bemused pause, eyebrows hiked up in mixed skepticism and concern. Scream? Because…? The look said this plainly enough without him putting it to words. The devilish smile returned to its rightful place below squinting green eyes as the boy stepped out of the water and stopped beside him, reaching down to take back his cardigan. “Relax, I’m only half kidding…” Again with the comical vagueness. Trev didn’t smile back through bent, paint encrusted eyebrows. The suit was still a wreck, but at least his face was mostly clean again. He indulged in one last wipe across the brow with the improvised rag as best he could and handed it back. “About which part…?” Dylan sighed and rolled his eyes, draped the cardigan over his shoulder, and extended a hand in an amicable offer to help him stand, but Trev just leaned back and eyed him warily. “Don’t you wanna get out of those clothes and clean up?” As badly as he did, to fuss and bemoan over his current appearance wouldn’t do. Even after an impulsively-sparked, borderline-foolhardy chase, he wanted more to pretend he had retained some kind of composure, a stab at maintaining a shred of dignity. Other than that, it wasn’t as though he had another set of clothes readily available. “It can wait until we get back.” Trev pushed off the ground and grabbed his outstretched hand in the same movement, as Dylan leaned back and helped him up. “I’m not about to go wading and end up smelling of lake silt.” “There are worse things to smell like,” his for-better-or-worse company mused as he slipped his hands into his pockets and turned up the path back toward the mansion. It was a clear enough trail, even if at a walk it would still take them a quarter-hour to return. “But that’s what showers are for- first you live a little, then you deal with the mess later.” There it was again, Dennis’ sage advice about getting out to experience what chaos existed beyond the walls of the academy dorms. Right about now -as he trekked back in muddy, slippery loafers- Trev missed the clean, orderly nature of the place. Langley rolled his eyes, out of sight as he was following Fleur’s lead, and avoided mentioning what a mess Boston had turned into. And how, prior to that, he thought that lie of a life was all he needed. “Detective Lenore is still not going to be happy with the state I’m in, half clean or not.” He laughed, in a way that spoke of how little he cared. “Yeah? Well, if he isn’t, he can eat my ass. He knew what was coming, and he practically endorsed it.” The flagrant disregard with which he said it made Trev’s impression of him do a slight flip-flop. On the one hand, Dylan was obviously more perceptive and sensitive than he led others to believe; on the other, it was because of such nose-thumbing the rest of the family probably found him so tiresome, and therefore regarded as a lost cause. But in the most cursory of ways, Trev simply found the use of vulgarity annoying. “Be that as it may. There’s no need to be crude about it.” “You’re right, there isn’t.” The agreement came without explanation or apology, and the way he smirked as his voice trailed off said all he needed to let him know he couldn’t care less about how he was perceived. They walked on in silence for a minute more before Dylan thoughtfully asked, “Do you miss it…? Boston, I mean, not Purgatory…” Purgatory seemed like less of a place and more of an event the country would just as soon forget. Even if those files could be selectively deleted, Trev didn’t fancy letting go of them. Without that reference how was anything now supposed to make sense? The rapid-fire slideshow played over his retinas again, but instead of focusing on any one frame too long, he tried to shrug off the resulting discomfort; whether it had resulted from this train of thought or the chaffing of the paint-saturated fabric was hard to tell. Regardless, how interested could Fleur actually be? “Sometimes- there are fewer boats here, obviously.” The bustling Boston harbor made the Detroit River look like a carnival ride of a channel. “And I probably won’t miss the winters. Although Detroit isn’t much better on that front, is it?” “It’s worse,” Fleur chuckled with a quiet grin. “Guess you haven’t heard about the ice storms and freezing rain… make sure you get a thick coat, it gets so bad it’ll freeze even an android’s joints.” Trev stomached the reminder with only another shrug and batted a thin branch out of his way as they turned a corner along the path. “Boston has the same issue, only here it’s lake effect snow you have to worry about. You’re sooner to get buried in and freeze if your car breaks down.” He hadn’t spent all that time shut in simply not doing any research. Both cities were at the same given latitude. “By what I’ve heard the spring thaw came early this year, though…” In a manner of speaking. One near-silent minute later, he blinked down at his company, who had stopped to stare with an exhausted grin. “What?” “I’m sorry, but- are we really doing this…?” Dylan stopped, held up a hand, then covered his face and laughed under his breath. “Doing what?” Trev scowled, ever so slightly, not seeing the humor in a simple discussion about the weather… Until he did and slowed to a stop just a couple steps ahead of him. The hardness in his brow dissipated. “Oh.” It seemed it wasn’t as easy to derail uncomfortable conversations with this one unless he outright stated he didn’t want to talk about something. “I mean- I’m glad you’re talkin’, Trev, but the weather…? Really?” Meteorology was the one subject most near-strangers went for when they weren’t quite sure what should and shouldn’t be touched on. The more benignly, the better. But it was the former half of that statement that set him on edge all over again. “You’re glad? /What difference does it make to you that I don’t care to discuss much else?” The last time he was so familiar with anyone it turned out to be a sham, and he wasn’t eager to relive it in any capacity. The man sighed deeply and rolled his eyes again. “Because being a killjoy is no fun, and the weather is boring, but you’re the most interesting person I’ve laid eyes on all day. Is it really so bad to just want a little social interaction that doesn’t lead into a lecture about god knows what…?” Interesting didn’t always necessarily mean good for getting to know. In hindsight, Trev could see so many occasions in which he might have strayed and wondered, had Spencer not kept him on task and none the wiser. He missed that arrangement more than the city itself, that steady presence, and as yet Dylan Fleur was at best a fifteen percent match to Langley’s former partner. Of course, it would mean looking at compatibility issues, front and center. Dylan hadn’t the first clue at what an inner wreck lay under the hood; but as of yet, he didn’t need to know, either. It was safer for everyone if they just left it alone. Time to reiterate that. “I’m afraid all I’ve got are amended lectures at the moment. The rest is too much to go into, like I said. Would you care for it if I started picking your brain apart just as thoroughly?” “Who said y’had to tell your story?” The look on his face bore no hint of playfulness so he’d get the message across loud and clear, and boy did he. When he really wanted to, Fleur could be downright convincing, and genuine, contrary as it seemed. It wasn’t as tiring trying to keep up, but it was a little jarring how easily he could switch between carelessness and seriousness in the blink of an eye. “Didn’t I say I wouldn’t ask…?” Dylan turned on heel in front of him and took a couple of steps back, holding up his arms and lifting his brows. “I get the feeling you’re not too practiced in conversing for the sake of entertainment, ‘cause there’s plenty more we can talk about without rippin’ open old wounds- like why the hell you decided to wear a suit to one of the most casual holiday parties of the year,” he gestured with a teasing grin. Trevor shuffled his feet and crossed his arms, glanced down and tapped a toe into the dirt to hide the embarrassment in his expression. Admitting he didn’t own any respectable clothes besides his cadet duds was yet another confession he’d sooner avoid. How had he not grown tired of hearing what he didn’t want to talk about yet? “Hey-” One hand reached out to give a soft pat on Langley’s upper arm, and he flinched back instinctively. Touches of that nature were not his preference, either. “You wanna know what I was really doing with all those balloons before you showed up? C’mon...” Hitting something with them would be the logical assumption. And given what acrylic was meant to do, color and cover in equal measure, it wasn’t a stretch to parlay something into someone. All in all, Dylan appeared to have gotten some enjoyment out of it. Good for him.

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Chapter: 8/18 Word count: 2165 Summary: When Tobirama is exiled from the Senju clan without warning, without even the chance to plead his case, it feels like his life is over. What does he have to live for now without his older brother to believe in him? Captured by the Uchiha in his moment of weakness, Tobirama slowly learns to live again with the last people on earth he would have ever expected to care for - or to fall in love with.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

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Chapter 8

“Did you have an aneurysm?” Tobirama continued to stare in bafflement as Madara snorted.

“Is that any way to talk to the man offering you your freedom?” he asked. Tobirama pinched his brows together and hesitated, unsure if he should speak his mind or not.

“Perhaps not but is it the best idea to offer your worst enemy free rein of your home?”

“I wasn’t offering you free rein,” Madara corrected him with an overly casual shrug. “And you’re hardly our greatest enemy now. You’re not a threat and you’re not a bargaining piece; actually you’re kind of alright to have around, much as it pains me to admit that. So I figured I would make the offer.”

Running his fingers across the seals on his wrists, Tobirama watched the other man closely for any signs of duplicity. “The offer that I can stay and live here with you. In the Uchiha compound. In your house. As…what? Your new pet?”

“Why are you making this so difficult? Ugh, just give it here!”

Madara grabbed his arm and began to pick at the seal with his own hands, looking for the right characters to push his chakra in to in order to deactivate them. It took Tobirama clearing his throat and using his other hand to point it out for Madara to set him free with a simple press of one thumb. He took care of the second one just as quickly and then unlocked the cuff-style bracelets while Tobirama was still settling in to the sensation of being able to access his own chakra again.

Taking his arms back, Tobirama rubbed at one wrist with the opposite hand and dipped his head to stare at the ground while his mind raced.

“So you’re asking me to, what? Become an Uchiha?”

“Fire and flames, no!” Madara huffed out a startled laugh. “Half a minute ago you were in cuffs, I’m not about to slap an uchiwa on your back and call you brother right out of the gate. But…your situation is quite unique and if I must explain myself for you to understand then I have to admit I’ve grown sort of – maybe a little – fond of your presence.”

“Oh. Right.” His lip stuck when he caught it between his teeth but Tobirama paid that no mind, chewing harder with thought. “Would I be expected to…”

“No. I would not ask that of you.”

He looked up to see all traces of amusement gone from Madara’s expression, replaced with solemn understanding, and relief crashed through him with unexpected force. Until now he hadn’t realized that was even a worry but now he acknowledged that it had always been there in the back of his mind, the possibility that he might someday be forced to attend the battlefield and face his own kin.

Or the ones he used to call kin.

Nearly three months had passed since his exile, just under two months since he had been sealed and put to work around the Uchiha compound. Thinking about it now, he wondered if Madara had simply pitied him or if even then he had intended for Tobirama to stay. It wasn’t something he cared to have clarified but it was something he knew he would be turning over in his mind a great deal from now on.

“If I stay,” he began slowly, “I would like to earn my way. Just…not with laundry. I’ll stay if you promise I don’t have to scrub your dirty underwear anymore.” Something thumped pleasantly in his chest when Madara tossed his head back to roar with laughter. It felt a lot like his heart, jumping and fluttering with a feeling strangely close to fondness.

“Deal. No laundry except your own.”

“I suppose I can live with doing my own.”

“Nice!” Izuna tumbled in to the room then, entirely giving up the pretense that he wasn’t listening at the door. “Now we can spar, right? I’ve been going crazy without any good sparring partners. Aniki likes to sleep in when I like to train and Hikaku is always busy running around with the patrols.”

Tobirama tried to bite down the comment but it slipped out anyway. “Are you sure you want your ass kicked by a former slave? Can your ego even survive that?”

His old rival’s offended squawk was all but drowned out when Madara began to laugh again, bent over double with no shame and clearly not intending to defend his brother’s honor in any way. Tobirama smiled faintly at their antics. Staying here might not be the worst decision he would ever make.

Adjusting to life in the Uchiha compound didn’t sound like it should be a difficult task when he had already been here for months and yet to Tobirama it felt like removing the seals from his wrist had thrust him forward in to yet another completely foreign world. The clan members within the compound looked at him differently. Not in a friendly sort of way of course, not at first, but at least mostly without the hostility and suspicion he had almost grown used to. Moving around outside the house no longer ended with him hurrying back to avoid the stares that followed him everywhere he went. It seemed they had finally had enough time to get used to his presence.

Now he was met with cautious nods and children wound around his legs just the same as they did to all the other adults, no longer warned to stay away from him. Izuna dragged him out to an open forest clearing within the grounds specially set aside for sparring every morning that he could. And when they returned to the house they usually worked together to cook a massive breakfast for when Madara finally managed to drag himself out of bed.

During the day he spent his hours rifling through the surprisingly well-equipped library Madara unlocked for him. By the layers of dust he could tell that not many had bothered with the treasures within for a long time but they found a new life in his hands as he learned the clan’s history, learned the truth of the rumors other clans told about them to cast them as villains. When he wasn’t learning he used the ink and paper freely provided to him and painted seals – proper ones, not the slapdash copy method they had been using until now. Never anything that could specifically be called a weapon but earning his place by making things useful for travel and for everyday life. A massive difference from how he had spent his time before, his efforts going always to methods of death.

The biggest changes came at night, though.

It took weeks to get used to having one or both Uchiha brothers lounging against him like some kind of body pillow as they all ended their day in the den, sprawled out on the couch or around the kotatsu, passing the evening with easy conversation or simply spending time in each other’s presence while they each entertained themselves with something of their own. It reminded him of his childhood, the days when he had three brothers to pull his head out of the library he’d grown up in and bully him in to playing silly games with them for no reason other than that they wanted his attention for a while.

Now he was grown and there were two men with unruly hair, both of them with a bad habit of snickering to themselves or gasping out loud when they were reading a book, who seemed to understand somehow his distaste for the idea of being alone, something most people misinterpreted. While he did indeed enjoy his privacy and the time he spent with nothing but his thoughts, he had also spent his entire life surrounded by family. He needed human contact just like everyone else; he just happened to be more selective about the humans he was happy to spend time with.

Five months to the day since he had been sent away from one home Tobirama looked to his side at Madara, peacefully sleeping with his reading glasses knocked askew by the book his face was resting on, and felt his heart skip several beats at once. It was possible he had built another without realizing it just as this man had advised.

“You’ve got that panicky look on your face again,” Izuna informed him from the other side of the kotatsu, covered in cards and the small handfuls of pretzels they were using as gambling chips.

“I’ve gotten attached,” he murmured back.

“Must be a good hand.”

“Not to the cards, you idiot. Although yes, this is a fairly good hand, you should fold now if you want to keep your snacks. But that isn’t what I was talking about.” Shifting on his cushion, he looked over at Madara again. The fool was drooling on his book. It should not have been considered adorable in any way and yet that was the only word he could think of.

Frowning at his own hand of cards, Izuna waffled back and forth before dropping them to the kotatsu with a sigh. “Alright so what did you mean then?”

“I was talking about you two idiots. You know, I still say this is all a big trick. You’re lulling me in to a false sense of security, making me care about you, and then one day–”

“Bam! We attack you with hugs and affection and other disgusting things!”

“No!” Tobirama rolled his eyes but couldn’t resist the smile trying to grow.

He was about to say something else when Madara gave a light snort and jerked upright, blinked around the room and then settling his gaze on the man at his side. After the short moment it took his sleep-addled senses to recognize who he was sitting next to his whole face lit up in a way it wouldn’t have if he were fully awake. Tobirama stared back at him, feeling his insides melting. He’d never seen Madara look at anyone like that except his own brother.

“Did I fall asleep?”

“No, no,” Tobirama protested mildly. “You just closed your eyes and we shut off the whole world for you. It was no trouble, really.” Madara shook himself a little to clear his head and huffed indignantly.

“Rude.” Despite his apparent offense, he still shuffled over and draped himself against Tobirama’s side.

From what he could tell it seemed to be an Uchiha thing, showing affection through copious amounts of physical touch: leaning against each other, brushing fingers against arms during conversation, even tucking hair behind each other’s ears. The first time one of them had touched his hair Tobirama had spent the next fifteen minutes puzzling over the action before finally caving and asking what the hell just happened. Even after they explained it to him it had taken a while to sink in that they kept touching him for no other reason than that they liked him.

Which was a whole other basket of eggs to upset. The members of his own clan had oftentimes deliberately avoided him. He wished he knew what quality he had which these two seemed to enjoy that few others had before.

“If you’re tired you should go to bed,” Tobirama told the spiky black hair now resting on his shoulder.

“But I’m comfortable here.” In deliberate protest Madara snuggled even closer against him, unbothered with the way he tensed suddenly at the gesture. He still wasn’t used to being touched so easily by anyone other than Hashirama. Even Touka had projected her movements as much as possible whenever she got close to him. That was just how shinobi acted around one another.

“Unless you are planning to sleep on me I think a bed would be the better option.”

“Well, if the offer’s open…” Madara was asleep again in the next moment.

Tobirama appealed to Izuna with a confused expression but the other man only covered his mouth with both hands to muffle his pitiless snickering. When he looked back down at his shoulder he couldn’t help but notice from this angle that Madara was blessed with fantastically long eyelashes. They fluttered when his eyes moved under their lids, brushing against his cheeks, and Tobirama had to look away when he noticed his hand was halfway lifted to see if they were as soft as they looked.

Clearly he was not the only one who had gotten attached. Tobirama reached for his cards with one hand and smiled as he turned them over, revealing the crappy set he’d been holding.

“Thanks for folding; can you push the pot my way? I would hate to disturb him so soon.”

“You lied!”

“It’s called bluffing and of course I did. What sort of shinobi reveals his hand so easily?”

Staying here definitely looked as though it had been the right decision, more and more so with every day.

[marmosette]

The End?

I hate titles.

So this is another of that series of fic where I used pre-set first lines from a prompt list and did one with Mystrade and one set in Foldings. Only every time I do it, I can’t find the same list I started with, so both prompts are from different lists (”Bruises” being the other). (Honestly, I forgot that one. I didn’t remember the starting line, or what I’d written, or where I posted them. Anyone else do that?)

This is the Foldings one...

“Is this the end? After everything we’ve been through?”

“End of what?”

“Us. You an’ me. We were a good team,” EJ said sadly, his cheek mashed against his forearm as he laid against his school desk. “Nobody else ever kept up.”

“’Cept your mice.”

“But they can’t do spells.”

“How would you know?”

“C’mon, Christine. Come on. Once it’s out of the oven, we’ve only got a couple of minutes till it’s on a tray up to their rooms.”

“All you have to do is ask and I bet one of the cooks would make all the mudpie you want.”

“But it’s never as good as when Sally does it!”

“How do you know?”

“She made it last year for the Darklight Fest! We only got some because the Vedouci and Druhy were both out.”

“What difference does it make who made the pie?” Christine asked, scrubbing at her paper furiously with her pencil, covering it in black smudge.

“I dunno. If I did, I’d be in the kitchens. It’s just…better. She uses more chocolate or something. And the gravy on top is smoother.”

“You mean sauce.”

“I don’t know! I don’t work in the kitchen!” EJ turned his head face down, groaning against his desktop. “Come on.”

“I want to finish this.”

EJ flopped back in his seat suddenly, sighing. “It’s too late. Don’t bother. It’s already on the tray, in the dumbwaiter, on the way up. All that crispy, flaky crust and juicy chocolate, steaming and melting all over the plate…”

Christine reached across the aisle with one hand and shoved EJ hard in the chest. “Don’t be stupid.”

EJ shrugged, his nonchalance almost convincing himself. “Why not? Never tried being stupid. It might be fun. Always looks like it when Pochet does.”

“You’re mean.” There was no heat in it, but there never was. Christine said it several times a day, so it was probably automatic.

“Well I’m gonna go see if there’s any left, now. You can come or stay here with the little babies and learn numbers or something.” EJ shoved his chair back.

“No, stop!” Christine hissed. “Just…wait for me.”

“Hurry up, then.”

Christine bit her lip, scowling fiercely at her paper. Śe Sophia was crouched beside Amy, helping her draw. With the teacher’s attention focused elsewhere, Christine pushed her hand flat against the blank page, pressing as hard as she could until as much of the page as possible was in contact with her hand. Then she snapped her hand back pulled, yanking dark black lines into place. It wasn’t quite what she had in mind. She’d wanted a ship with lots of sails and ropes and rigging and nets and flags and masts, but trying to picture all of it at once was a lot harder than drawing it a bit at a time, making sure all the lines were straight, seeing if the sails were wide enough, if she could fit one more in. The image she’d pulled into place had crooked masts with sails that were just white squares that overlapped. The flag at the top of the tallest mast was just a bunch of lines. The sea that she’d already drawn put the ship to shame, but it was good enough when weighed against the potential loss of chocolate.

“Śe Sophia? I’m done,” Christine announced, dropping the picture into the bag next to her desk. “May we go to the library?”

The teacher looked up at her with piercing green eyes, then flicked her gaze across to EJ. “We?”

“Yes, Śe,” EJ said politely. “She’s going to help me find a book on mice.”

“Why do you want a book on mice?” Sophia demanded, straightening and crossing the room in three long strides, dodging desks that were little more than knee-high to her to get to the taller ones at the back.

“I read all the books on helephants and foxes and weasels and their kin, I’ve read three on rabbits, ten on horses, five on lizards, seven on frogs—”

“I didn’t ask which books you have read,” Sophia sighed, propping her fists on her hips. “Why mice?”

“Because they’re brilliant!” EJ burst out. “They learn all kinds of things, and they can get through a hole you can barely see, and they talk with smells, and they have feelings and get happy and sad for each other and they’ll tell you that, you just have to—”

“EJ! I understand!” Sophia waved off his excitement. “It seems to me you already know a great deal on the subject of mice.”

“Oh but there’s so much more!” EJ said earnestly. “I wanna know how many kinds there are, and if they can all talk to each other or if they have languages like people do, and if they learn each others’ languages, and do they have accents? Do they all learn stuff the same way? Like if I give one a puzzle will he figure it out the same way as a mouse from Nine Bridges Over Grass? And can they teach each other? And do they all live as long or do some live longer? Can they figure out how to help each other live longer, like is there mouse medicine? What kinds of magic can they do—”

“Mice doing magic?” Sophia asked in alarm.

“Sure, Śe! Why not? If they can learn the sigils and run around them, why wouldn’t it work?”

“Śe Sophia? Can we get pet mice?” asked a small boy in the front pair of desks.

“Christine, take EJ to the library and see if you can find him a book on why mice make very bad pets,” Sophia sighed, waving the pair of them toward the door. “Pochet, my darling, let’s see first if you can draw one. What kind of mouse do you think would live in a desert?…”

EJ grabbed Christine’s hand as they sprinted down the hallway. “Come on! Maybe we can steal the gravy pot!”

“It’s sauce, EJ, and you can’t because you’re too short and can’t levitate things yet.”

“Neither can you!”

“I don’t need to because I’m tall enough and I climb better. And I know how to stack thing so they don’t tip over!”

“See? This is why we’re a good team!”

“Because I could sneak the pie out without you?” she asked, and dashed past him, laughing.

“Because you wouldn’t think to steal it!” EJ called, stretching his legs to try to catch up.

Ten minutes later, the pair were sitting in a corner of the kitchen with red knuckles, tear tracks down their cheeks, and small bowls with broken chunks of flaky pastry covered in gooey chocolate. Sally harrumphed and walked away from them, muttering.

“Library after though, yeah?” EJ whispered.

“You mean you don’t already know all that about your mice? I thought now you had one from every country in your box!”

“I do,” EJ insisted, setting down his spoon for a moment to slide the matchbox out of his pocket and nudge the lid back just far enough for dozens of tiny pink noses like grains of sand to poke up at him over the edge of the box. He picked off a crumb of pastry for them and dropped it into the box, feeling the balance tip as the magically-shrunken animals scampered over to begin nibbling on a flake big enough for two of them to hide under.

“Can I see them?” Christine asked, bending closer. She waved at the box by barely moving the tip of her finger, unable to hide a grin at the soft chorus of squeaks in response.

“They always like you,” EJ said, dropping in a few more crumbs.

“D’you think you could shrink a horse to something tiny enough to fit in a pocket?”

“Reckon I could. Problem is finding a horse that no one would notice was missing.”

“I’ll ask Tom,” Christine decided. “Next time he comes for Amy’s pile. He doesn’t like them.”

“If he doesn’t like the piles, why does he come to them? And isn’t he more likely to say no, then?” Ej asked, finally getting more of his attention focused on the broken bits of pie in front of him.

“No, he doesn’t like horses,” Christine told him, industriously cramming chocolate into her mouth. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Maybe I like being stupid.”

“Can I have your pie, stupid?”