#I made an excited noise and threw myself into a coughing fit

[yourlocalmissingtexture]

Being a weird little noise maker is all fun and games until you’ve got an upper respiratory infection

[sailorhyunjinz]

~ Fluffy intruders ~

Warnings: FLUFF & SMUT, dom!minho, fem!reader, established relationship(kinda?idk), fingering, nipple play, blowjob, penetrative sex (stay safe yall), sex ruined by cats hahaha

Word count: 2,079 words (whoops...)

Requested: Based of anons scenario (which made me laugh so hard, ty for making my day <33)

Note: i want a cat ;(( ALSO writing long smuts is heeeella difficult AA SORRY IF THIS IS SHIET

As a child you were never allowed to have pets. Your parents said that you didn’t have enough ‘responsibility’ to care for another living creature and so after years convincing you eventually stopped, deeming yourself forever petless. But that was until you met Minho. You vividly remember the first date which was at a local cafe, filled with hanging wall plants and rustic boxes of coffee beans. The brown haired boy looked cozy with a dark oversized sweater and a white and black checkered beret, his silver chain earrings shined everytime he moved his head. The strong musky scent of the coffee beans in the cafe fitted his image making him appear even cuter than you originally though. 

When you had ordered your drinks of choice you sat down at a table in the far back of the cafe, not visible to a lot of the visiters. The both of you plopped down on each side of the round table, momentarily gaining eye contact before breaking it, being to shy to look for too long. You noticed a couple strands of hair on the shoulder of his sweater. 

“Wait, you have something there” you said while smiling, gently leaning over the old rosewood table. 

Minho smiled back and froze a bit when your hand got closer to him, heart beating faster than ever. After all it was a cute girl sitting across him dressed exactly how he pictured you. 

“There you go” you leaned back into your seat as you threw the hairs on the stone flooring. Only when you looked back at him again did you notice that the color of the strands were not his signature dark brown but instead orange. You looked at him confused and just had to ask.

“Did you have orange hair recently?” was the only question you managed to get out but you instantly regretted it the moment it left your lips. ‘Why do I always make a fool out of myself?’ you though. 

Minho laughed, the apples of his cheeks rounded and his eyes formed a halfmoon shape. 

“No... I would like to try it someday to match my cat Soonie” he said through that cute smile on his lips, having a dreamy look when he mentioned his cat.

“YOU HAVE A CAT?” you said a tad bit too loud but you didn’t care, you were currently talking to someone that had the animal you always wanted to own. 

Minho laughed even louder, heart exploding from your cute reaction. 

“I actually have 3! They’re called Soonie, Doongie and Dori” he said, flashing his dad-like smile, looking like a proud parent over his cats.

Your eyes lit up as you tapped your legs in excitement.

“I want to know everything about them!” you squealed like a little child. 

“Yet another thing we have in common. I’ll tell you but let me fetch the drinks” he said with a soft comforting voice before he stood up and went to the counter. You followed his figure with your eyes. 

The rest of the date you talked about mostly his cats. Sure, you talked about other boring things like work but seeing Minho talk about his little critters made you fall in love even more. He pulled up his phone, a whole album was dedicated to the fluffy babies. He had everything you wanted. A perfect smile, a comforting personality and of course a nurturing side which was shown by how well he took care of the trio of cats. 

That was 2 years ago. Now, you were a full-time mom to the cats. And as much as Minho hates to admit it, his cats love you even more than him. There was only one little thing you could complain about ẃhen being a catmom and no, it’s not the amount of cat fur that flies into your mouth when kissing the kitties. 

You yawned as you closed the bedroom door and crawled into bed, the cats sleeping peacefully in their fluffy beds in the living room. Minho was already cuddled up with his phone, the blue light reflecting onto his complexion. He looked so concentrated and you refused to sleep without getting a good night kiss from the cozy boy 

“Kiss” you said, holding out your face in front of his phone.

“ha ha no” he turned the other way and lied on his side, only then did you see why he was obsessed with what was going on the screen. He was playing games with the other boys which made you roll your eyes. You were not giving up this easily and so you spread out on top of him, rubbing your face onto his. 

“KISS KISS KISS” you demanded to which Minho sighed, turning onto his back again. You were now straddling him and leaned down to kiss him on the lips, expecting a small peck but oh were you wrong. Minho put his soft hands on either side of your face, cupping your cheeks as he deepened the kiss by crashing his tongue on yours. The movement of the kiss formed a pace, making you slightly rub on against his member while the bed moved slowly. 

Minho moved his hands from your cheeks to your hips, pressing them against his hardening dick while you rubbed against it in a quicker pace. His eyes darkened, previously being rounded but now they were hooded, resembling the eyes of a dragon. A mysterious smirk appeared on his light red lips as he flipped you over, hovering above you. Your thighs rubbed together, body getting hotter by the second since you knew what waited everytime this happened. 

“Since you wanted a kiss so bad how about I give you something better?” he growled, eyeing you up and down, taking in the beauty of your body lying helpless underneath him. You swallowed a hard gulp as you nodded faintly. He took of his shirt, revealing his slightly muscular body he had been working on recently. With his hand he lifted up your light pink pyjama shirt exposing your two delicate buds and without a second though Minho attached his lips onto one of them, sucking relentlesly whilst his fingers played delicately with the other nipple. Your chest was a playground for Minhos tongue as he switched from nipple to nipple, licking and biting them playfully. Through clenched teeth you muffled a stiff moan as he twirled his tongue around the sensitive buds. You grabbed onto his dark hair, stroking it in encouragement to which Minho smiled in between bites.

His hand trailed down from your nipple, tracing the outline of your waist and hip as it softly halted around the band of your pyjama shorts. A firm grip was placed on your waist as Minho went back to kissing you, his lips covered in saliva from sucking on your nipples earlier. You patted him on the head as you bit his bottom lip, enhacing the romantic kiss. The grip on your waist loosened and plunged down your shorts making the burning feeling in your clit amplified. He traced his fingers over your clothed pussy, feeling your wetness through the thin fabric to which he smirked.

“I’ve barely done anything but my princess is already soaking” he said, breaking the kiss for a second. You nodded again, wanting his fingers inside you. It was almost like he was reading your mind because that’s exactly what happened. Being caught off guard, Minho pushed the fabric aside, digging two digits into your pulsating cunt. Tiny whimpers made it’s way out your mouth as he curled his fingers upwards, finding your g-spot. Those whimpers turned into moans as Minhos thumb started circling your enlarged clit. You looked at him and he looked back, signaling your desperation for him. He understood it in a heart beat and removed his fingers, immediately stripping himself from the loose fitting pants and boxers. His hard member sprung free from the clothes that were now lying on the floor somewhere. He was still on top of you, looking like a statue with when he stood on his knees that were on their side of your body, his dick only inches across your face. Lifting up your hips slightly you pulled your pyjamas and panties down before you semi-sat down again, the warm bed hitting your butt. 

Minho lifted your chin with the same fingers that were inside you moments prior, he looked you deep into the eyes before he placed his dick on your plump lips. You licked the tip slowly and looked him back into the eyes. He looked so much powerful than you when he was above you, asserting his dominance by grabbing a fistful of your hair and pushing you down on his shaft making you choke. You sucked him of to the best of your abilities, hollowing your hot cheeks and drooling all over the place. 

“You look so pretty like this princess” he grunted out, the grip on your hair tightening as his noises got louder, twitching slightly between your lips. Minho rolled his head around and landed his eyes on yours to which you blushed. 

As he was nearing his release he pulled out of your mouth, you gasped for air and coughed. Just as you were about to wipe off the drool on your chin and chest he took the back of his hand and swiped the drool off of you, rubbing it on thr bedsheets. Even when his dominant side emerged he cared about you. 

“Face down, ass up” he said getting off you. A small “yes baby” fled your swollen lips that came from sucking him off too hard as you got into position. Minhos slightly cold fingers grazed your wet folds from behind, the sensation of cold feeling oddly numbing on your hot pussy. He grinned at the whimper that you let out and stood on his knees infront of your butt, lining himself up with your cunt. You shut your eyes tightly even before he put it in because you already knew the feeling. He was way to big for you and so it always stinged a bit before the pleasure kicked in. Yet again you were right, a moment of pain as he penetrated you but when you adjusted the feeling of being filled to the brim made you stammer out a moan. Minhos hands seemed bigger than they were when he grabbed onto your hips, setting a even pace.

“My pretty princess is always to tight for me” he said, focused on his movements. You could only moan in response, your lips pouting by the way your cheek was being squashed against the bed. Eventually the pace of his thrusts quickened causing the bed to shake. Minhos hands stroked your back from time to time, giving you goosebumps. Your moans got louder and as he grabbed both your arms pulling you against his member they turned into screams. You threw your head back, sweath covering the few stray strands of hair that poked out. Minho knew you were close by listening to your loud moans that sounded like music in his ears. But besides his low groans and the sound of skin slapping against each other you heard another sound. Minho stopped, turning around to face the door. 

Loud scratching and meowing erupted on the other side of the door which made Minho scoff while you looked with a confused expression at your boyfriend. He resumed this thrusts at an even quicker pace, you clenched around his dick feeling your release coming closer. 

“I’m making mommy feel good! Stop being such babies!” he yelled which confused you deeply as you laughed. 

“Who are you talking to?” you turned around to face your boyfriend.

“Who else but the spawn on satan that are those cats?” he said, the both of you bursted out in laughter. 

Minho let go of your arms and pulled out, feeling empty. You opened the door and saw the trio of cats marching in the bedroom one by one, getting comfortable on the bed. Minho covered himself with the duvet before snuggling his beloved babies. But the second you lied down on the bed, all three of the cats snuggled up with you instead leaving Minho feeling betrayed. 

“Traitors...” he mumbled looking visibly annoyed to which you giggled, petting the Soonie. 

“Ok out now! I was not done with mommy” he said to the cats pointing at the door. 

[visceryl]

The Great Dragon Rescue

This is the bang @montdiarts​ and I worked on together! The lovely comic art belongs to @montdiarts​ while the writing belongs to myself. @hphmbang2020​

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“Are you sure about this, Charlie?”

Barnaby’s voice echoed down the cracked stone halls weathered with age as the boys traveled by torchlight down the seldom used corridor. He gripped his wand tightly in a fist, green eyes shifting behind to ensure they weren’t followed.

“I saw it myself, Barnaby, a real life dragon egg,” the red-headed boy hissed back. He picked his way around the corner bending left, unbothered enough to forgo looking down the other adjoining halls. As far as he was concerned, that was what Barnaby tagged along for.

When he’d first stumbled upon the egg, it had been fate. It started with a prodding dream to study for his OWL’s, and after waking up covered in a fresh sheen of sweat, he had set to work scouring Hogwarts for the best place to study between classes without anyone finding him. That, of course, meant going where he wasn’t supposed to. 

Charlie sniffed out nearly every inch of the expansive castle, resulting in the common practice of people and creatures chasing him from newly acquired positions. He dared not tell Barnaby his previous run-in with Hagrid’s puppy.

As far as the Slytherin knew, this was a top secret mission to save a dragon’s egg from great peril. Loneliness. 

It wasn’t about the knowledge that they were doing this during a time both were supposed to be nose deep in books for their classes. Or that of all classes currently running, Snape was still a credible obstacle that roamed the halls. Barnaby was a defend first and ask questions later type of guy, which made him the perfect fit. 

“Okay, I get it's a dragon egg but do you even know what kind? What if someone notices it missing?”

“It’s been cruelly locked behind chains and left to rot alone!” Charlie defended. “I’m going to save it and set it free. This chance is once in a lifetime, it depends on us to ensure it's not a captive its whole life!”

A low chuckle rolled from Barnaby’s chest and he sent his elbow into the Weasley’s arm. “You’re kind of crazy, you know that?”

Charlie leveled the Slytherin with a knowing look, teeth shining brightly behind freckled features. “It runs in the family, what’s your excuse?”

“... Same here.”

Hesitation glued Charlie’s feet to the ground and his gaze lingered on his friend, scouring for any emotional fluctuation in Barnaby’s expression. Family was sensitive, he didn’t joke about it often. But there was no further comment. He’d already moved on with a roll of his shoulder, pushing ahead.

The two boys continued in silence for the remainder of the walk. Torches lit along the walls on either side, a lone painting rousing with suspicion in passing. It muttered to itself, talking of the no good boys causing trouble in its halls. 

It was ignored as Charlie took them up a flight of stairs tucked away neatly behind a wooden door. The knob was slightly rusted with underuse and the staircase led only to a hatch in the ceiling, sealed tight with a lock. 

Barnaby loomed over Charlie’s shoulder as the redhead touched down to palm the lock in hand. It twisted and turned with examination. 

“Mm, this could be a problem.”

“How did you get it open the first time?”

The dragon enthusiast’s cheeks burned a fiery red. “It wasn’t locked before. But it doesn’t matter, I can still open it.”

He took the lock further in his grasp and drew his wand. “Barnaby, give me a bit more light, please?”

The Lumos spell started as a pinprick of light in the dark room before its glow illuminated a near thirty foot area around them in dim lighting. Coming into the stairwell, they had abandoned a path of torches for secrecy. By the looks of the moss eaten cobblestone and the water stained cracks jutting up the walls, nobody was supposed to be here.

“Thank you,” Charlie breathed with a forward sink of his shoulders. He was relieved to have at least partial vision restored. 

He gave a wave of his wand and muttered the incantation for unlocking beneath his breath. As his wand turned, he could hear the rusted gears of the lock creaking open before… snap!

The hook of the lock popped open and he quickly scrambled to tear it off the hatch. It bounced unsteady in his hand, sliding past the grip of fingers. Barnaby made a pass at it, swiping to catch it before the first dreaded clink of it echoing off the stone staircase. 

To no avail.

The lock evaded both their grasps and tumbled down each individual stair before hitting the bottom with a final crack.

Charlie recoiled with tension, features pinched with horrified strain as a palm smooshed over his face, rubbing out his worry and frustration. “Don’t worry about it,” he insisted with a low hiss. 

His attention turned back to the hatch, flattening his palms on its underneath and pushing. Dust rained down on the two, clouding Barnaby’s normally brown hair in a layer of spotted gray. Both were immediately sent into a coughing fit, Charlie’s hand raising over his mouth as he ushered for the other to shine his wand up inside. 

“Don’t worry about it? Charlie have you actually ever been to this place? I don’t think anything comes up here!”

“Shh!” The Gryffindor snapped his gaze back, grasping his friend by the shoulder and giving an assuring squeeze. “I promise you, I know what this is. Please, Barnaby, just shine your light.”

Reluctantly, Barnaby did as he was told, straightening beyond Charlie to loft his wand into the room shrouded entirely in darkness. His Lumos spell lit it with ease, and as green eyes keenly made it around the room, Charlie scrambled up past him. 

The wood floor of the seemingly abandoned attic space cried shrilly beneath the boy’s weight. This space either hadn’t been used in a long time or was made to look that way. The walls and far end of the room were lined with junk. Textbooks, boxes, old potion bottles, broken brooms. It’s initial appearance gave off nothing more than an old storage room, which is exactly how it’d caught Charlie’s eye to begin with.

Secure and secluded. 

But it was what rested to his left that sparked him with the overwhelming sense of duty that led him to tuck tail and run for backup. Charlie was in no way deterred by his task or incapable of doing so, but sneaking a dragon egg through Hogwarts required tact and a lot of help. 

Sat atop a pedestal of marble, an egg-shaped form loomed in the cascading shadows rippling off of Barnaby’s wand. Charlie advanced, curving his fingers into the white linen sheet when a noise sent the Slytherin behind him scrambling. 

A crack.

Barnaby whirled, pointing his wand threateningly at empty space and his teeth grated together. “I don’t like this.”

Charlie waited a moment longer, listening out into the silence, and proceeded. He threw the sheet off and set his sights upon the rich brown egg covered in a deep tiger pattern and scaled surface. Giddiness shot through him.

“Come on, Barnaby! Look at it,” he hissed out, wildly waving his friend over. “It’s beautiful!”

Barnaby shuffled over, the light following him as he moved. He examined every end of the egg, circling around it before a frown sunk his features. “I think it’s dead, Charlie.”

“What?!”

He raised out a hand, slowly turning the back end of the egg to face the Gryffindor where a giant crack split across the back. “That doesn’t look healthy for it, at least.”

For but a moment, Charlie sank in hopeless defeat, jaw dropped slack. He pressed his hands to either side of the egg, cupping it until his forehead lowered to its top. “I should have known,” he whispered.

Then another crack. 

Something smashed back against Charlie’s forehead and he wheeled back in shock. Both boys latched their attention on the egg that writhed and shuddered on the pedestal. A small hole poked through the hardened shell and from within a deep red eye peered out.

“It’s not dead, Barnaby!” Charlie shouted all at once, lurching forward to grab the egg again. “It’s hatching! We’re going to see it hatch!”

The little dragon within the shell struggled for several minutes, chipping and biting away at its confinements. At some point, Charlie stepped in, breaking away a few small pieces to make a larger exit point. By the end of fifteen minutes, a wyrmling crawled out, knocking several shell pieces to the ground where they splintered against the wood. 

It spanned out a paper-thin wing, small serpentine tongue lashing out to lick away excess nutrients that clung like a soft film to its body. 

Barnaby crept behind it, a finger waggling against its sweeping tail that coiled and uncoiled as it lounged. “Hey, it’s kind of cute,” he murmured.

“Kind of?” Charlie stood back in awe, a glimmer of excitement in his soft honey brown eyes. “This is a Ukrainian Ironbelly! Look at its color and how thick those scales are!” His knees bit into the unstable wood flooring as he threw himself before the pedestal, coming eye level with the dragon.

“It doesn’t have its spines yet, but said to be the largest of all the dragons. Can you imagine the luck!?”

Barnaby had to hand it to Charlie, he liked animals as much as the next idiot, but never to the degree Charlie liked dragons. Nobody doubted what he’d become when he left here, or where he’d go. He was someone with a dream to study and learn from some of history’s greatest beasts. 

The Slytherin inhaled and moved to clap his friend on the shoulder. “Alright then, use that brain of yours to rework the plan. I was supposed to carry an egg, not a baby dragon. How do we hide it until we get out?”

“...Well like I said before, Penny has some potions we can use to sneak out of the castle. The only problem is.. Now that it’s hatched, I think we need to go to Hagrid.”

“What if he tells Dumbledore? Or worse. Snape.”

“No way, Hagrid loves us. And he’ll love this little guy. If anyone can help us, it’s him.”

Barnaby was about to open his mouth to reply when the baby Ironbelly leapt from the pedestal, little wings snapping out. It glided for a split second before crashing against Charlie’s shoulder, letting its claws tear and grasp at his robes for purchase. A panicked cry squeaked from its chest.

The dragon enthusiast all but melted, shaking hands roping up around its body and hugging it to his chest. “Easy, easy little guy,” he soothed. 

Another squeak chirped from the Ironbelly and its plated head rubbed to Charlie’s cheek, a soft pink tongue dampening his skin with saliva. 

“...Okay you win. Can I hold it?” Barnaby quickly sputtered out, watching the baby dragon in his own glistening wonder. It took only a second for Charlie to inch himself side by side with the Slytherin, helping the wyrmling hop into his arms and onto a shoulder. It’s teeth immediately latched onto his ear, tugging with a less than threatening growl.

Laughter bubbled in his chest. “Hey!” He scooped a hand under the Ironbelly, drawing it aloft in front of his face, detaching it from his ear. “Those little teeth are still sharp.” The dragon chirped again, a soft puff of smoke lifting into the air from its parted maw. 

“Here’s the plan,” Charlie purred, scratching beneath it’s chin. “We take turns tucking it beneath our robes and find our way to Penny. She’ll supply us with the potions needed to sneak out and find Hagrid. From there, hopefully he’ll know what to do with releasing it.”

At that, Barnaby promptly wrangled the little wyrmling beneath his robes, letting it attach to his shirt, where it’s little nose picked up the lingering scent of treats. It shuffled, snuffing about before pressing its nose into the front chest pocket of his button up, clawing out a delicious pet snack.

“...I’ve got it, but it just ate the treats I saved for the Niffler!”

“Better the little thing travels full anyways.”

The plan was destined for failure. Too many open variables, too little done to prepare for carrying a baby dragon out of Hogwarts. Charlie and Barnaby set off down the halls once more after climbing from the hatch and skipping down the winding staircase. 

Barnaby struggled to calm the wyrmling’s shuffling as it fought tooth and nail to peek its head out from his collar. Eventually, a hand pressed to the top of its head through the fabric and came away with a yelp, the skin blistering red from tiny little puncture holes. 

“Charlie, it bit me!”

“Shhh, we just have a little bit further.”

“A little bit further for what?” 

The new voice had both boys jumping. Charlie whipped around to come face to face with Felix. His arms were folded over his chest expectantly, hair pulled back into a tight mini-ponytail. 

Barnaby refused to turn towards his Prefect, clutching the Ironbelly tighter to his chest as he boasted a nervous laugh. “Felix! We didn’t expect to see you here, Charlie and I were just trying to find Penny. She was going to help us out with potions.”

An impatient little squeak came from his robes and Felix raised a brow.

“Help you out, or help your little friend? What did you sneak in this time, Lee?”

Charlie slipped himself between the Slytherin Prefect and his friend, flashing a much too wide smile. “You know, it’s probably best you don’t know. That blasted Barnaby, always bringing in magical creatures. Well you know, Felix, I caught him in the act and I’m helping him sneak it out to return it!”

“What?!” Barnaby couldn’t stop himself in time, the rush of embarrassed shock warming his cheeks. “I mean.. Yeah! I just wanted a bit more time with the… the Niffler. I’m sorry, Felix, won’t happen again.”

Felix narrowed his gaze on the two, clearly not buying it as he waited impatiently for the truth. His foot tapped the ground. One, two, three times. It attracted the attention of the wyrmling smothered in Barnaby’s robes and with a last push for freedom, raced down the Slytherin’s leg.

In an instant it was attacking Felix’s shoe, teeth digging into the black leather with a determined growl as it shook its mighty little head.

Wide eyes blinked down at it, the prefect’s face twisted with horror at the audacity of the two boys. “Oh no. You have got to be kidding me. CHARLIE. You have one minute to convince me not to blow the whistle. This is a dragon. In the school.”

Charlie grimaced, quickly going down to sweep the dragon back up into his arms, letting it settle before just barely concealing it behind his robes. It could peek its head out, red eyes blinking out curiously at all the winding halls and movements. 

“I know, I know,” he sighed. “But Felix, please, you can’t tell. I found it alone up in one of the attics. It just hatched! I was only trying to get it out of the school to begin with so it could be freed.”

The Prefect either wasn’t buying it, or was quite good at hiding his true feelings. After a moment of silence, his jaw tightened with tension. Footsteps echoed down the right wing of the hall. 

“Dammit, Charlie. Go around the hall, now!” Felix suddenly lashed out. “I had a meeting with Professor Snape. That’s him. Go.”

“What about the dragon!?” 

“Just get it out of here, I’ll distract Snape.”

Before they had time to argue, Felix curled his fists into their clothes and shoved them around the corner. Just in time. His fingers combed through his hair to smooth back any messiness and rounded to meet Snape. 

“...Felix,” the man greeted with an exhale of annoyance. 

“Professor Snape. Did you want to go back to the classroom to talk? Or maybe the common room?”

As if a bloodhound for mischief, the man crinkled his nose like he’d smelled some foul odor. His sharp gaze ran the length of the halls before drifting back down to his Prefect. “Now, I do hope you haven’t gotten mixed up in anything. So eager to leave. I believe here is as good a place as any.”

Felix grimaced, avoiding looking in the direction he sent Barnaby and Charlie. “No, of course not, Professor. Here is fine.”

“Wonderful.”

Snape began to walk towards the hall, letting Felix trail after in panicked steps, trying to deflect his attention. It spurred him on faster. The Head of House ripped around the corner with a scowl already spanning his face as if ready to scold on a moment’s notice. 

“What are you doing, Weasley?” His voice lashed out accusingly.

Charlie had been quick on the ball. Sat on the ground with his back resting against the wall, he flipped through pages of a book, scribbling down notes between the lines with his quill. As soon as Snape’s voice met him, he glanced up shyly. “Professor Snape. Sorry, I was just doing a bit of studying.”

“With Lee?”

Barnaby was on the other side of Charlie, head knocked to the side with a line of drool dribbling down his chin. Unbeknownst to any of them, the wyrmling had wriggled its way free, bounding away behind Snape at full speed. 

Save for Felix.

He caught sight of the runaway dragon and a cold tension coiled up in every muscle. Quickly, he wracked his brain for a way out of it. 

“Oh no!” the Prefect suddenly exclaimed. “I just remembered, Professor! There is a reason why I’m a bit jumpy. I was meaning to tell you, but I saw one of the first years stuffing contraband under their mattress.”

“What?” Snape whirled, momentarily keen to forget the other two’s very existence. “Why are you waiting until now, Felix? Who.”

“I’ll show you. Just follow me.” 

The gamble paid off. 

Felix’s normally stellar behavior and hard earned trust with Snape eventually led the man off with nothing more than a cruel warning to Charlie to stay out of trouble. Purposefully led in the opposite direction of the baby dragon.

And as soon as they were gone, Barnaby sprang to action. Faster than Charlie, the big lug tore down the hall after their new friend. “Hurry, Charlie! Grab it!” 

He skidded with his shoes against the deep maroon runner streaking down the hall, wrinkling the rug in the process. The Ironbelly weaved, dodging under a table. Barnaby nearly sailed right over it, crashing in front and rolling to starfish overtop of the dragon. It pinned beneath his arm briefly before popping free and bolting once more. 

Ready to make a break for it, only Charlie remained. 

His gaze locked on the wriggling wyrmling as its serpentine body weaved down the rug. And with a soft sigh, he sank to the ground, clapping his hands together to gather its attention. “Hey little guy, you don’t have to run,” he urged.  “How about we take you to get some yummy food?”

It stopped. Craning its tiny head around to look back at the redhead. A soft squeak bubbled up from its throat.

“That’s it! Yeah, see? Come back to me, little one. I’m going to keep you safe.”

Whether it understood or not, staring into Charlie’s warm gaze eventually had the dragon tucking tail and bouncing back over to its new friend. With a chirp and a hop, it leaped up into his arms, nuzzling at his chest. 

“Good… You’re a handful,” he chuckled, stroking his fingers over cool scales. “Now come on. I made a promise. Let’s get you out of here.”

Charlie rose from the ground with the wyrmling swathed in his arms. It crawled to rest its head upon his shoulder and he swung around to offer a hand out for Barnaby. 

The Slytherin gave an unceremonious grunt, turning his green eyed gaze upwards before clasping their fingers. It took a lot of pull to get the large boy onto his feet. He promptly took to smoothing out his robes with a laugh. “Can’t believe Felix helped us out with Snape.”

“He’s full of surprises at times.”

Getting to Penny only took them ten minutes despite the struggled wait in timing the stairs to swing perfectly towards the Potion room. She was ecstatic to see the Ukranian Ironbelly and doted for as long as possible before handing over two potions of invisibility. Needless to say, the dragon was also showered in an array of treats plucked from her snack bag, ranging from a turkey cut of a sandwich to a cheese cracker. 

From there, it was an uninterrupted and straight shot path towards Hagrid’s Hut. With most students still in their classes, Barnaby and Charlie snuck soundlessly out through the front doors. Not even Filch seemed to stumble across their path. 

Hagrid’s Hut was something that was heard before it was spotted. A hotspot for creatures magical and not, several birds scattered as Charlie hopped up the cobble path. Fang lounged on the porch out in front of the doorway. His dark, wrinkled face pressed into the wood deck, snores lifting up from a pressed snout before the approaching boys stirred him.

A deep bark rattled from the dog’s chest and he stood, walking over to sniff at Charlie’s robes. 

“Hey Fang,” the boy purred. “Hagrid home?”

Another bark. 

“Aye! Fang what’re ya on about now?” Hagrid’s voice raised from within the hut. There was a shifting creak of wood and the door swung open for the grizzled man to peer out. Immediately his gaze fell to Charlie and Barnaby. As well as the little moving mass hidden within the redhead’s robes. “Well aren’t yeh two sights fer sore eyes! What’s this 'bout?”

Charlie stepped forward and drew his robes down cautiously to reveal the little dragon. “We found him in the castle. I know we’re not supposed to be doing this, but Hagrid we need your help to release him.”

Hagrid took a single look at the wyrmling and his features twisted with exasperation. “Yeh two boys realize I can’t jus overlook this, ay?” 

“Well you could,” Barnaby replied sheepishly.

“No.” Charlie looked back to his friend then down at the dragon who settled back in his arms. “We understand.”

“Then get yerselves inside. Let’s figure something out for the wee thing.”

[thatbloodymuggle]

the one with the cheeto puffs

Tongue Tied (jj maybank) 2/?

masterlist

word count: 2.6k

warnings: cursing, drug use, mentions of death

read it on wattpad

playlist

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If there's one thing you should know about Rosie, it's that she hates crying.

It made her feel weak. And she hated feeling weak. She especially refused to cry in front of others. Because once you've seen someone break down, it changes your view of them—intentional or not.

The last time she'd cried in front of her friends was in the 8th grade. JJ had shoved her off a boat and she cut her arm open on the blade of the motor. Granted, Rosie did cry February 14th as the life slowly left her mother's eyes. But she was alone then. And ever since, Rosie had come up with a routine to avoid crying at the thought of her loss.

When she felt her eyes beginning to water and her throat tightening, Rosie would pick up her least favorite book (one she'd stolen from a library a long time ago), Twilight. She'd divert her mind to Bella Swan's stupid life until she couldn't remember what she was upset about in the first place.

So it was no surprise when Rosie scrambled for the cursed book upon entering the house she hadn't been inside since the day her mother passed. She wasn't sure what had triggered it specifically: the dying vegetable garden her mom had worked so hard on, her mother's forgotten glasses on the kitchen counter, or just the overall feeling that something was missing. But sure enough, Rosie snatched the stolen book and flipped to a random page.

"Your scent is like a drug to me, like my own personal brand of heroin."

Rosie turned her nose up at the line.

"At least he's hot," she grumbled to herself.

The 17-year-old flipped mindlessly through a few more pages until she couldn't take it anymore. She thoughtfully placed the book in the front room of the small house, in case she'd need it again soon.

The four-room house felt odd. Rosie felt as if she didn't belong, despite having lived in it for nine years. She knew she would have to box up and clear out her mother's things at some point, but the thought weighed her down and made her long for her book again.

Rosie pushed the uneasiness to the back of her mind and set to finish her unpacking.

Before she knew it, it was already 8:00 PM and her stomach was rumbling. She'd have to go out and get groceries tomorrow, but until then she'd snack on something at John B's. The teenager quickly put a swimsuit on underneath her outfit and set out for the Chateau again.

The 3-minute drive was quick, and Rosie was glad to be out of the suffocating house. She pulled the Mini-Cooper into the familiar gravel driveway for the second time that day and killed the engine. Rosie skipped up to the front door and swung it open, not bothering to knock. She frowned at the empty room before her.

"Hello? Anybody home?" she called out.

Silence.

Rosie huffed and walked back out to the porch. She squinted her eyes into the distance, trying to catch sight of her missing friends.

"JB? Kie? Pope?" she paused, before adding, "JJ?"

Her yells echoed and she was met with a few moments of silence before a voice replied.

"Do you have to be so fucking loud?"

Rosie's head shot towards the source of the noise. Lo and behold, there sat JJ in the back of John B's van with the side door wide open. His arms draped along the back of the seats, and his legs were in a complete man-spread. He held up a silver lighter to the joint between his lips.

"Where'd everyone else go?" Rosie rolled her eyes and strode towards the van.

JJ shrugged, "Dunno. One minute I'm napping, the next they all leave me. Shitheads," he grumbled, discarding the lighter and taking a deep drag.

"Well, I'm starving. Gonna go make myself something to eat," she began to walk back towards the house but was stopped again.

"Unless you want a ketchup-on-moldy-bread sandwich, you're not finding anything in there," JJ watched in amusement as she huffed and kicked a rock in frustration. "The best thing you're gonna find is in here," he held his joint in his right hand a pulled a bag of Cheetos Puffs out from underneath his seat with his left. Rosie nearly ran forwards, but was stopped in her tracks.

"Ah ah ah," JJ pulled the bag out of her reach with an infuriating grin, "I can share but you have to be nice."

The girl cocked an eyebrow at him, "Can't make any promises, but I'll try."

Rosie didn't wait for his reply. She hopped into the van, slumped in the seat beside him, and ripped open the bag of chips. She didn't hesitate to shove a handful of the cheesy goodness into her mouth, moaning at the taste.

"Ay, keep your Cheeto dust off me," JJ made a show of wiping the crumbs that had fallen onto his lap.

Rosie ignored his protests and sucked the orange dust off her fingertips.

"Puff for a drag?"

JJ held up his joint to Rosie's lips while simultaneously snagging a couple of Cheeto puffs from the bag in her lap. She took a deep drag and nodded to signal she'd gotten enough, cueing him to pull his hand back.

Rosie began to cough violently at the tickling sensation in the back of her throat. Her eyes watered and she struggled to catch her breath.

"Gone for four months and it's like you've never smoked before," JJ smirked at the struggling girl, "thought you could handle yourself, Connolly."

"Shut up, I'm out of practice," Rosie croaked, forcing herself to settle down. "Here. Hit me," she sat crisscrossed and turned to face him.

JJ gave her a 'whatever you say' shrug and took another drag from the joint. He deeply inhaled, making a show of taking as much as he could. He turned to face Rosie with mischievous eyes. He leaned towards her and blew out the smoke. She leaned in, just inches away from his face, and inhaled the smoke emitting from his mouth. Rosie forced herself to take it all. The pair of teenagers were nose to nose.

A now foggy-minded JJ leaned back into his seat. Rosie held in his second-hand smoke for a moment. She formed her lips into a tight 'O' and blew it out in rings.

"Ay, she still has it," JJ laughed in a very dazed manner. Rosie couldn't help but giggle, the familiar foggy feeling taking over her as well. She slumped back into her seat beside him and rolled her head back.

"Told you 'M just out of practice," Rosie mumbled with a dopey grin.

JJ grated on her nerves 85% of the time, but she genuinely enjoyed moments like these. She liked not having to think every once in a while. It was refreshing. Sometimes (maybe more often than she should), she just wanted an escape. JJ was the only one of her friends who never questioned her motives. Rosie and JJ had an unspoken rule. If one was rolling a joint, the other always joined; no questions asked. I mean, two potheads are better than one. Right?

The pair of teenagers watched with hooded eyes as the smoke drifted from inside the van to the starry sky above. Rosie subconsciously let her head fall onto JJ's shoulder, who barely noticed. He was too busy focusing on how he could literally feel his toes tingling. They sat in relative silence for who knows how long, munching on Cheeto Puffs and running the joint out.

But too soon, they were pulled out of their comfortable silence.

"JJ, you better not be crossed. We could smell your weed from, like, a mile back," John B's voice penetrated the night air.

Rosie and JJ lazily turned their eyes to John B, Pope, and Kiara who were now standing outside the van. John B and Pope laughed at the sight of the two stoned teenagers.

"We've made the discovery of the century," JJ laughed with a lopsided grin, "Cheeto Puffs and kush are just a.. an...," his voice wandered, "they're an immaculate combination."

Rosie burst out in a fit of laughter, nearly rolling off of JJ who was quick the join in. Their three friends stared at them incredulously, but couldn't resist joining in their laughter.

"Why do you two idiots only get along when you're high?" Pope laughed, climbing into the backseat with them. Kie took the passenger seat while John B situated himself behind the wheel. He revved the engine and Rosie bounced in excitement.

"Oooh, Johnny where are you taking us?" she giggled. Suddenly, her face switched from dazed to serious. She grabbed JJ's bicep and turned him towards her so they locked eyes, "Oh my god, JJ! He's kidnapping us! He's gonna take us to the cops!"

The blond mimicked her concern and threw his arms in the air, "Stop the damn car, JB. We're not going anywhere with you!"

"Would you two shut up? We're going cliff diving, remember? And if you two don't sober up in the next ten minutes, you're gonna be watching us have fun from the top," Kiara laughed.

"Oh sorry, Kie! We'll be quiet now. Quiet as mouses—mices—mice—which one is it? Shit, JJ, I forgot which one," Rosie whispered to the boy next to her who merely covered her mouth with his hand and leaned back in his seat.

Pope dug out two water bottles from a cooler and handed them to the stoned teenagers. "Drink these."

Rosie fumbled around with the cap but did as he said. The next ten or so minutes were filled with mindless chatter between Kie, John B, and Pope while JJ and Rosie downed their waters.

"All right," John B pulled the van into an empty clearing about a hundred feet away from the edge of the cliff, "we're here."

The Pogues all piled out of the car, but JJ and Rosie were stopped by Kie.

"Not just yet, you two. You're not about to drop down 30 feet if you're not in your right minds."

The two began to protest, but she shut them up again.

"Follow my finger," she moved a finger from side to side, watching their bloodshot eyes struggle to keep up.

"You need more water. And ibuprofen. Here," she dug through her bag and pulled out a bottle of the painkillers. "Take two each," she shoved the pills in their hands and pulled out two more bottles of water. "And drink these. If you're better by the time we get back, we'll let you come with us second round."

She pushed her friends back inside the van and shut the door behind them. Rosie whined in protest, but her cries were ignored. She slumped back into her seat next to JJ and set to work downing her second water bottle instead.

JJ and Rosie sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping on their waters and listening to the muffled screams of their friends. The silence was broken, however, once Rosie had drinken about ¾ of the bottle.

"JJ, I need to pee so bad," she slapped his arm.

"No one's stopping you," he grumbled, nudging the girl off. He seemed to have almost completely come down from his high. Rosie, on the other hand, was only about halfway there.

"I need help," she cried.

JJ scoffed, "Fuck that, I'm not helping you pee. Do I look your bitch?"

"Please," Rosie drew out, tugging on his shirt. "Just help me get behind a tree. If I go alone I'm gonna get lost and then it'll be your fault for not helping me."

The boy groaned but reluctantly slid the door open. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her towards the wooded area a few yards away. Rosie struggled to keep up with his quick steps and ran into him when he came to an abrupt stop in front of a crowd of bushes.

"Make it quick," he let go of her and leaned against a nearby tree.

Rosie carefully made her way behind the covering, careful not to trip over any roots. She struggled to do her business and took much longer than necessary, much to JJ's displeasure.

"Finally," he sighed as she approached him. "Come on, I'm not missing the second round."

He led them back to the clearing. Just as they were about to exit the woody area, a devious smile creeped onto JJ's lips.

It all happened in slow motion. First, he stuck out his leg in front of Rosie. Then, Rosie shrieked as she tripped over it. Next thing she knew, she was lying face first in a pool of mud. JJ's booming laughter filled the area. Rosie pulled herself up in shock and wiped the mud from her face. Then, rage took over.

"What the fuck, you asshole!?" Rosie let out an ear-splitting scream.

At least she'd finally come down from her high.

JJ's laughter heightened, but was abruptly stopped once Rosie yanked his leg, causing him to slip and join her in the mud pile.

Now it was Rosie's turn to laugh, "You're a colossal idiot," she began to pull herself out of the mud, only to be pulled back down again.

Cue JJ's laughter, "Worth it."

And so they continued. Pulling each other down, back and forth in an endless cycle of wet mud and screams. They would've continued for hours if their friends hadn't shown up.

"What the hell?"

Kie, John B, and Pope started incredulously at the two idiots for the second time that night.

"She started it," JJ shoved Rosie's face down and jumped out of the mud.

"Liar!"

"Bitch"

"Well looks like you two are back to bickering again which can only mean you're sober. Good enough for me," Kie laughed and helped Rosie out of the mud. "Come on, let's go jump. The first round was amazing. The water was so warm."

The group of Pogues ran to the edge of the cliff. Rosie peered down at the soft waves below and grinned. She didn't hesitate to strip herself of her muddy clothing until she was only in a swimsuit. The five friends stood in a horizontal line and linked hands. Pope next to Kiara next to JJ next to John B next to Rosie. They braced themselves from the drop. John B began a countdown to jump.

"3... 2..."

"Here's to the best summer ever!" Kie cried.

"...1!"

The teenagers took off in sync. A chorus of cheerful screams filled the night air. The exhilaration was like no other as they crashed through the water and were submerged. The group of friends floated back up to the surface and swam to shore with adrenaline coursing through their veins.

Rosie couldn't wipe the smile off her face. This was her home. Doing stupid shit with her friends was her home. The Outer Banks was her home.

And she just knew Kie was right—this would be the best summer ever.

-

taglist:

@tangledinsparkles​

-

and there's part 2! 

feel free to message/pm me if you’d like to be added to the taglist

enjoy :)

[thgfanficinspo]

Fear of the Water - Chapter 12

(FINNICK)

Millet and Cash have encountered each other on one of the endless cement boulevards. The pavement is uneven and cracked, and there are a handful of those muddy sinkholes strewn about. Great place for a showdown.

Millet runs from Cash at first. She’s slim and slightly muscular and fast as the wind; she could probably outrun him. She doesn’t have much in the way of weapons: a small knife with a blade as long as my thumb (which is all but useless) and a spear. She broke the head off of it and uses as a knife; she uses the shaft of the spear as a long-range weapon.

Cash chucks a spear in her direction; it misses by only an inch or two.

He starts to give chase. When he’s close enough, Millet suddenly whips around to face him and strikes him in the head with her staff. He stumbles; Millet whacks him again in the back of the knee, knocking him to the ground.

But Cash still has his wits about him. He uses the knife in his hand to stab her in the calf. She falls as he stands. He thrusts his knee forward and hits her in the face, breaking her nose. She coughs out a mouthful of blood and a tooth on the ground. All seems lost for her – until she punches Cash right in the groin. He stumbles backwards.

Millet forces herself to her feet and uses her staff to beat him back toward one of the sinkholes until he stumbles in. He fails to pull himself out the way Annie did and dies of suffocation a few minutes later. Millet gets double the sponsors she had already, and Teff, one of the victors from her district, showers her with gifts of food and clothing. People start chanting Millet’s name both on the rooftop where the party is and in the streets below.

Seven tributes left.

Millet was already a favorite when she entered the arena, but Seegred and that boy were long shots at best. And Cash and Euphemia were top contenders. With more than half their allies gone, the surviving Careers are becoming less and less likely to win. Seegred and Millet are nearly tied in the betting pool of who will win.

No one’s quite sure about Annie. She’s partially sheltered thanks to the mat she wove. She finds enough food to keep herself from starving. She defeated Gad, another favorite more than twice her size, without any weapons, but she’s “cracking a bit,” as Caesar puts it, which lowers her odds. She never stops singing that song.

Tributes crack every so often. The most recent to do so was Titus of District 6 in Johanna’s Games, who started eating his fellow tributes out of some mixture of hunger and insanity. Insanity. They threw that word around the moment Titus bit into a dead boy’s leg, but nobody’s said it about Annie yet. Tributes go into shock all the time and yes, she appears to have it worse than the others usually do, but there’s a good chance she’ll snap out of it.

The party goes ahead anyway, though it’s only for the seven tributes now. Millet’s sponsors and mentors are over the moon, as one might expect. Seegred’s sponsors are cheery, too, since she just killed someone a day ago. Things are looking good for these two young women. In fact, they’re vying for the top spot in the polls.

No one really seems to care that Cash is dead since Shine is still in the running. She’ll inherit all of her partner’s funds. And Cash was boring, anyway.

This is shaping up to be one of those years where a Career doesn’t win. It’s not unheard of – a non-Career usually wins every two or three years – but the change of pace is still exciting.

Of the non-career districts, 11 has the best odds on paper. A lifetime of labor and repression makes them physically and mentally strong, and angry and determined. They don’t win that often, though.

Most of the other districts are equally screwed: their industries have no application in the arena, and the tributes are usually poor and downtrodden children without much of a real chance. It’s generally agreed that no one under sixteen will ever win, so younger tributes’ odds are automatically lowered. I was the only victor under sixteen to win, and like everybody says, I’m the exception, not the rule.

(ANNIE)

I wake up to funny noise. I think it’s thunder at first, since it’s always raining here, but it’s growling. From an animal. Many animals. The sound gets closer.

Maybe I’ll run? No. I’ll stay here. I’m too tired to run. Too tired to do anything.

Let the animals come. I’ll stay here. I’ll stay here.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

The animal is a lot of animals. Dogs. Mutts that look like dogs. Black coats and bright orange eyes. Big sharp teeth that are so big and sharp that they can’t possibly fit in a dog’s mouth. Bodies built all square and muscular like the fighting dogs back home but bigger and scarier.

They are chasing a boy. A boy with black hair and baby fat still on his cheeks. He has a pack. Looks pretty full. Maybe from District 6? District 10? Doesn’t matter. Not sure who’s left anymore. No one is left anymore.

The boy is bleeding from just about everywhere. A big chunk of flesh dangles from his upper arm like one of the dogs tried to tear it off but couldn’t finish the job. I think I see his bone.

He stumbles and falls as he runs, only to get up and stumble again and again until the mutts are on top of him. I watch from my perch as they tear his flesh. It makes a funny noise as it rips.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

It’s not a nice thing to see but I can’ tear my eyes away. I’ve never seen somebody’s insides. He’s just a hunk of meat. So am I.

I heard in school that there’s a limit to how much pain the human body can feel. It’s not endless, which I think is nice. And sometimes if it really hurts too much, you just pass out because you can’t process it.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

A cannon goes off, and soon the mutts tire of their meal and move on. I climb down and run over as fast as I can to loot the body. I start taking everything I can reach, things I urgently need. Boots, socks, knife, pack.

I can feel the hovercraft somewhere behind me, waiting to take the body, and I return to my nest to go through the bag. I still take a long time to lay it out because everything has to be in order before I can eat or drink because everything has to be in order before I eat or drink because everything has to be in order before I can eat or drink and everything has to be in order. The sun goes down and the rain starts up.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

Bandages, a pack of raisins, a salve, a half-empty canteen of water, a knife.

I drink the water as fast as I can and set it out to collect rain. I’m happy because starvation is better than dehydration and now I won’t be dehydrated. I wasn’t really dehydrated before because of all but I really don’t want to die like that, and now I’ll have two water bottles to drink from during the day when the sun is out.

The boots don’t fit me right but the socks are dry and ill-fitting boots are better than no boots.

I make another mark on the wall by the other marks for the other people that are dead. Seventeen. Is that right? I guess it doesn’t matter.

I smile and wiggle my toes inside the dry socks inside the dry boots and I think how happy I am to have two boots again because I lost one in the sinkholes so I only had one so I was uneven and both sides have to match and I almost took off my second boot because both sides have to match but I made myself keep it on even though both sides have to match because one boot is better than no boots but now I have two so I don’t have to worry.

My mother, she butchered me My father, he ate me My sister, little Ann-Marie She gathered up the bones of me

And tied them in a silken cloth to lay under the juniper Tweet, tweet! What a pretty bird am I!

There are sixteen raisins, which is good because sixteen is a square number like four. So I eat four raisins and I have twelve yet and I can eat three more times because I have to eat them in fours because it has to all be square and both sides have to match.

(FINNICK)

Annie keeps a tally on the wall beside her. Anytime a cannon goes off, she uses a pointy rock to scratch a tally mark into the stone wall.  

She repeats her song over and over all day long until her throat is dry and she has to drink all of the water she’s gathered. She spends the rest of the day lying very still. Then she sets her bottles out again and lets the rain collect overnight.

She sometimes goes into these sort of frenzies and will spend an hour scrubbing her hands and arms raw. Luckily, these have only happened at night so far, so she can wash herself down as many times as she likes without worrying about dehydration or heat stroke, which have become major concerns for some of the tributes.

Things seemed to be speeding up when the boys from 1 and 6 died in two days, but they grind to a painful halt once Axle’s body is carried away. Nothing interesting happens for three days.

The surviving Careers are forced to leave the Cornucopia every day because the blistering sunlight heats the metal and essentially makes it an oven. Around sundown one day, there’s a torrential downpour that results in a flash flood that washes away the remaining food and supplies. But the flood isn’t enough because no one died or fought.

It’s no surprise when the Gamemakers decide that a feast is in order. Something to get things going again.

We’re at the endgame now. That’s almost comforting. I don’t want Annie to die, but I do want this to be over.  I want to stop hearing that  damn song  playing over and over in my head. I keep all the windows open at night  so I can hear the noise from below. It’s usually enough to drown out the song.

I open the windows in the bedroom when see my patron after the party. I don’t have to explain why I need background noise; he’s all for it because he thinks I’m an exhibitionist.  I’m not an exhibitionist, but I am whatever the client wants me to be. So for a few minutes I’m an exhibitionist.

He passes out as soon as he’s finished like most men do,  so I don’t expect to get my customary payment of a secret. He wakes up every hour to pee though – something to do with his prostate that I really don’t want to know about – and strikes up a flirtatious conversation.

“I hear you’re something of a collector,” he says as he fixes himself a drink.

“Oh?” I lift an eyebrow. “And what do you ‘hear’ that I collect?”

“Information. Secrets.” He hands me a glass tumbler identical to the one he holds, right down to the murky grey liquid inside. “A funny thing for a victor to collect.”

“You forget my first and favorite collection,” I say. “Conquests. Rich, handsome, important people like you.”

He chuckles. I think he’s actually convinced himself that I don’t mind being whored out, that maybe I even like it. Fine. At least he’s not weeping with guilt like some patrons do when we’re finished. I can’t stand that. Why buy me in the first place if it’s such a strain on the fabric of your morality? I’ll never make sense of these ultra-rich people.

“What sort of secrets do you like?”

“The juicer the better,” I say.

He takes a sip from his glass and frowns in thought. “Did you know I’m a perfumer?”

“I did. Don’t tell me your secret ingredient, though, that’s much too precious to share.”

He chuckles again. “I worked with the president’s gardener for a time.” I wonder if this is the same gardener that my other patron told me about, the one that fucks his identical twin. “And a few botanists. This was decades ago, long before you were born. We were engineering the roses in the president’s garden to have a stronger smell. Too strong, if you ask me. I prefer subtler stuff.”

“Sure.”

“But it’s what the president wanted. These are the same roses he pins on his lapels, mind you,” he says. “They reek. And I couldn’t understand why until I met him myself. He’s got something wrong with his mouth. Open sores that never heal.”

Gross.

“So he uses the flowers to cover the blood smell,” I say. “That’s not as exciting as I’d hoped.”

His eyes light up. “Oh, that’s not the secret,” my patron says. “The secret is how Snow developed those sores in the first place.”

[artificialqueens]

In sickness and in health (but mostly the sickness thing) (Branjie) - TheDane

Authors note: A short sick fic based on Vanjie not feeling well on the s11 tour.

“I got you your favourite.”

“Chicken noodle be everybody’s favourite. Ain’t making you special.”

Brooke had knocked twice on Vanjie’s door, hoping in her heart of hearts the other man would answer. Brooke was still in full drag, her wig itchy, her shoes hurting and honestly she just wanted to get out of drag, knowing she would have to do it all over again tomorrow since they were on the season 11 tour.

Brooke should have known something was wrong the moment Vanjie had arrived backstage that afternoon, completely bundled up in a hoodie, not even a nip showing even though they were in burning hot Texas. Brooke didn’t know a lot, but she knew Vanjie, and if there was one thing Vanjie was, it was one of the vainest peacocks on earth.

There was only one explanation: Vanjie was sick. The normally deafeningly loud Latino moped around backstage all day, trying and failing, again and again, to work up the energy to get into drag, until Asia had sent him back to the hotel. Vanjie had protested, but Asia had been firm, everyone performing an extra number to fill in the time, and as he was out of excuses, Vanjie had had to return to the hotel.

Brooke knocked again, her stomach clenching until she finally reached into her bra, grabbing the key card Vanjie had originally left on A’keria’s table. Brooke had snagged it up the moment she had the chance, trying and failing miserably in convincing herself that her actions were normal. That it was an appropriate way to behave towards an ex, but Brooke couldn’t make herself care when she knew Vanjie was feeling like shit.

“Jose?”

Brooke opened the door, peeking inside the room. The curtains were closed, the bedside lamp filling the space with yellow light. The air was stuffy, the TV running on a news channel of all things, so low it was practically on mute.

“A’keria?”

“No.” Brooke walked inside, closing the door behind her. The air was stuffy; a mountain of Kleenex next to the bed telling her exactly how the man who was buried in bed was feeling, the only thing visible of Vanjie was his short black hair, the only noise, the faint sound of coughs.

“Brock?”

“I brought you some soup.” Brooke put the container down. She had gotten it from the deli right next to the hotel, sure Vanjie hadn’t eaten anything, the clear lack of dishes confirming her suspicions.

“Thanks.”

Brooke knew she should probably leave; the fact that Vanjie hadn’t even bothered to crawl out from underneath the covers a sure sign that he most likely didn’t want her there. However, the fact that Vanjie hadn’t responded with a quick jab, made a joke, or even a snap of his fingers while pointing at the door, felt like the exact reason she had to stay.

“Can I borrow the shower?”

“Mmh.”

“Thanks.”

It should feel wrong, but somehow, it was the easiest thing in the world to leave the bathroom door half-open so Vanjie could call in case he needed to. Brooke dumped the bag she grabbed when she left the venue, turning on the water as she started to attack her makeup, peeling off lashes and brows.

She had been flirted with all night, two guys unapologetically approaching her at the bar where she had been watching Silky perform, both asking if they could buy her drinks, their words filled with promises Brooke knew she would have taken them up on before Drag Race , both of them invited back to her room in the blink of an eye.

Normally, she would have basked in the attention, enjoyed it like a flower under the sun, but the urgency coursing through her body had made it impossible to get changed there. It was an urgency she’d rather not address unless she had to, and one she had assumed she could ignore, and yet. Here she was.

The sink was littered with Jose’s things. Not Vanjie’s. No, these all belonged to the man behind the myth; the razor, self-tanner and teeth whitener all a normal part of the routine. That wasn’t out of the ordinary, however, Brooke couldn’t help but smile at the seven bottles of perfume that was lined up perfectly along the wall, each one of them fitting a specific one of Jose’s moods.

Brooke stepped into the shower. The water was hot, stinging against his sore toes, and soon every trace of Brooke had vanished down the drain, Brock quickly grabbed a bit of Jose’s moisturizer and rubbed it into his face, knowing that Jose would mind, but if there was one thing Brock had never had an issue with, it was their bickering. Jose so easily getting worked up about the tiniest things, it was honestly a delight to see.

Brock walked back into the room, drying his hair, a pair of sweats slung low on his hips. Brock looked at the bed, just to see that while Jose had emerged, laying with his comically large phone, there was still one thing very very wrong with the scene.

“You haven’t touched your soup.”

“Mmmh.”

Jose didn’t look up from his phone, his thumb doing the same motion over and over again, and Brock knew he was refreshing Twitter in the hopes that something exciting would pop up. A cough wracked his body, Jose quickly grabbing yet another tissue to wipe his nose.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I had some NyQuil.”

“That’s not food.” Brock threw his towel in the direction of the desk, his curls without a doubt a big blonde mess on top of his head.

“And one of A’kerias nasty ass drinks.”

Brock smiled, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He was happy that A’keria had forced Jose into drinking one of her Ensures, the meal replacement drink one he knew all too well himself, but it still wasn’t anything that would help someone get over a serious cold. “Sit up.”

Jose groaned, at least putting his phone down, but he wasn’t making any move to sit up.

“Now come on.” Brock took his elbow, gently forcing the other man into an upright position. “I got you your favourite.” Brock took the soup, unsnapping the lid, the aroma of chicken filling the room.

“Chicken noodle be everybody’s favourite. Ain’t making you special.”

“Sure, but not everyone likes it with extra noodles and no carrots.”

“You remembered?”

“Of course.” Brock smiled, grabbing the spoon. “Now eat, or I’ll force you to.”

Jose took the bowl, reluctantly taking a mouthful, clearly just pleasing Brock, but the moment the soup touched Jose’s lips, it did exactly what Brock had expected, his stomach telling his brain he was hungry and Jose started shovelling it in.

“You’re being quiet.”

“I’m not a loud-ass motherfucker all the time.”

Brock pulled his leg up, watching Jose whose eyes had already started to droop. “Do you think you’ll be ready for tomorrow?”

“If not, you’ll be there to push me on stage.”

Brock felt a brief surge of ice cold in his stomach, making him freeze. “What?”

“It’d be real funny if I coughed and slapped myself in the face. Imagine the memes.”

“Why would I push you on stage?”

“Ain’t that the truth?” Jose coughed, putting the soup on the bedside table. “Show must go on and all that crap.”

Brock knew that Jose was right, or at least that he used to be right. Brock had never put anything above his career, not even Jose when it really came down to it. It was the thing they had fought about the most, Brock chewing the bitter pill of Jose never having time when season 10 was at its highest, Brock stupidly twisting the knife with joy when he got the chance to be the busy one, gleefully accepting each and every booking he could that had left Jose angry, confused and stretched thin, their relationship barely more than hurried text messages by the time they finally broke up for good.

“Hey.” Brock reached out, steadying Jose who was quite literally falling asleep sitting up. “You’re nodding off.”

“Sorry.” Jose rubbed his eyes, clearly trying and failing miserably, his shoulder so hot it almost burned Brock’s hand, even though the other man was naked.

“I really don’t think you should be alone tonight.”

“You can call A’keria.”

“Saw her take off with some trade.” Brooke pushed Jose, the other man easily falling into the sheets. Brock crawled in after him.

“Bitch, the fuck you doing?”

“Come here.” Brock grabbed Vanjie easily, turning him over to put his head on his chest.

“This ain’t shit you do with an ex.”

“You think I’m doing this for you?” Brock cupped Jose’s head, gently running a thumb over the back of his head, Jose instantly relaxing. “I’m just here for the TV.” Brock smiled, grabbing the remote. “There is a Golden Girls marathon I’ve been meaning to catch, and your TV is bigger than mine.”

“You’re too fucking buff for this shit.” Jose’s arm sneaked over Brock’s stomach. “You just rocking that Adonis body.” Jose threw a leg as well, making himself comfortable. “I wish Silky had come, that would’ve been a real cuddle session.”

“At least I can’t choke you in your sleep.” Brock smiled, fully expecting a retaliation, but Jose didn’t say anything, his eyes already fallen shut as he had gone back to sleep. Brock turned his attention to the TV, clicking on subtitles as he settled in, Jose’s steady breath against his chest telling him that he was okay. Maybe this wasn’t what exes did, but Brock couldn’t imagine anywhere else he’d rather be with Jose safe and sound in his arms.

[tetrakys]

Trois Allumettes - Chapter 11

It had been a few days since classes had started and I wasn’t ‘single’ anymore. And, strangely enough, nothing had changed. I still hadn’t had time to see my ‘boyfriend’ since we made things official between us. That word still seemed unreal when I thought about it.

I’d just left my room when I run into Alexy, jumping excitedly around the hallway announcing the network was back on. It was great news, I had basically stopped checking my phone at this point and I was worried about my parents. After exchanging a few texts with Chani, and a quick reassuring call with my mother, another message came through… it was Lysander!

“Good morning Candy, hope you have been well these past few days. I’m sorry we haven’t had a chance to see each other, I miss you terribly and my thoughts are always with you. At least now we will be able to write to each other, but I wish I could see you soon, I long to feel you in my arms again…”

I felt a warmth in my chest, I almost couldn’t believe that the most reserved and silent guy I knew was sending me this kind of messages. However, it was true that the written word was how he truly expressed himself. I replied immediately:

“I’ve been thinking about you too, I wish we had at least another class together. I hope we could meet during the weekend…”

Well now, that was all I needed to get my day started the best way possible. I headed to class with a smile on my lips.

—————————————————————————————————-

A couple of days went by, it was quite late and I was getting back to the dorms after spending the evening with Nathaniel. He had finally opened up and his story was crazy, nothing I could have ever imagined on my own. I was surprised, a little disappointed but, most of all, scared for him. I wanted to help him but had no idea what to do. My head was so wrapped up in these thoughts that I jumped when I heard a spooky sound I hadn’t heard in months.

A rusty, screechy, loud sound coming from the small door at the back of the art building.

The first time I’d heard that noise I had been scared out of my mind. This time, I felt my heart skip a beat, and I run immediately towards the building. When the familiar figure I so longed to see showed on the doorstep, I threw myself into his arms without a second thought.

At first I felt him stiffen, but the moment he recognised me he hugged me closer to his chest.

A few seconds went by where we just stayed there, enjoying the quiet of the empty quad at night and each other’s presence. His familiar scent and his arms around me where the best feeling in the world.

“I missed you so much,” I said hiding my face in his chest. “It’s been just a few days, but it felt like an eternity since I last saw you.”

He hugged me even closer, then said with his deep voice, “No minute has gone by that I haven’t thought about you. You’re constantly on my mind Candy…” his tone was shaky when he added, “I have no idea what I’m going to do when…”

He stopped himself, but I knew exactly what he meant. If we missed each other that much just because we hadn’t met for a few days, what was going to happen when we said goodbye at the end of the year? I didn’t want to think about it. Not now. I took a step back and, looking at his beautiful face, I changed topic.

“Are you still helping out the music department?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “I’m collaborating with several bands and solo artists studying at Anteros.”

“You don’t work just with Castiel, then?” I asked curious.

“No, since the beginning of the school year I have actually started several collaborations with many artists. That’s why I am so busy these days, between this and classes… I’m afraid I put too much on my plate.” He looked tired, but he had a glint in his eyes, I could tell he was also happy, doing something he loved. “I’m actually right in the middle of a writing session with one artist at the moment, I just came out to get some air.” He took my hand in his, intertwining our fingers. “A little voice in my head really wanted me to get out of that stuffy room this very moment, and look who fell into my arms,” he added with a smile.

“Yes… sorry about that.” I replied a little sheepishly.

“Don’t be, it was the best surprise I could hope for. Come, let me walk you back to the dorms. That’s where you were going I suppose?”

I nodded and we walked silently the few meters that separated the two buildings. I was enjoying his calming presence and the feeling of my hand in his.

“I wish you could come upstairs with me,” I said timidly, when we got to the dorms.

He took a lock of my hair between his fingers, his eyes were warm when he replied, “You have no idea how much I wish I could.” After a small pause he added, “Are you free this weekend? I don’t have any work on Sunday night so I was hoping…”

“Yes!” I interrupted him, “yes, I am free, whatever you want to do.”

I only barely registered that my words could sound extremely bold, but he simply smiled and said, “What about a movie?”

We agreed to meet at 10pm at the new movie theatre in town and he went back to his rehearsal, not before having left a small tender kiss on my lips.

—————————————————————————————————

I had just stepped into the hall of the cinema when I spotted him immediately. There weren’t many people, the Sunday night slot wasn’t usually one of the most popular, but I would have recognised him in a crowd of people with no difficulty. His high, his sophisticated style, and his striking presence were enough to capture anyone’s attention.

He was waiting for me with two tickets in his hand. With an apologetic look he told me that the only movie showing at that hour was the original IT. I wasn’t a big fun of horror movies in general, but this one in particular I had seen once as a child and had scarred me for life. I swallowed my anxiety and followed him into the theatre.

“You are very beautiful tonight, Candy” said Lysander looking at me appreciatively, after we had taken our seats far enough from the few other people in the room.

I was wearing one of my favourite and sort of doll-like outfits, with a close-fitting top and puffy knee-length skirt.

“Thank you, sometimes I worry my stile may look a little childish.”

“You are beautiful whatever you wear. But believe me,” he said, his eyes running along my figure, briefly pausing on my legs, “there is nothing childish about you.” The movie had just started when, leaning towards me, he whispered in my ear, “you are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”

I felt myself blush uncontrollably. His words were both sweet and slightly bolder than usual… I wanted to jump on and literally have my way with him. He had always had this effect on me, since the first moment we had met I had felt incredibly attracted to him. I had been with other guys in the past, but for no one I had felt even a fraction of the desire I felt for him.

When he put his arm around me and I rested my head against his shoulder, I had to remind myself we were in a public place, and decided to focus solely on the movie. It wasn’t the best strategy because now I was both aroused by the feeling of his body tightly pressed to my side, and scared by the angst of the movie.

Lys must have noticed I was a little on edge, because he tightened his hold on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, “I’m sorry about the movie, maybe we should have gone somewhere else.”

I shook my head, I didn’t want him to think of me as a scaredy cat, “It’s just that I had a bad experience with this movie when I was a child. I must have been six or seven years old, my father was watching it in the living room and I just went and sat there with him. It scarred me for life, completely conditioning the way I’ve seen clowns ever since.”

I heard him chuckle lightly and I turned my head to give him a disapproving look. “I’m sorry,” he said apologetically, “I can see how it must have been traumatic for a child. We can leave if you want, but I think this is a good chance to overcome your fears as an adult.” I thought about it, then he added, “let me help you distract a bit.”

His arm was still around me, and I felt his hand moving lightly on my shoulder, drawing soft circular shapes with his fingertips. His other hand came to rest on my knee, and I felt all my attention shift completely on it and its caresses. If his intent was to distract me just a bit he was definitely failing, the movie was totally forgotten.

He gently grabbed my leg, the one farthest from him, and pulled it on his lap, so that now I was partially turned toward him. My skirt had risen to my mid-thigh, and he was taking advantaged of the newly exposed skin by caressing my outer leg with sensual movements that were giving me goosebumps.

I raised my eyes to meet his, and despite the darkness of the room I could see that he was looking at me with heat, completely bewitched. His hand kept moving higher and higher, almost reaching the curve of my hip. When, with the corner of my eye, I noticed they were showing the scene of the movie I hated the most, the one with the head in the fridge, he took my lips with his, effectively blocking my vision to anything that wasn’t him.

His lips were soft and demanding, he had never kissed me like that before. The combination of his caresses and his kisses was making me feel hot and completely excited. My hand came to his hair, fingers entwining with his locks, pushing him even closer, responding to the kiss with the same heat. Our tongues were caressing each other with hungry sensual movements that seemed to demand for more.

I wasn’t sure for how long this went on. Every time we came up for air we felt like we couldn’t stay away for even a moment, and started kissing again and again. At some point we heard an insistent coughing noise. Who knows for how long it had been going on, we were completely lost in each other.

We stopped the kiss and raised our heads to see a cinema usher looking at us embarrassed.

“I’m sorry but you have to stop, otherwise I have to ask you to leave.”

Oh my God… I looked around and saw that the people sitting closer to us were all staring and sniggering. No way we were staying there a minute longer. Lysander got up and, taking me by the hand, lead me out of the room, while I inconspicuously tried to fix my skirt.

Once we were out of the theatre we looked at each other and… burst out laughing.

“Oh my God” I said, “I’ve never felt so mortified in my life. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before.”

“Are you kidding?” he replied, tears in his eyes, “if Leigh knew I have been kicked out of a movie theatre for something like this he would be shocked… Rosa too, but she would also cheer.”

“Oh totally!” I replied grabbing my belly.

We headed back to campus, laughing and chatting. Our night had been cut short and we were both heading back to our rooms, occupied by our roommates, and we had to say goodnight soon. But I had never felt this good in a long time. I had never felt anything like this for anyone before. Maybe it was…

I wasn’t going to think about it. I had no idea what the future had in store for us, but in that moment, walking at night, hand in hand with the man I adored, I was simply completely happy.

——————————–

Back to Chapter 10

Go to Chapter 12

I usually really can’t stand fluff, but I feel like we deserved a cute lighthearted chapter, and I also managed to squeeze in a tiny bit of smut (our boy is sweet but also hoooot). Who knows what tragedy is going to happen in the next since we are in the middle of Nath’s drug cartel arc… ugh!

[mrnibblesleviathan]

Entry 5.1: Silhouette

We’re not posting links at the start of these anymore because tumblr staff is a bunch of assholes. Fic hyperlinks can be found at the main blog page. Sorry.

Ryley was surprised to find Bart standing in front of the window from the workstation as they came back from their daily gathering of building materials. He seemed almost fine today. Didn't look like he'd fall at any second.

He greeted Ryley at the moonpool with an excited voice. "Hey, pal! What did you get for me today?"

"Copper, Titanium, Silver. How you feeling?" Ryley asked, signing. They were progressing, little by little. That was a sentence that was useful enough for them to remember most times.

"I'm feeling as great as someone who's got space plague can be." He answered with a smile, watching Ryley climb out of the pool. "I only blacked out once today.” He waved at them when Ryley crossed their arms in disapproval.  “Hey, don't worry, I'm better now. I just wanted to see how the cuddlefish was doing. I climbed the ladder to the aquarium. Maybe I shouldn't have done that." Bart apologized, turning his head away.

Ryley noticed a certain frustration in that gesture. They looked at him, trying to remember the sign for the wrong in “what’s wrong”. Unable to remember, they resolved for "what's up" instead. Bart seemed to get it.

"Sometimes... I feel like I'll never get better." He confessed. "I should have accepted this already. I've been living with this disability for years now, but..." He shook his head, sighing. "Trying to do anything usually means pushing myself." He told them, more for his own sake than theirs. "Trying to study means giving myself a headache, trying to climb a ladder means passing out. Even just doing nothing is uncomfortable. I can't remember a time where being awake didn't hurt."

Ryley sighed, letting that sink in. It was still hard for them, to listen to Bart talk about his pain. Of course, being in pain was even worse for Bart, and they understood that, but it made them feel so useless. They could fabricate him some medication, do their best to give him comfort, but in the end, specially after seeing him talk about it as a disability, rather than a disease, they knew that illness wasn’t going away. At least not any time soon.

"But you are... going... better", they answered. Even though they mistook the sign for "getting" to "going", it still made sense. They pulled out the PDA from the Compressed Inventory and started typing. "I’ve been watching you get better. It's only been a few days, and look! You're back to walking again. You're already decorating the base with new plants! You’ve made so much progress!"

"C'mon, Ryley, I told you to sign." Bart smirked. "You already learned a lot of these words."

Ryley stopped typing, making a pouty face. They did their best to remember the next words, so they could sign them off. "I… think…  I know what you need." They said. And then, fast and surprisingly, they grabbed Bart and threw him on their back. To be fair, Bart weighed about as much as a sack of fiber mesh, it wasn’t hard.

"WH..." Bart gasped. "What are we doing? Ryley what the-"

His words were cut short when Ryley threw him out into the moonpool, making water splash in all directions. They quickly grabbed his helmet, resting inside his personal locker, and cannonballed into the sea with him. 

Bart was still gasping and coughing when they arrived at the second base, the separate half from Ryley's habitat. They helped Bart through the hatch, laughing as he stared at them in confusion.

"A warning next time would be nice, you know?" He complained. "But I'm glad you finally brought me here. I've been wanting to see what you kept..."

He forgot to finish the sentence, as he saw the enormous two-story aquarium in front of him. On the floor, a multitude of assorted vines and mushrooms were growing, and between them, at least five different alien eggs were shimmering and pulsating. A few creatures were already hatched. Four different sharks - two stalkers, one boneshark and one sandshark. A crashfish. And even two unbelievably tiny crabsnakes. Compared to the size - and behavior - of the adults, it was obvious they were all juveniles. Most of those species would never tolerate or even fit within the same space as each other.

Ryley smiled at their friend. “Research Facility. I have… unknown eggs here.” They signed, a little unsure, despite having prepared for this.  “You can go in. Friendly.” They opened the hatch and held out a hand, leading their friend in.

“Wait, stop for just a second, magic can resume in 2 minutes.” Bart held up his hands, a burning question came to mind now that he’s seen Ryley’s aquarium.  “Is this how you scanned a boneshark?”

Ryley laughed and shook their head. They paused for a minute with a small smirk before they popped in the hatch and went up to the boneshark, miming punches at the young creature before patting it’s head and swimming back to the hatch.

Bart was speechless for a moment, but not long. “You. You’re trying to tell me you boxed a boneshark.” 

Ryley nodded and grinned.  “Yes. I punched…” Ryley frowned, making a few frustrated noises before starting to sign “bone”, then shook their head. They took their two hands, wrists together, so that the two hooked fingers on each hand made teeth for a mouth. Ryley grinned, they seemed very pleased with themselves.

“Look at you! Communicating! Making a sign for a species that doesn’t exist on Earth! Boneshark, right?” Bart returned Ryley’s grin with a beam of his own as they excitedly nodded. “Still doesn’t excuse boxing a boneshark. By the stars, how are you even alive?”

“Coming?” Ryley put out their hand again, totally ignoring their friend, and pulled Bart into the tank. Immediately, the fish swarmed the two of them.  Bart was fascinated, he’d never been able to see these creatures so close before, at least not without the imminent threat of bodily harm.

“They’re beautiful. So friendly too, did you train them at all?” Bart smiled as he pet the crabsnake that was swimming its way around his arms. It’s crust was soft, wigglier than the adult ones. Would probably harden into their crab armour in an older age.

“No. They… Don’t mind?” Ryley signed, shrugging to try and show they’re confused. Bart smiled, shrugging back and turning his attention to the predators swimming in circles around him. Ryley smiled at their friend, playing with the docile would-be predators.  The stalkers seemed to enjoy bopping their noses into him, sending him off balance with a comical oof.  Bart laughed, and it wasn’t quite as full as it had been years ago, but it still sounded like music to Ryley. How did they miss seeing that boy’s happy face again.

But it seemed the moment wasn’t to last.

Ryley folded over behind Bart, stifling a groan. Their vision filled with blue, and an echoing voice filled their ears. “Remember that you were never alone.” The blue image of a majestic creature filled their head to the point of bursting. They could vaguely hear a voice calling to them, reminding them of the friend they had to watch for. The blue shimmered again as they opened their eyes, looking for Bart past the lights in their vision. Just as the world was dimming, they felt themselves fall downwards. Then the blue faded, leaving an afterglow that burned their eyes, and a nasty headache throbbing across the top of their head. Rubbing their forehead, they looked up to where their legs were still half in the hatch, along with a frustrated and concerned Bart.

“I hope you know just how hard it was to get your giant ass out of that tiny hole.” Bart grumbled as he tried to remove their feet from the hatch, which Ryley politely decided to help with.  Then he ungracefully tumbled out of the hatch himself and sat down on the floor next to his friend. “What the fuck just happened?”

Oh, swears. Bart must have been really shaken up. Ryley themself could barely understand their situation as well, but still pulled out their PDA with shaking hands and tried to type. After a few trial and errors, they finally let it start speaking.

“I had some kind of vision. It was glowing in my eyes and left a headache all over my head. It was like the shadow of a creature, and all I could see were four bright eyes. It was trying to talk to me.” They tapped at the screen, backing up more than not. They rubbed at their face before the voice sounded again, “Could make out it saying I wasn’t alone. And it sounded comforting, rather than threatening.” They kept their eyes in their hands. Mostly from the residual headache, though partly trying to find a focal point to get their brain back together. What was that?

“So you’ve seen her too.” Bart whispered. “The visions… Dad thought I’d gone mad. Island sickness, he told Maida that one day. Didn’t talk about it much with me. He tried to keep scarce when the fits happened.” Bart looked down at his hands. “After they died, the visions weren’t as frequent. But they said a lot of comforting things too. I never knew whether to hate ‘em or love ‘em. After all, until now I thought I was just crazy.”

Ryley looked up, once again wishing so hard they could speak. There was no way to interpret that event, except that…

“It seems we’re not alone in this planet. There’s a sentient being out there, trying to reach us. A friendly one, if we’re reading this correctly.” They typed.

“A friendly one. A friend. Gods we might have a friend out there” Bart sighed, in relief, and waved his head. “For once a welcome change. Let me have this moment, Ryler, I might just be able to sleep better at night.” They both laughed.

[starlightseb]

crying in the club • leroy sané

A/N ~ this turned out wayyy longer than I planned and I had to miss out how I was going to end it so let me know if you want a part two! Also, I am currently taking requests!

Synopsis: clubbing seems to be the best cure for her break up woes but it doesn’t go to plan so someone familiar helps her out

Words: 1660

The breakup hit her so hard that her usual tactic of curling up in bed with a tub of ice-cream whist watching a rom-com just wasn’t going to cut it. Her self confidence had taken a massive knock- she needed to feel good about herself again. So she rummaged around in her make up bags, picking out the most daring colours for her eyes and lips whilst styling her hair up in a look she rarely ever dared to do. The dress she wore clung to her body, flaunting her curves and the heels she would normally avoid due to their uncomfortableness were strapped on around her ankles to complete her look.

She was never a fan of the idea of going out clubbing and had conjured up excuses in the past to avoid going out with her friends. However, tonight felt like the right time. She needed to forget and have fun and the club seemed the best place for that.

The lights of the club flashed and moved across the dance floor sporadically, causing her to feel disorientated and dizzy and she walked into the club. The music blared annoyingly in her ears, it was just noise. However, she shook all these annoyances off as she headed towards the bar. Her lack of alcoholic knowledge led her to just order what the person before her did. Which proved to be a mistake because the liquid burned her throat, causing her to have a coughing fit.

Deciding that the alcohol wasn’t for her, she headed out onto the dance floor. She may not be able to handle alcohol but dancing was definitely something that she was capable of. No longer was the music an annoyance, it was her guidance. She let the music dictate her moves and the way she swayed her hips, she felt electrified by the music and for the first time tonight she felt content.

That was until she felt unfamiliar arms snake around her waist. She froze immediately, the feeling of uncomfortableness overwhelming her new found happiness.

“Hey there.” A male voice spoke in a raspy tone, his hot breath hitting her neck and the strong smell of alcohol filling her nostrils.

“I’m not interested.” She spat back, trying to get the mans hands off of her.

The man suddenly stood back and she turned around to face him. He was visibly drunk. Very drunk.

“You’re not my type anyway.” He slurred before staggering off into the crowd and out of her sight.

She didn’t know why, but that just seemed to trigger her. She could feel the lump forming in her throat and her hands beginning to shake. She suddenly became aware of all the sweaty bodies around her and she just had to escape.

She pushed her way out of the commotion of people, pushing and pushing until she could see the exit. It felt like a weight getting lifted off of her shoulders when she stepped out into the fresh air of outdoors but she could still feel the tears trickling down her face, sticking to the skin off her cheeks.

She ran as fast as she could in the heels which were beginning to give her throbbing blisters, until she couldn’t cope with the pain anymore. She collapsed onto the pavement and fiddled around with the straps of her shoes until they came off. She aggressively threw them to the side and burst into a state of frantic tears and sobs. A few people walked by but chose to ignore her, despite her constant cries.

The night was made even worse when a rattle of thunder sounded before a downfall of aggressive rain. It bounced off of the pavement and the skin of her body. She just continued to cry because she had never felt this alone.

/

Leroy needed to get some odds and ends from the shop since he had forgotten to after training. He casually drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, humming along to the catchy song playing from the radio. His relaxed nature came to an end when it started to rain heavily. ‘Typical Manchester weather’ he thought to himself as he leaned forward to get a better view of what was in front of him.

He steadily slowed the car as he approached the traffic lights emitting a dark shade of red. He looked around as he waited for the lights to turn green and spotted a body curled up on the ground, surrounded by the aggressive rain. When she looked up, he immediately recognised her face.

Without thinking, he rolled down the window and shouted her name. She responded by jumping up and looking at him questioningly.

“Come on, get in the car then.” Leroy shouted at her, unlocking the car doors. She hesitantly walked up to the car and opened the door, climbing into the passenger seat. She was shivering frantically and was dripping wet. With shaking hands, she reached for the seatbelt and put it on.

“There is an extra jacket in the back seat.” Leroy pointed out before starting up the engine again as the lights went from red to amber to green.

“T-thanks.” she stuttered and reached behind to grab the jacket and placed it over her bare shoulders.

“What were you even doing out there?” Leroy questioned as he glanced over at the club photographer that he saw almost everyday. She always looked well presented and happy, but that was in complete contrast to the girl he was seeing right now. Her make up was washed off her face; her eyes were red and puffy; her hair was all over the place.

“I’d rather not talk about it.” she answered in a cold tone, hugging the jacket closer to her body.

“Oh okay.” Leroy got the message and focused back on the driving.

He pulled over at a supermarket and looked over at her cautiously. “I’m just going to get some things from here. Do you need anything?”

“Uh, some chocolate and some wet wipes to get rid of my make up would be nice.” she shyly answered, playing with the buttons on the jacket.

“Okay.” Leroy jumped out of the car and raced inside the supermarket to avoid the rain the best he could. He picked up all that he needed plus the chocolate and wet wipes before paying and running back to his car.

When he got back into his car, he was welcomed by the sound of cries. She was sobbing again and was looking the other way. Leroy awkwardly placed the chocolate and wet wipes on her lap, earning a muffled ‘thank you’.

“I don’t mean to be intrusive or anything but are you okay? You’re really worrying me.” Leroy asked, not wanting to start driving again until he was sure that she wasn’t going to suffocate because of the lack of air she was probably getting because of her sobbing.

“Don’t worry, I’m just being overdramatic about a breakup. It’s nothing serious.” She answered with a sniffle, opening the packet of wet wipes and using one to rub at her face.

“You’re obviously hurt by it though. Do you want me and the City boys to sort him out? I’m pretty sure they would be up for it.” Leroy offered, earning a laugh from her in response.

“As much as I would love to see that, you all have more important things to focus on.” she picked at her nails nervously before speaking again. “In fact, could you maybe not mention this to the other guys, or anyone at City? I don’t want them knowing what a mess I made of myself... I kinda want to keep my job.”

“Of course. It will stay between us.” Leroy nodded before starting the engine again.

The rest of the car ride was silent apart from the radio and Leroy asking for directions to her house. When Leroy pulled up outside her house, she hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Before I go, can I ask you a question?” she bit her lip nervously waiting for Leroy’s response.

“Sure, go for it.” Leroy shrugged.

“Do you ever feel like you are not good enough?”

Leroy thought for a minute before answering. “Yeah, of course. I mean, not being included in the squad for the World Cup and struggling to make it into the City team sometimes this season, has had me feeling that way sometimes.”

“I’m sorry about that. I can’t imagine how difficult it was watching Germany during the World Cup.” She looked over at him sympathetically.

“It’s alright. I got over it eventually, plus it has only made me more determined to prove that I am deserving to be a part of both teams.” Leroy explained, meeting her gaze. “Is that how you feel right now? Not good enough?”

“Well yeah, a little bit. I mean, my ex said some brutal things when he broke up with me earlier and I haven’t been quite able to shake them off. I know that isn’t as confidence destroying as your situation but I can be quite overdramatic.”

“Well don’t listen to his stupid ass because you are perfect...” Leroy inwardly cursed himself for letting that slip out. “perfectly fine.” he corrected himself.

She blushed at his words as he cleared his throat awkwardly. She shuffled in her seat before undoing her belt.

“Well thank you for everything tonight, I appreciate it.” she smiled kindly at him.

“No problem at all and if your ex reaches out to you again, remind him that it’s your job to photograph professional athletes and they are perfectly capable of kicking his ass.” She laughed at his statement before climbing out of his car and walking back to her house.

Leroy smiled, proud of himslef for mangaing to improve her mood. And a part of him was itching with excitment over the idea of seeing her again at training tomorrow.

[xsparklingravenx]

The Dragon’s Curse

Title: The Dragon’s Curse

Fandom: Tales of Berseria

Characters: Eizen, Edna, Magilou, Zaveid, Velvet, Rokurou, Eleanor, Laphicet

Rating: T

Word Count: 8,764

Summary:  Legends say that the Rayfalke Spiritcrest is a ghost ship that sails the seas in search of the man who would one day call himself its captain. Eizen and Edna know better. Running from a past he left behind as he hurtles towards a fate he knows he will never escape, Eizen throws himself into a life on the sea, dogged constantly by the curse that brings misfortune to him and those around him

.A chance encounter with a travelling menagerie however changes Eizen and Edna's course. With the promise of a charm that might just fix Eizen's curse, all they want in return is a trip to Port Zekson. But it's Port Zekson that Eizen is running from, and a return trip might be all that is needed to bring him on a collision course with someone he left behind...

Part 1 / AO3

Legends said that the Rayfalke Spiritcrest was a ghost ship that sailed the seas in search of the man who would one day call himself its captain. It was a story that passed through the lips of many a sailor that came for a pint to drink in weary taverns, one that Eizen heard being discussed as he leant against the wall of a pub tucked away in Port Reneed. Tonight’s variation included a wildly imaginative addition as to how the original crew must have met their ends, and as Eizen listened in, he wondered how many drinks the storyteller must have had.

“Right now it’s anchored near here, you know.” another man said, his cheeks coloured pink by alcohol. “Saw it myself I did. Wouldn’t know it was no ghost ship by how well maintained it looks, only reason I knew it was the Spiritcrest was ‘cause of the fancy dragon emblem on it.”

“I thought I heard whispers.” a woman said, her face lit up with excitement. “Said it just drifted by and came to a stop, has anyone had a look around it yet?”

“Are you joking?” the storyteller said, horrified. “Ain’t you heard a word I said? The Reaper’s Curse came down and lead its last crew to their watery grave! Anyone who takes one step on that ship is a fool.”

They began to squabble, arguing over how no one could know if they were the ship’s destined captain if they never got a good look at it. Eizen scoffed and pulled a coin from his pocket, flipping it over and catching it again. When he looked down, the head of the demon lord Dhaos stared back up at him. Tails again, as it would always be.

If only they knew. He pushed himself from the wall to make his leave and walked out of pub like a ghost, not one person so much as giving him a second glance. It was for the best, he knew, but he couldn’t help but wish that he could sit down with the impressionable lot and tell them all about the Spiritcrest, how she creaked affectionately as she turned on the sea, how the sails rippled like oceans themselves when the wind hit them in the right way, just how sturdy and strong she was. There was nothing to be done, though. Not a thing in the world would make them see him, let alone hear what he had to say.

Port Reneed was alive at night, people buzzing around the market as though it was the middle of the day. Eizen made his way through, his attention mostly on dodging the people who tried to walk straight into him, but stopped when a stall caught his eye. Plush toys shaped like various animals hung from it like fair ground prizes, the fancies of children no doubt.

There was one shaped like a squirrel, its tail long and fluffy. He took off one of his gloves and reached for it to test how soft it was, and once satisfied with the feel, pulled it down. The stall owner didn’t look twice, but Eizen judged the price and then scattered some coins in front of him. He wouldn’t notice them until Eizen had already made his way out of the area, but it didn’t matter. The toy was paid for, and his conscience clear as a result.

With his purchase safely in hand, Eizen melded back into the crowd. Nearby, a man in the middle of a business deal burst into a coughing fit that nearly choked him, bringing his important conversation to a grinding halt. Elsewhere, a woman putting away stock for the next day found the majority of her foodstuffs to be spoiled. A townsperson bumped into a child, only to realise that the boy had robbed him. All that and more, just because Eizen had decided to walk among them.

He went back to the port. It was busy there, drunken sailors returning to their ships, some with women, some with alcohol, some just to rest their heads. They could be fascinating when he took the time to pay attention to them, but someone else had caught it instead. His gaze found the girl sat upon a cargo crate, her body turned away from him so she could face the sea. Propped open on her shoulder was a peach coloured umbrella that hid most of her from view.

Ordinarily, someone would have told her off by now, snapped at her to get off of precious cargo, but no one batted an eyelid because she was just as invisible as he was. He approached her with gentle footfalls even though he knew she was hardly the type to startle easy anyway.

“Nice view?” he asked.

The girl turned to face him. She looked near identical to him, the two of them sharing the same golden hair, the same stern curve of their mouths, their eyes the same shade of blue. She blinked once, slowly, like a cat, and sighed. “Could be better. Finally back from moron-watching?”

“Yeah. Listened in on some interesting stuff too.” Eizen paused for a second, crossing his arms against his chest. “Did you know the Rayfalke Spiritcrest is nearby?”

His sister smiled, a wry thing that looked more cruel than sweet. Though she was named for a flower, Edna was anything but delicate. She had learned the smile from him, but she’d honed it far more carefully. “You don’t say? I hear that ship is spooked by ghosts and rats and all other things gross.”

“Oh yeah? Well get this. I heard that there’s a curse on that ship, and the previous crew all threw themselves overboard when it took hold. Stories say that they preferred an icy death in the seas to the calamity that would no doubt await them if they lived.”

“I hear there’s an idiot human out there that the ship is waiting for.” Edna continued. “Apparently it’s so desperate for a taste of what a real captain could do.”

“Well, I hear that maybe, just maybe,” Eizen said, nudging her umbrella away to swing an arm around her shoulders, “that it might be a pair of malakhim that haunt the ship’s cabins.”

She made a noise of annoyance as she was forced to put her umbrella down. She was a scrawny thing, his sister, but appearances meant nothing when her tongue was sharper than a blade. “Nope. I’m pretty sure it’s definitely sailing around for a human captain. The ship’s probably sick of all your boring chatter and weird lectures. No one cares about detailed explanations of your plans to tunnel under the entire world.”

Eizen huffed, his pride somewhat stung. “It’d be viable, and a useful way to get around. But, I guess if you really think that way, I won’t give you this.”

He revealed the plush squirrel just long enough for her to catch a glimpse of it before hiding it away in the folds of his jacket. She tried to look unimpressed, but Eizen knew her well enough for her to see the way her eyes widened in longing. “What was that?” she asked, even though he knew that she knew. “It looked stupid.”

“Yeah, real stupid. Ugly too, who’d want something like this?” he pulled the toy out again and held it up to the nearest streetlamp. He scrunched up his face in mock disgust. “The fur isn’t even quality grade. What trash.”

Edna reached for it with her free hand, only able to get near it because of the added height of the crate. Still it remained out of her reach. “Eizen,” she whined. “Let me see it. Closer.”

“Wait, you actually want it?”

“Nope.” Edna said, but she was twisting the handle of her closed umbrella in an agitated manner. The mascot that already hung from it – the Normin she carried so faithfully with her – bobbed as she did so. “Where did you get it?”

“The market.” Eizen replied, finally giving it up to let her examine it more closely. She rubbed the squirrel’s tail against her cheek, her face set in a frown. “They had others, but they were even worse than this one.”

“And this one’s pretty bad, if you ask me. It’s got a tear in its back.” Edna said. She was still rubbing the tail against her cheek.

Of course it had a tear in it. He could have sworn it was perfect when he picked it up, but nothing was ever sacred when he was concerned. “I could take it back.”

“What’s the point? We’ve got it now, and you paid for it, right? May as well keep it.”

She must really have loved it to be saying that. “If you say so,” he said, feigning defeat. “So, you heard anything while you’ve been sat here?”

Edna shrugged. “Not a ton. There was some chatter about a menagerie or something, but as far as I could gather, it’s about stupid humans doing stupid things, so really it’s just gonna be a whole bunch of stupid.”

“A show?” Eizen considered the concept. He knew of circuses, of theatre shows and stand up comedies, but a menagerie was something he hadn’t encountered before. A collection of exotic animals, rarities in the modern world or just uncommon; it could have been a point of interest. “When?”

Edna shrugged, hopping off the crate and closing her umbrella up. “Tomorrow, I think. Why? Don’t tell me you actually want to go.”

“So what if I do?” Edna peered up at him with eyes that were evidently judging him. “Look, it’s no exhibition on priceless artefacts, but I’ll take entertainment when I can find it. We should go before we leave the port.”

“Entertainment?” she laughed, her ponytail bobbing at the side of her head. “That’s a strong word. You’re so lame, Eizen.”

“Bold words for someone who can’t let go of a plush toy.” Eizen said.

She punched him in the arm and hugged the squirrel to her chest. “The toy sucks and we’re going to your stupid menagerie. Now let’s go home, we’ve got to row our little boat all the way back.”

“You mean I’ve got to row all the way back.”

“Exactly. I’m tired.” She paused, turning half way. “By the way. Thanks, I guess.” 

“You’re welcome, I guess.” Eizen said. He saw the side of her mouth quirk up in her favourite sardonic grin before she turned completely and walked away. He followed, the two of them picking their way through the people, two earth malaks amongst an entire town of humans.

He thought of the drunkards in the pub, dreaming of plundering the Rayfalke Spiritcrest, and wondered what they would think if they knew the truth. The curse was real, bringing bad luck and hardship to anyone around him, human or malak alike. Not even his own sister was safe from it, and every day he questioned himself. Why had he let her come along as he sailed the seas? Why had he dragged her along when he’d decided to run from every problem he had been the source of?

If he was truthful with himself, though, he knew why. The answer was found in the malevolence that he harboured deep inside, hidden away from his sister, or in the dragon emblem that decorated the Rayfalke Spiritcrest. A reminder. Fate was inescapable, and he wasn’t going to stand scared of it. Edna was all he had, his only family, and though he had thought about abandoning her for her own safety, in the end he hadn’t been able to do it. If he went, she was coming with him. He wanted to show her the world before he eventually succumbed, and aboard their ship, they were making a good job of it.

He’d leave her before he ever became a dragon. He’d seen the destruction they wrought, the way they damaged the malakhim they left behind, the ones who had loved them so deeply before they had become twisted. Putting his sister through that fate was unimaginable.

---

Eizen quickly realised that, much to his disappointment, menagerie didn’t mean the same thing to the people running it as it did to him. Magilou’s Menagerie was less a collection of exotic animals and much more a collection of exotic people, and as he stood watching the titular Magilou force her suffering companion to “Act! Like! A! Dove!” he found his interest sorely waning.

The show had barely begun, and already Edna looked like she wanted to gouge her own eyes out. They were stood off to the side even though most of the hall’s seats were empty; Eizen didn’t want to get into the problem of taking a seat only for someone else to think that it was free. He’d offered to let Edna sit on his shoulders, but she’d heartily refused. He had a feeling she’d declined more because she literally didn’t care rather than because she had a decent view where she stood.

Apparently this section was supposed to be comedy, which was funny because Eizen hadn’t cracked a single laugh in the fifteen minutes they’d been watching. The rest of the limited crowd seemed to be enamoured, though. He had a feeling it was less to do with it being amusing and more to do with the pinkish blush on the cheeks of Magilou’s assistant. Humans were so easily won over, Eizen thought. Maybe that was something admirable about them.

Finally, after much badgering, the assistant finally relented with possibly the worst dove imitation Eizen had ever seen. Magilou beamed, undeterred, and threw her hands up in their air. Sparks flew from her fingertips, making the audience gasp in awe.

Edna’s attention was momentarily drawn, but only for the briefest of moments before she yawned loudly behind her hand and went back to looking bored. She obviously had realised the same thing Eizen had; this show would be full of flashy magic tricks that would no doubt have a mundane source. It was how all magic worked; it was only incredible until you knew how it worked, and Eizen was sure he’d figure it out before the show reached its end.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for your undivided attention!” Magilou called out, bowing grandly as she lavished in the attention. She was a gaudy looking thing, her frame scrawny yet elegant in a way, her clothes a mishmash of pink and purple and books of all things. She and her partner made for a visually interesting duo, the other woman tall and broader shouldered, her hair long and black and braided. “If you enjoyed that, then there’s only so much more to come! You better hold onto your hats and strap into your seats, because tonight we plan to bloooow you away!”

A gust of wind shot through the crowd as she drew out the word. A wind machine, Eizen thought. Had to be. Magilou elbowed her assistant and said, “Oh my, Velvet, would you look at the crowd we’ve got tonight?”

For a moment, Eizen was sure that the two of them looked right at him and Edna. But then Velvet looked away and sighed. “Wow. What a crowd we’ve got tonight.”

She sounded so deadpan, so uninterested, that Eizen actually smiled, finally amused. Magilou huffed and broke into a tirade about how Velvet should appreciate the audience, and their skit began anew.

Comedy wasn’t their only forte, though. Magilou’s Menagerie was four people strong, which looked small at first glance. It seemed though, for what they lacked in numbers, they made up for in character. Magilou herself had enough personality for seven people, and Velvet, though seemingly taciturn, proved to have her own wit when provoked. Once they had left the stage, a man dressed in traditional looking robes took their place. Eizen had little time for that, though, his attention swiftly drawn by the weapons the man carried. Three; a sword at his back, and twin blades at his side. He flashed the crowd a cheeky grin, and then, much to Eizen’s disappointment, pulled the daggers from their sheaths. “Hey, everyone having a good time?” he shouted at the audience. He paused long enough for them to respond, and then shook his head. “What? C’mon, I can’t hear you!”

When the audience responded in a satisfactory manner, he nodded smugly and waved. “Well, I’m gonna show you something even better! I’m Rokurou of Magilou’s Menagerie, and you lucky few are gonna get to see some real skills tonight!”

“Oh great.” Edna said. “He’s gonna wave his swords around and call it a show.”

“They’re daggers.” Eizen said, appalled.

And Edna was wrong anyway, to call it ‘waving’. The man danced with the blades, his movements smooth and choreographed and graceful. Yet there was still a sense of chaos in the piece, something manic and unhinged that Eizen could only catch glimpses off. It was in the glee of Rokurou’s expression, in the way he would suddenly divert the routine into something completely unexpected. His movements were controlled, but at the times it seemed as if he was possessed by something that had its own ideas. For the first time that night, Eizen was actually watching attentively.

“Now this,” he said, “is real entertainment.”

Edna rolled her eyes.

Unfortunately, he didn’t touch the sword on his back once. When he finished his show, he put his hand on the hilt as if he was going to pull it out, but instead he just smiled. “Want more, guys? Then I guess you’ll just have to come back next time! Thanks for watching, see you again!”

“What a tease.” Eizen huffed as Magilou returned to the stage to link the act into the next segment. Edna yawned again, loudly, and then glanced up above to the rafters. Eizen watched as Magilou did her part and then danced off the stage, the final member coming to take her place.

The girl looked somewhat out of place in the show. Unlike the wild looking Magilou, the stoic Velvet, or the chaotic Rokurou, this girl exuded a calmer aura. Her ginger hair was tied in girlish pigtails, and her dress was ladylike and elegant. She stepped to the middle of the stage and addressed the crowd.

“Hello, ladies, gentlemen.” she said, her voice steady and relaxed. “My name is Eleanor, and I’m here to present to you a show that will leave you absolutely, positively—”

“Positutely!” Magilou hissed from off stage. The audience laughed and even Edna had a half-smile on her face.

“Um. Absolutely, positutely astounded!” Eleanor finished, a determined look on her face. She raised her arms to the audience, closing her eyes as she did so, and then the lights went dim.

“Oh?” Edna said.

A second later, something bright fizzled through the air above Eleanor’s head, sparkling white. It split into four beams of light, swirling like tendrils about her body in red, blue, green, and yellow. Her eyes snapped open and she pirouetted on the spot before collapsing to the floor, the tendrils following her smooth arc of movement. Their light diffused as she fell, but when she rose her arms again they followed her upwards, upwards, growing brighter again. She held them there for a moment, and then threw her arms outwards. The beams of light shot for the audience.

Amongst the gasps as the lights flew, Edna said, “These are malak artes.”

Eizen scoffed. “You’re giving them way too much credit. There’s no way, just an impressive light show that they’ve worked hard on. I bet if you looked around, you’d find some kind of device that lets them emit these lights. It’s simple, I’d assume. You’d just need something with—”

“No.” Edna said. She pointed up to the ceiling above Eleanor with her folded umbrella. “They’re malak artes.”

Eizen followed the point of her umbrella to the rafters. There, sure enough, was a tiny malak that looked about the size of Eizen’s thumb from where he was stood. He couldn’t make out much of the malak except that it appeared to be a little boy, and he was waving his hands in time to the tendrils that had seemingly been moving to Eleanor’s command.

Any enjoyment that Eizen had been deriving from the show vanished in that instance, replaced instead with disgust. Of course. None of the tricks in the show had been magic. They were just humans, bastard humans, who were bending a malakhim to their will.

He was about to grab Edna and haul her out of there, when the malak noticed he was being watched in the middle of an overzealous movement to send the water tendril around Eleanor’s head. He lost his balance, and if that wasn’t enough, the rafter he was stood on suddenly cracked. It split apart in a rough movement, and Eizen’s heart lurched as the boy fell fell.

The artes dispersed. Eleanor looked up in horror and shrieked.

“Eizen!” Edna shouted. Eizen didn’t think twice, didn’t think about how the malak being surprised should have been impossible if he didn’t have free will, and dashed towards the stage.

Velvet beat him to it. She all but snatched the boy out of the air, pulling him close to her chest. “Phi!” she gasped as the broken rafter clattered to the stage. Over the malak’s head, her eyes met Eizen’s. She could see him, he thought. She was looking straight at him.

Time stood still. Eleanor blinked. The audience looked at one another, confused, unknowing of what just transpired. And then the malak, Phi, waved his hands and whispered, “Thanks Velvet! Don’t stop, don’t stop, you can do it Eleanor!”

The four beams of light blinked back into existence, dancing around her body. Velvet let Phi go and kicked the rafter off the stage. Eleanor took her hands in her own. “Right, I can do this. Dance with me, Velvet?”

And before Eizen’s eyes, the solo dance turned into something intimate, something gentle and soft, while Phi stood back and conducted the lights like a musician would an orchestra. They spun around in time with them, Velvet slowly taking the lead, pulling her across the stage as the lights chased Eleanor’s skirts.

“Well what do you know.” Edna said, coming to stand beside him. “Looks like these humans aren’t as dumb as they look.”

When the dance came to an end, the audience applauded, rambunctious, wild. Magilou pranced back onto the stage like a gaudy, pink gazelle while Eleanor and Velvet made there way off. “Ladies and Gentlemen!” she cried, doing an excited little jig. “And malakhim too, thank you for your wonderful patronage tonight! While we’re done for now, there’s always more for next time, so strap yourselves in and make sure you come back next time. Whether Port Reneed or Hellawes, Loegres or Taliesin, we’ll be sure to raise the roof! Thank you, thank you, and maaaaagikazam!”

She pulled a ridiculous pose. Eizen thought that was the end of it, thought that perhaps this would be just one strange night to add to his thousand year log of memories to be forgotten about. But as everyone filed out, Magilou’s gaze fell upon him and Edna, and with a grin and a wave she said, “Hold up, you two, I think we should have a little chat!”

Phi, stood at the side of the stage, stared at them with wide, doe-like eyes, an encouraging smile on his face. Eizen glanced at Edna, who shrugged her response. Of course. He couldn’t rely on her for anything.

--- 

The rooms the menagerie’s members rented were nothing like their bright and wild personalities. Cheap, bland, and the very definition of temporary, Eizen wondered what kinds of rates they were being paid to perform given their tawdry lodgings. It couldn’t be much.

Magilou lounged across her bed chest down, her legs in the air behind her. The rest of the menagerie stood around, or in Rokurou’s case, leant heavily on the cabinet by the door. “What are malakhim anyway, like carriages?” he said. “You spend your whole damn life waiting for one, and then twenty show up at once.”

“Four.” Eleanor said. “We’ve met four.”

“Four, twenty, it’s the same difference.”

“I don’t think it is.” Phi said. He was sat on the edge of the bed by Magilou, swinging his legs off the side. “You’re both earth malakhim, right?” he asked, looking at Eizen. “I mean, you look like you are.”

“What gave it away?” Edna asked dryly. “And what are you?”

Phi shrugged. Magilou huffed. “Enough about him, I want to talk about me!”

“Business as usual then.” Velvet said.

“Hush! You know as well as I do that when I say ‘me’, I actually mean ‘us’.” Magilou ignored Velvet’s roll of the eyes and focused her attention on Eizen. “So! I think I speak for all of my menagerie when I say that we were surprised to see a duo of malakhim in our audience, and I think I speak doubly when I say that we were surprised to see Laphicet make such an amateur mistake like he did. In all our time performing, we’ve never had so much as a single mishap on stage! Why, I do think the two just might be connected. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Eizen shrugged. “Awful luck follows me around like a bad penny. That’s the way things go for me.” Magilou’s eyes flashed with interest. He ignored it. “So now I have a question. Why did you want to speak to us?”

She snapped her fingers in delight. Sparks flew from the tips. “Hold up.” Edna said before she could speak. “Where are you drawing your power from, if it isn’t the pipsqueak?”

Laphicet made a noise of protest. Magilou grinned deviously. From beneath her hat, something squirmed. With one stubby hand, the creature inside it lifted it, poking its head out; a normin wearing its own oversized hat and a wide smile. It jumped off her head and landed on the bed in front of her, placing its paws on its hips. “Miss Magilou has me to thank for that.” he said, haughty and high pitched. Eizen saw the longing in Edna’s gaze immediately. Whether it was to hug him or destroy him, he couldn’t be sure. “I’m the one providing all the scenery here! My name’s Bienfu, the man behind the man, the great and wondrous—!”

Edna poked her umbrella into him, sending him tumbling off the bed with a distressed cry. “Ah, that’s better.” she said. “I thought I heard buzzing. It’s stopped now.”

“I like this one.” Velvet said. Magilou giggled behind her hand as Eleanor went to rescue the normin from where he had fallen, patting his head softly.

Eizen, who was quite done with the diversions, reiterated his question once again. Magilou was happy to answer. “Don’t you think it a little strange? A ghost ship rocks into town on a dark and lonely night, and then like phantoms two malakhim show up, ready to torment and ruin the townspeople!” she gasped like she was still on stage, and then broke into a grin. “I’m joking, of course, but the point still stands. The Rayfalke Spiritcrest is something to do with you, isn’t it?”

“Of course not.” Eizen said, though he wasn’t really committed to the lie. “It’s just looking for its destined captain.”

“Hogwash!” Magilou said. “Absolute nonsense that is. If I were an ordinary girl maybe I’d buy that kind of story, but let me tell you, we at Magilou’s Menagerie are very much out of the ordinary. We are the devious, the dastardly, the deceptive, the dramatic! And we know malakhim and their ways when we see them.”

“Think she could fit anymore d’s into that sentence?” Edna asked.

Magilou ignored her and carried on. “So, with that in mind, I’ll ask again. Are you the ones who sail on that ship?”

Eizen held his tongue for a moment, drawing the moment out. And then he said, “Sure. Why are you interested?”

“Malakhim pirates!” Rokurou said. “Don’t you see why that would be a maybe even a little bit interesting? Sheesh, if the Abbey caught wind of you they’d go nuts.”

“They wouldn’t be pleased.” Velvet agreed. “But why don’t you get to the point, Magilou?”

“Right, right.” Magilou sat up at that, crossing her legs. “So, the thing is, Magilou’s Menagerie isn’t just some stationary bore of a show. We travel all around, right?”

“As most acts do.” Edna said.

“Except as of late, our shows haven’t been pulling in as much as they used to.” Magilou continued, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s the daemonblight. Everyone’s far too excited about that to come and see our brand of fun. I don’t see why, but, alas! I don’t make the rules.”

“So what are you getting at?” Eizen asked, his interest starting to wane. They were humans with resonance, but just because they could see them didn’t mean he had to bow to their every whim. Humans were fascinating, but they were all the same at the end of the day. He didn’t think he’d ever seen one that wasn’t acting for their own selfish means. “You’re running out of money. What does that have to do with us?”

“A ship would cost! Westgand has been fun and all for now, but we’re getting bored and it’s time to move on. I wanted Port Zekson would be our next stop, but we’ve found ourselves tragically stuck. Tonight’s earnings barely bought us dinner!”

Magilou collapsed on her back dramatically, a cry leaping from her throat. Eizen had a feeling she was over exaggerating. Edna pulled a face. “We should leave these morons to it then.”

Eleanor, who had been mostly quiet, hugged herself. Bienfu sat on her shoulder, his huge eyes peaking out from the brim of his hat. “I apologise for Magilou’s demeanour.” she said. “What we’re—she’s—asking, is that if you are the captains of that ship, perhaps you would consider taking us on as passengers? I understand that this is a lot to ask, and it is forward of us, but we’re sort of stuck right now.”

He crossed his arms, deep in thought. Port Zekson. Eizen hadn’t been to Midgand in a long time, and had absolutely no desire to return now. “It’s not happening.” he said. “And besides, what makes you think I’d go all that way for no pay? You think that just because we’re malakhim we don’t need funding?”

“Who said we wouldn’t pay?” Magilou said. She waved her hand and produced, from seemingly nothing, a tiny bag. It was no bigger than Eizen’s coin, and sat daintily in her hand. “I don’t just present our show, you know. I’m a witch, and you know what witches do? They create hexes!”

Eizen couldn’t believe this. “So you’re going to curse me? I hate to break this to you, but I'm already under one.”

“Oh how rude!” Magilou tittered. “I had a feeling you were. Like I said already, Laphicet would never make a mistake like he did tonight, and you wouldn’t believe the whispers we’ve been hearing of late. If you’re right and misfortune does follow you around, then this is just the thing! A good luck charm.”

Eizen looked at Edna, who simply popped open her umbrella in the middle of the room. “Oops.” she said, not sounding affected in the slightest. “Now I’ll have bad luck too. Don’t suppose you can make another one of those?”

Magilou did some sleight of hand wherein the bag simply disappeared with the movement. “Well, that’s the thing. The materials to make even one of these little baggies are quite hard to procure…and we’ll need all sorts of nasty monster bits for it to work. As it is, I’m fresh out!”

“This is ridiculous.” Eizen said. “So you don’t even have the good luck charm to begin with?”

“Getting the materials wouldn’t be difficult if we had more malakhim with us!” she said, jumping up to her feet. “Why, how about tomorrow? We go out, get the materials, make the bags, and then you can set off with us on board and the sweet knowledge that you’re in the hands of some seriously wonderful fortunes! We’ll be Magilou’s Menagerie, the terrors of the high seas, the storms that rock the boat sides—”

“We’re sorry about her.” Velvet said. “You should just go, forget about us.”

“But Velvet!” Laphicet protested. “I want to be a pirate!”

The thought of the good-luck bag was enticing. He didn’t believe in its magic, didn’t believe in anything to do with it really, but anything that could offset the effects of his domain had to be worth a look. And really, what was a boat ride at the end of the day? Once all was done and dusted, he and Edna could turn their backs on Port Zekson, their little placebo good luck bags in hand, and go back to searching every corner of the world for their own amusement.

“Alright.” he said. “But I’ll warn you now. Travelling with me, it’s not easy. My curse effects everyone around me. I can’t guarantee you’ll be safe on my ship, or even in this little trip out to find the materials you need. Keep that in mind. And also, I have one more condition. Say yes, and my ship will be yours to use.”

“Go on?” Velvet said.

“In your next performance, Rokurou uses that sword. I want to see it on the stage.”

Rokurou’s eyes went wide.

“Whatever you want, malak, I don’t care!” Magilou hollered in delight. “Woohoo! Port Zekson, here we come!”

---

The Warg Forest, past the Fens of Nog, was a nightmare to traverse. Marshy and wet to begin with, Eizen’s presence had only seemed to make it worse. A storm raged around them, the rain heaving down as if someone was throwing buckets of the stuff from the heavens. Edna looked at him from beneath her umbrella, dry and sheltered, and smirked

“It never rains like this.” Rokurou moaned, shaking out his soggy sleeves. “Like, seriously. It always rains but it never rains.”

“Right! Isn’t it fascinating, seeing this so-called curse in action?” Eleanor said. She walked alongside him, holding a spear in her hands. Apparently they weren’t just performers, but fighters too. Eizen found himself wondering about their pasts, about what had made them who they were. Humans lived such short, fleeting lives, a blink of the eye to a malakhim like him, and yet they managed to fit such a great deal of experience into them.

They were looking for the hides of lycanthropes, and the eyes and intestines of boars. Magilou didn’t seemed bothered by the rain, flinging balls of flame at anything that so much as moved. When Eizen questioned if charcoaled ingredients would work, she’d shrugged. “It doesn’t matter! Material is material, an eye is an eye, and hide is hide even if it’s a little bit blackened.”

“So, Eizen.” Velvet said, coming close. “Port Zekson. You’ve got a problem with that place?”

Eizen watched as Eleanor charged after a boar with a war cry. Laphicet and Rokurou followed as Edna and Magilou dispatched a skunk-like creature that had dared creep in on their space. “I don’t know what you mean.” Eizen said, twisting his enchanted bracelets. “Port’s a port.”

“And yet your eyes tell me a different story.” she smiled, but it was more like an Edna-brand of smile. Something cruel, not quite sweet. “Malakhim such as yourself are well travelled, correct? It wouldn’t be strange for some places to have bad associations.”

“There are plenty of places that I’d rather not sail to nowadays.” Eizen said. Port Zekson, Midgand itself, the real Rayfalke Spiritcrest down in Eastgand. Home seemed so far now. He knew the next time he returned he would not be himself. “But what would it matter to someone like you?”

“Just an observation.” Velvet said, though he had the feeling there was far more to her words than that. “You have a past there, don’t you?”

“And where is your past then,” Eizen said, “if you know so much?”

“Port Taliesin.” Velvet replied, curt, her eyes finding not his, but the battle Magilou was now raging with the boar that Eleanor had engaged. A second had joined the brawl, taking on Laphicet and Rokurou. “Aball.”

He had heard of it. “Your group is strange, you know. A bunch of humans with enough resonance to see the malakhim ending up together? How does that happen?”

The boar was refusing to go down without a fight. Rokurou cut through its hide, but even then it remained upright. Velvet stepped forward. “It starts with a hunt in the forest.”

She charged inwards, performing a roundhouse kick with the grace and flexibility of an acrobat. She did not let up, rapid strikes finding home amidst the carnage of Laphicet’s magical attacks. The boar struggled to keep up. She wore it down one kick at a time, and when she took even the slightest of hits, Laphicet was there with a healing arte. When she changed tactics, Eizen was surprised at the brutality of it. Hidden knives appeared from her sleeves, and with no mercy she cut through the boar like it was made of mere paper.

She reminded him of an assassin, and it was then he’d realised that he’d underestimated her. She dusted her hands while Rokurou began to gather the needed materials. “And how does it end then?” Eizen asked.

Velvet looked him in the eyes. “It ends with a girl finding her place in a travelling show, because there is nowhere else she feels alive. Ask us all, and we’ll answer the same. Whether it begins with that hunt, or a broken sword, or a cruel father, or dead parents, we all ended up here.”

Curiosity burned. He wanted to know the middles to those stories, what had driven Velvet to find her place with these people. Velvet said, “How does your story begin then, malak?”

Eizen reached into his pocket. His reaper’s coin was heavy in his grasp. “Depending on where you start,” he said, “it begins with either a girl, or a dragon.”

A roar from behind them. Eizen turned to see a lycanthrope, ugly and huge, approaching them with inhuman speed. “About time.” Edna said. She had been standing off to the side. “I was beginning to think you’d dragged us out here because you wanted to show off, but I doubt you puny humans could take on a beast like this.”

Eizen ran in first. Edna was strong in stature, but weak in pure strength. He was the opposite; he could deal the damage but couldn’t take it as well. Together, they covered one another’s weaknesses, their eyes always on each other’s backs. He slammed his fist into the beast’s jaw at the same time Edna let off an arte, the floor erupting upwards in an icy mountain-like structure. It disappeared almost instantly as it launched the lycanthrope into the air, the beast crying out in pain.

Eizen let loose with a wind based arte, something that had taken him a long time to learn and even longer to master. The green spears he conjured struck the beast as it fell, and with it he remembered Zaveid’s not-so-careful instruction, his lazy grin, the way he gave pointers. “You gotta just feel it, Eizen.” he’d said once. “Wind’s not like earth. It’s not steady, not stable. It’s chaos and it’s free and you’ve just got to go with it. You can’t control it like you do your earth, it doesn’t work that way.”

The wind-spears he had conjured caught the beast in a frenzy as it hit the ground, but it was stronger than he was giving it credit for. It recovered quickly, flipping to its feet, and then Eizen was forced to backstep as it swiped a claw at him. Inches from his face, he felt those claws cut air.

He could feel the eyes of the others watching them. This was the kind of monster that they had wanted help with, not the boars or the skunks or the other dregs of the forest. They were just humans with a child malak, while Eizen had a thousand years of experience and Edna had hundreds.

As the lycanthrope advanced on him, making it difficult to strike, Edna made her move. She ran in beside him, her umbrella in front of her like a spear, her earth artes enhancing its durability as she jabbed it into the creature’s chest. It gave Eizen the opening he needed to slam his fist into its jaw. He felt something crack beneath his force. He grinned at his victory.

But then, as it always did, his curse struck. The rains had made the floor sludgy and slippery. The beast snapped its head back so rapidly that Eizen was caught off guard, its claws slashing the space in front of it. Edna threw herself back out of its range but his boots caught in the mud, leaving him open as he tried to back step away. He caught the lycanthrope’s claws across his face, ripping open his skin from above his left eye to his jaw, four separate gashes that bled freely.

Eizen growled in pain, focusing his power into his fists. The wounds from a daemon hurt malakhim more than any usual creature, like the malevolence that made them up was searing into his skin. “Eizen!” Edna cried. He could feel magical energies from her, the beginnings of a healing arte. He could cast them too, they were both as talented as each other, but she was out of range and there was no way he could start up and successfully cast one when he was this close to the lycanthrope. He roared, earthen might in his blood and in his fists, and then he punched the beast back as Edna bathed him in healing light.

He brawled, the thrill of the fight catching up to him. He could see Edna falling under its thrall too as she began to toy with the lycanthrope more than truly battling it. She took its blows like she was made of stone, keeping its attention on her as Eizen beat it down, vicious and powerful.

But the malevolence around them, from the clawed marks cut into his face to the beast itself, was beating down on him like a sun. He could feel it acutely, like pinpricks in the back of his mind. Malakhim were more vulnerable to it than humans. Water was the most easily corrupted, but earth was just as much a toy in the hands of malevolence’s cruel effects. Eizen had many secrets, but this was his biggest of all; he had already absorbed enough to teeter him on the edge of an irreversible state.

And maybe that was why he lost himself, just ever so slightly. His curse was unkind and malicious, it turned every win into a loss and every moment of quiet into a chaotic din. He stunned the beast enough to gain the upper hand, and when the timing was right, he lost his grip on his malakhim nature and let something a bit nastier shine through.

“Eizen!” Edna gasped. She sounded horrified.

The dragon-like shadow that formed from him was a monstrous thing, For a single second in time it was like he had those scaled, powerful wings. Those shadows threw him upwards, sky bound, and he could see his sister, the beast, and the menagerie. All were tinted red and yellow. He wasn’t sure if he recognized them.

Fire reigned down. Not earth, not even wind. Fire.

He’d only known one fire malak. She was a beautiful woman, though he hadn’t seen her in years. She had helped him when Edna had been young, when he’d been but a boy in the eyes of malakhim, when he’d had no idea how to bring up an infant. Many people knew her, a steadfast guide to many youths, pure hearted, kind, serious. That was the opposite of everything he was in this moment, and yet he was using her element in his malevolent state.

In a flash, in the blink of an eye, he was on the floor again, the moment passed, the smouldering remains of the lycanthrope prone on the floor. Edna was looking at him with wide eyes. He looked at the menagerie, who all stared with varying looks of surprise, amazement, and horror.

How does your story begin then, malak?

Eizen stood there, breathing hard, feeling the malevolence rescind within himself, his body his again.

It didn’t begin with the girl, or even the dragon. Not really. It began with a disagreement, a fracturing of a friendship, and Port Zekson. Eizen was still paying for it. He would be paying for it for the rest of his life.

--- 

They didn’t talk about it. None of them mentioned it. Not even Magilou, who Eizen was sure would fire off a million questions a minute, breathed so much as a mention of it.

It was fine. Humans didn’t understand the relevance of the shadow, of what it meant to a malak like him, and he didn’t intend to spill those secrets. Eizen and Edna dropped the menagerie back at their inn and then went to stalk the streets of Port Reneed alone. Magilou said she needed time to do her magic, and Eizen, though admittedly curious, didn’t want to stay cooped up in their room.

The sun was setting, but people were still peddling their wares. Edna was silent as she walked a few paces behind him. He hadn’t breathed a word to her about malevolence. They had been travelling together for a long time and he’d never said a thing. She didn’t know, he told himself. She had no idea how close to the brink he was. What happened in the forest meant nothing. It was just an arte. Just an attack.

Together they looked at the stalls, Edna’s gaze longing when she saw the one selling stuffed toys. Eizen laughed. “Don’t tell me that you want another. I literally bought you one the other night.”

“I told you, I’m not interested in these stupid human things.” Edna said, a blatant lie if he’d ever heard one. “What do you think about Witchyface’s magic bags, huh? Think they’re worth their salt?”

“I think we’re just going to get a bag of singed bullshit.” Eizen said. Edna fixed her sarcastic grin to her face. “It was a waste of time. A grand waste, but a waste nonetheless.”

“But you still wasted it willingly.” Edna said. “So which is it? Do you believe in the bag of magic nonsense, or are you that desperate for an excuse to go back to Port Zekson?”

That stung. Edna was good at digging her claws in when she wanted. “We’re dropping them off and then we’re leaving.” Eizen said. “Port Zekson has nothing for me.”

Eizen took a fruit from a stall and swapped a coin for it. Edna took one for herself. “You keep telling yourself that.” she said, taking a bite of the apple she’d procured. She ate in silence, and Eizen didn’t have anything to say. Together they watched the humans hurry from stall to stall.

It was difficult to comprehend how they could fit so many experiences into their terribly fragile, fleeting existences. Eizen hadn’t been human. Some malaks had been once, but not him. He and Edna had been born from the earthpulses, the same one, rarities in that they felt their connection to one another when most malakhim didn’t form familial relationships.

“Eizen.” she said. “When are we going home?”

Home. The mountain from where he’d taken the name for their ship. How long had it been since he’d seen it? “Why?” he asked. “Not enjoying the travelling?”

“It’s alright.” Edna said. She looked at the apple, twisting her hand as she inspected it. “Sometimes though, I get sick of it. We’re earth malaks. We don’t belong on the sea, we can’t even swim. Have you ever wondered what we’d do if we sunk?”

“We wouldn’t sink.” Eizen said.

“We could sink. We’ve almost sunk before. Do you remember that time when that shark daemon attacked us? It was nearly as big as our ship and you fell in the water trying to beat it up. I had to fish you out, which was awful because I got soaked and you nearly drowned. Your dumb curse makes it so we nearly sink all the time.”

Eizen huffed at the accusation. “We don’t sink ‘nearly all the time’.” he said. “And I didn’t nearly drown.”

“Please. You’re earth, and yet a water malak could look at you funny and you’d fall over.”

“Is this an attack on my pride, Edna?” Eizen asked. “I’ve beaten plenty of water malaks in my time.”

“Wind malaks too?”

And there were her barbs again. Eizen didn’t wince, didn’t flinch, but he felt the sting nonetheless. She was still smiling, but now he had a feeling she was digging around in him for an answer to a question he didn’t know she was asking. “I could beat any wind malak that challenged me.” he said.

Edna snickered. She finished her apple and tossed away the core. Eizen hadn’t taken a single bite out of his. “By the way, brother.” she said. “You know it’s bad manners to answer a question with a question, right? I’ll let you off this time, but I’m gonna ask again. When are we going home?”

“When we’ve charted the entire world and seen everything we want to see.” Eizen said. “When we’ve plundered ships and taken their treasures. When we’ve found artefacts from a thousand years before I was born, when we’ve found the very edges of the sea. When we’ve tunnelled our way beneath the ocean to create our own personal escape routes to every island in this world.”

“Wow.” Edna said. “Big hopes there. How long are you planning on living? Ten thousand years? Will Rayfalke even still be there by then?”

“We can hope.” Eizen said. The conversation died with that, and Eizen thanked everything that she didn’t press further. It wasn’t a discussion he wanted to have, especially after the events in the forest. He’d named the ship after their mountain home for a reason, to make it feel like home away from home, but it seemed like even Edna got homesick.

He felt guilty. His sister pretended she was strong, but there was so much beneath her facade. He wasn’t stupid enough to pretend that their conversation hadn’t been about something entirely different. She was clever with words, and it felt like his grip on his own secrets was getting slack.

“Let’s walk.” Eizen said. He pocketed his fruit, his appetite having disappeared with Edna’s question. He thought about it, and decided it wasn’t fair for her to have the upper hand against him. “My turn now. A question for you?”

“Spit it out then.”

“Do you regret coming with me?”

He didn’t turn to look at her, not wanting to see her expression. She was good at masking her gaze but he didn’t want to chance seeing the answer written in the curve of her mouth or the look in her eyes. He wanted to hear it in her voice, to find the truth or the lie hidden there, to know if he’d made a mistake all those years ago when he’d been unable to leave her behind.

“Stupid.” she muttered. Her tone had bite to it. “You think I’d make a choice I’d regret? What do you take me for, a moron? Home isn’t just a mountainside, Eizen. Though you’d believe that, wouldn’t you?” she stomped ahead, opening her umbrella and resting it on her shoulder. “Ugh, do I have to spell it out for you? Yeah, home is Rayfalke, but that’s not the only place it can be. Home is also where you are. It’s doesn’t have to just be some dumb pile of rocks.”

Eizen didn’t think he’d feel relieved at the admission, didn’t think he had anything to be relieved over. Despite that, he still let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “Consider me told then.” 

[thealfanator]

Dandelion’s Tales ~ Chapter 3

I’m usually very excited when I enter inns and taverns to tell my stories of my adventures across the lands, but as I entered today, something felt… different.  I had burst into The Golden Sturgeon, full of my usual over-active excitement; my crimson cuffs bouncing light off the dense, calming atmosphere, and my shoes lightly dropping and lifting gently off the creaky floorboards, and, instead of smiling (my usual signature move), I felt emptiness… Not the type of emptiness that makes you feel “oh shit, that was disappointing”, as Geralt would often say, no.  This emptiness was hollow, and I think I know why.

“Dandelion!  Ale?” The bartender shouted over to me.  Nodding my head, she started bumbling around the place in a frantic nature – juggling mugs of hot, juicy warmth of bubble on each finger whilst rummaging around the tight spaces of each of the tables delivering her creations.  She made me smile.  I always liked the way she cared for people so much.  But this time I did not smile.  I knew exactly what it was.  Something was off.

It was empty.  The tavern, I mean.  It was evening; the place should be packed!  But it wasn’t.  There was the innkeeper, a few other guys, and me… Regarding my usual trio of listeners, only one remained: the woman, who looked relatively drunk already.  She sat there in a rhythmic sway to the left and right, waiting in anticipation for me to continue, however the other two had gone. Grown bored of my voice.  I looked at her as she stared at me.  Her fixed glare said it all; she wasn’t quite ‘with it’! Ale had dragged her away to a happier place, however remnants remained like the bottom of an empty tankard.

“Please…” she mumbled, “continue, Master Danbeloin.” She even said my name wrong.

“Okay, okay!” I said, laughing before holding up my hands in an attempt to ‘surrender’.  I waited until my drink had arrived, (“thanks”, told her) and started…

             Where was I? Ah, I remember.  So when I got chucked into the darkness by a prepared metal trap, I had been rendered unconscious for quite some time.  I had no passage or recollection of time, of course, but it felt like a while.  As my vision grew from darkness, I groaned a cry of pain.  My fingers twitched and my body ached but I managed to yank myself up from the muddy, dreadful floor.  I had a fit of coughs.  To my surprise, those coughs made a head pop up from the bright circular light above me.  It was Dune.

“Dandelion?” he shouted. I was pretty sure the ground vibrated at his low voice.

“Mhm.”

“I just needed to see if you were okay?  I’ve been waiting for hours.”  Shit, hours? I scrambled myself up onto my feet but immediately flopped back down onto a broken wooden board next to me.  I crashed back down to the floor; my leg hurting bad.  “Dandelion, I need you to climb your way up here!” he shouted, “See those vines?”  I saw them, yes, but in this condition, I wasn’t even able to kick a tuft of grass into the air!  I told him about it obviously, before hearing him sigh and move away from the hole.

“Sorry, Dune but my leg is too bad.” I murmured before looking into the darkness beside me.  I gathered that I had fallen into a cave of some kind.  The nothingness amplified around me, leaving me isolated and anxious.

“Well, Dandelion,” he sighed again, “I hoped it wouldn’t had come to this…”

“Come to what?” I shouted as loud as I could, despite it not being as loud as I thought.  My voice wavered as the darkness plunged me into worry.

“I have to find my friends… and I don’t have enough time to save you too…” I knew I couldn’t trust him. “Dandelion, I hardly even know you.” He retreated to a whisper like this was actually a hard decision for him.  I believed him, I guess – who would save a stupid, pointless bard like me, who can’t even wield a sword?  I scoffed.

“You’re just going to leave me?” I replied.  Silence commenced for a long time.

“I’m sorry.” Before a bunch of heavy, retreating footsteps declined into nothing.  He had left me here.  To die.  I passed out again, head hitting the rocky surface.

             After I woke again, I scrambled up to my feet before I realised my leg was still shitting itself.  For some reason, I must’ve thought that sleeping would’ve made it magically heal itself, but obviously not…  I took a few panicked breaths in the murky, pitch black cave I had muddled myself in before grabbing a still-lit torch out of its holder from a wall.  Hopefully the trespassers who left them were still here, and that they were friendly! Walking through the rocky, uneven cave, I realised how awful and terrifying it really was.  Unexpected lights and shadows conjured by my very light caused a rebound as my lip trembled at the sight of them.  The smell of rotting corpses (probably) rung out like the sour sound of a fork bashing off a wad of steel.  My feet took small and reckless paces ahead of me; nervous about what was in the unknown.  I tried to jab my torch in front of me in hope that my vision would extend, but to my disappointment, I was still limited to my tiny circle of light.

             I tried everything, I really did.  I called for help, I tried names such as “Dune” even though it was pointless.  I tried shouting as loud as possible but swiftly stopped as my hope diminished as fast as the interest fades away from bard’s stories in the evenings.  Whenever I wasn’t calling for aid, I was coughing the blackness away from my lungs and crying out as my knee started to throb.

             Then I saw it.  The monstrosity.  I had reached a part of the cave which ended at a sort of cliff, and then expanded to a large room below me.  The area was well lit below with multiple sources of light dotting around the pit. I bent down onto my good knee and squinted down.  I saw tens of creatures skittering around the place like ants!  Small, tiny grey looking disasters scuttling their minute legs and making small chittering noises with their laugh.  I think Geralt called them… Nekkers; crawling sounds commenced in my ears like metal scrapes on wood.  While I was busy absorbed in my horror, my light next to me flickered, but not kindly, fading now – like dying hope.  I retreated from the edge further after I came to realisation that my heart was throbbing through my chest, pulsing my panic.  It wasn’t until they noticed my movement that I started to limp as quick as possible the way I came.

             I frantically waved my torch towards them in some tiny ounce of hope that it would scare them away, but it seemed they did not care.  I threw my torch away at them as they swarmed the corridor.  I turned and ran for my life.

**

“Did you survive?” she said to me in an interested tone on the other side of the table.  I scoffed after taking a sip from my tankard, then proceeded.

“No, dear, I died!” she sighed and bowed her head - started sobbing slowly as she flopped her empty mug to the floor.

“Dammit,” she whispered, “I really hoped you lived to tell the tale…”  I couldn’t help but smile.

“Listen, darling, of course I survived!  I’m sitting here, aren’t I?”  A couple of awkward glares filled the space between us before her drunken state realised before she laughed.  Launching herself at me for a hug, I shut my eyes and savoured the moment.

“Dandelion!” she said after I detached her body from myself, “You are the greatest storyteller I have ever met!”

“Why, thank you.” I gleamed. She continued to slur her words and fling her drunken finger at my chest in enthusiasm.  “Shall we continue, then?”

“Please!” she dipped her head with tired eyes but I knew I had her complete attention.

**

             So there I was: limping and running through the cave with a bunch of terrifying monstrosities after me.  I weaved and dived through the tiny cracks I came across and, as I glanced back from time to time, was surprised that I was creating space between us.  My breath started to fade and I collected the fact that I probably couldn’t run much longer.

“Come on!  In here!” someone called from down the hall. Squinting, I recognised a dark figure crouching behind a tiny gap in a rocky surface, ushering me into presumed safety.  Well, I had to take it, didn’t I?  I rushed into the gap and the man blocked up my entrance behind me with a bundle of large rocks, relieving me of my oxygen debt and stopping the “Nekkers” from their pursuit.  The man was bald, slim and had an extremely small figure, but he carried a crossbow latched to his back.  He gave me a welcoming smile.

             “Hello again, Dandelion.” Another said; I recognised the voice…  I spun around behind me to where it came from and saw him alongside about four other people which I had not seen before.  Dune. “I brought friends.”

             In the cold, evening air above the surface, one of his men tended to my wounds.  The crackling fire lit our cheerful faces and cooked our mouth-watering food.  Animals called and cried in the distance; big and small; predators and prey; up in trees, or hunting on the ground.  It was peaceful – a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time.

“You honestly thought I just up and left.” He said whilst munching into a piece of meat.  I thought about it for a bit.

“Well you kind of did.” I replied.  Dune chuckled.

“Dandelion,” he said, “I look at you and I see a helpless, wandering bard in the middle of nowhere. You’re meant to be in taverns, entertaining!  I will help you get home.”

“Thank you.”  I looked around at his allies.  I knew none of them but I owed them my life.  By their facial expressions, I reckon they noticed I thanked them profusely; they noticed it in my tired eyes.

“Well.” He stood, sweat appearing on his exhausted face.  “When you’ve recovered a bit from your injury, I say we head out and get you home. What do you say?”

“That sounds like a good plan!” I smiled and he did the same, then bit down into my food.

             That conversation stayed with me to this day, even when heading back home this evening – through the dull Novigrad city streets.

You’ve reached the end, again! :( Sorry!  Nevertheless I hope you enjoyed.  Note that this is my last series for a good while; I have suddenly become incredibly busy and, although I myself have finished writing this series, I am not currently writing a fourth season.  I’ll keep you posted however - have a good week :)

[lunakinesis]

There’s Something in My Attic

(Part 2)

There's something in our attic, but my parents wouldn't tell me what it was. To be more accurate, they have constantly denied there's anything up there and have since I was a child and first mentioned it.

Why haven't I gone up there to see for myself? Aside from the general fear it's always instilled in me – for reasons I will get to – however much my curiosity makes me want to see for myself, I couldn't. Our attic door is locked and I had no idea where my parents kept the key. Believe me, I'd looked several times over the years and have never found it.

Until now.

My obsession with discovering what was up there and frustration with my parents’ denial came about when I was five years old. Like most children I was scared of every little creak, bump and other noise that occurred in the night. Like most parents, mine soothed me, telling me what all parents tell their children: it was just the house settling, it was the wind, it was a tree branch bumping against the window; rational explanations that of course make sense and hold truth now.

All but one that is.

The shuffling from the attic.

Now to be clear here, this noise was not like any other sound one might here whilst waiting for sleep to take them in the night. It wasn't a creak or a groan; it wasn't a whoosh from the wind or a tap from branches or cables knocking against the side of the house or windows.

It was exactly what I said before: a shuffle. The kind you'd hear first thing in the morning when someone had just gotten out of bed and was still half asleep, making their way to the bathroom or down to the kitchen for a coffee. Feet not lifting properly off of the ground, that's what it sounded like right above my bedroom. The shuffling never went far; it was limited to the width of my room and just the right half of the room in general. That was – unfortunately – the side my bed was located on.

The first night I heard it was the first night I spent in the new bed my parents had bought me. A cabin bed. I was so excited about it, couldn't wait to tell all my friends at school because of how cool I'd look with such a fancy, awesome bed. It seems funny now, but I was just a little kid, that kind of thing is awesome to five year-olds.

So awesome that I was too excited to sleep. All I could think about was stuffing things into the drawers and making a den underneath where the desk was. I could drape some blankets over the side and make the inside really cool, I was considering hiding snacks in the drawers for when I had friends sleeping over.

My joy and anticipation was utterly shattered by a muffled noise coming from above my head. It was soft, during the day I wouldn't have heard it. At night however when everything was quiet, it was loud as a car horn going off to me. At first I thought I was maybe hearing things, or that maybe it hadn't actually come from above me. I knew my parents were still up, it wasn't that late to an adult that they would be sleeping, and I'd heard my dad go to the bathroom a little while ago. Maybe it was them getting ready to go to bed.

That train of thought was busted when the noise came again, a little louder this time and distinctly over my head. Something moving across my ceiling – the floor of the attic – slowly and in a way that made it seem as if it didn't want to be heard. The kind of sneaking I'd come to know when I was a teen trying to slip out of the house unnoticed.

At the time, it was unfamiliar and frightening. My mouth went dry and it felt like my throat closed up as I tried to call for my mom and dad. Someone was in the attic. Someone was in our home. I remember shaking so violently I almost threw up and at some point, I managed to cry for my parents.

They came running, expecting to find me having woken from a nightmare. Instead they got a babbling, sobbing little boy ranting and raving about something in the attic. They did their best to soothe me, but I ended up sleeping in-between them in their bed that night. The next morning, my father opened the attic and went up, laughing as he reassured me nothing and no one was up there. It soothed me at the time but that only lasted about a week.

Then that muffled sound came again, dragging across the ceiling above my head. My parents came running in again, but they were both annoyed by my insistence there was something in the attic. Dad told me I was just hearing the floorboards settle and creak and I hadn't noticed it before since my bed was higher up now. They left my bedroom light on and that was the end of it. This went on for a few years, every now and then those softy-dragged footstep-like sounds would come and I would cry and yell for my parents. Every time they would tell me it was nothing, with my dad occasionally opening up the attic and climbing up to once again prove to me nothing was there.

As I reached my late teens and the sound became less and less frequent, I questioned my dad about it one morning. He laughed and said, "We never wanted to worry you, but there were some bats nesting up there. They're protected so we could have them removed. We didn't tell you because we knew you'd be scared of them so we just tried to pass it off as the house settling. We hid the key so you didn't go look in case they flew out of the attic into the house or they spooked you so badly you fell from the ladder."

That was that, so I had thought. It was a reasonable explanation, I'd been hearing bats knock into things and land as they flittered about our attic. If you think I felt dumb, you were damn right. All that time spent scared of little bats. I assumed they had long since moved on since I hadn't heard them for close to a year at this point. My dad said they were planning on clearing the place out since they were sure the bats were gone too. Apparently the place had started to stink and I was hardly surprised, bat guano isn't exactly pleasant stuff, and it had been building up for years.

I went to bed that night content in the knowledge the noise that had plagued me for years was something so benign. So much so that when I heard the shuffling for the first time in months, I simply chuckled to myself and rolled over to sleep. I'd tell dad in the morning that the bats were back. He wasn't going to be happy they'd ruined his spring cleaning plans.

That plan fell through when my parents left before the sun was even fully up, my nana (mom's mom) was apparently sick, and mom wanted to go tend to her until grandpa got back from his boy's fishing trip. That left me alone in the house, and it'd be a lie to say I didn't enjoy having free reign. What teenager doesn't?

So there I was, house to myself... and now I knew what was in the attic, knew that the key had only been hidden away to stop me snooping up there and getting hurt when I was young. My curiosity got the better of me and I went hunting for that key, convinced they wouldn't be guarding it so thoroughly now I was older and knew what had been really happening all those nights the shuffling had woken me.

I turned the house upside down searching for it, becoming more frenzied as each drawer I rummaged through, each cubby I checked, every bed I peeked under and every closet I emptied turned up nothing. There was only one place left to check and that was the basement.

"Of course," I found myself muttering, "of course it would be in the basement." The basement had always been a place I'd been uneasy about. Something about the dark, dingy, cramped space made me shudder and want to avoid going down there where at all possible. It would be no surprise if my parents – knowing my dislike of the place – had hidden the key down there, as I never would've ventured down to look for it as a kid.

That fabled key I'd long hoped to find was buried within an old jewellery box that had itself been stuffed away into a plastic storage tub. It had taken me several hours to finally find it and, not knowing if my parents would come back home for anything, I didn't want to waste any more time.

I raced up the basement stairs – stumbling near the top – and back into the main house. The stair-stumbling was repeated as I made my way up from the first floor to the second. I let myself pause briefly under the attic hatch, just staring up at it. This was it.

My dad kept his stepladders in the closet in one of the spare bedrooms, with a little bit of cussing and clattering I'd set it up where it needed to be and climbed up the steps, the metal clanging beneath my feet.

I stopped when I was high enough to reach the small door and produced the key from my pocket. I was nervous, but excited too. Fitting the key into the hole, the door unlocked with a soft click.

I took a deep breath and pushed the door up, climbing my way up the rest of the steps and dragging myself into the attic. The stench hit me immediately, dad hadn't been kidding when he said it would smell bad. The air was hot and stale. I remember reading in a book that the smell wasn't actually from a bat's poop, but from its urine. I was starting to believe that now given the strong scent of ammonia in the air. I coughed, bringing my shirt sleeve up to my mouth and nose to try to dim the odour.

My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and I realised something. There were no droppings under my feet. There was plenty of dust and plenty of boxes. But if bats had been nesting in here for years, the guano should've piled up. Yet I heard nothing crumbling beneath my feet, and couldn't see a layer of it on the ground.

Then I heard it again, louder and clearer than it ever had been. The shuffling. It definitely wasn't bats, I could tell right away. It sounded distinctly like feet shifting across the floor. I took out my phone, using it to light my way.

I could hear and feel my heart pounding in my ears. This was everything little me had feared when I'd hid under my covers and cried for my parents. Someone was in the cluttered expanse of our attic.

As I moved further into the attic, the smell of ammonia was joined by other stinks: mouldy food – a smell I learned to hate that summer the garbage crews went on strike for two weeks – and faecal matter. This was not the smell of an animal; it was the smell of a shit someone had left festering in their toilet. My stomach lurched, bile rising up my throat and burning it. I swallowed it back down, shuddering. If someone had been living up here I didn't want to contaminate the crime scene with my body fluids.

Rounding the corner in the clutter space, my phone clattered from my hand. There was not a person in my attic. There were two of them. The pair was shackled to the wall, with only a small length of chain allowing them to move just enough to reach a now overflowing waste bucket. Plates of rotten food cluttered the surfaces around them. They didn't speak, they couldn't because of the tight gags around their mouths I'd assume were only removed to eat, they simply shuffled away from me, spooked by the bright light and likely who they thought was their captor.

Shaking, stomach rolling over and over, I bent down to pick up my phone and focused a light on the pair. I really wish I hadn't. They were filthy, and by that I mean covered in their own filth and grim, hair matted and greasy, they stank of human waste and sweat and god knows what else. One figure was male and the other female, that I could tell. They were emaciated, barely more than skin and bones. But that wasn't the worst of it.

I recognised the almond-shaped brown eyes the woman had, and the upturned nose the man had. They were features I also held. Features my parents had. Then it hit me. These poor souls looked exactly like my parents. Had my parents been held captive in a dark attic for years?

The woman outstretched a dirty hand towards me, and I stumbled back and fled, rushing back towards the attic hatch as I heard those shuffling feet.

I woke up on the floor of the hall, the attic door still open and the stepladders fallen onto their side. My head was throbbing, and my heart pounded the instant my consciousness returned enough for me to remember what had happened. I scrabbled to my feet and hoisted the ladders back up. Climbing up to slam the attic shut. I fumbled with the key and locked it.

After putting the stepladder away and going back into the basement to hide the key where it had originally been, everything finally hit me. My legs buckled and I sank to the floor, breathing heavy. I couldn't explain what I had seen, but I knew I had seen it. What could've been clones of my parents were being kept prisoner in our home. The way the woman had reached out to me... the look in her eyes. Like she recognised me. They were so full of pain and desperation.

I finally threw up then, heaving and gasping as my stomach emptied itself on the cold stone floor. That was my mother. My real mother, the way she looked at me made me sure of it. But that raised one question...

I heard the front door click open and my blood ran cold. "Sweetie?" My 'mom' called out, closing the door behind her. "Your dad forget his reading glasses, are you there?"

Who had been raising me all these years?

[b-does-the-write-thing]

The House Keeper

So today is @prissyhalliwell birthday and everyone knows I’m trash for her so when she sent me a text about a House Guest remix where Belle is a genie... I was very cross with her because it’s a brilliant idea.

Luckily I contained myself to a one shot because we agreed to not go overboard for birthdays anymore (Pssh) and I know she likes to read stories at breakfast time so I’m publishing it early for her to wake up to.

Happiest of Birthdays dearest.

--

Nelson Gold was not a kind man. He was not a patient man or a particularly good looking one. He was simply a divorced father who owned a pawn shop in some small backwater town in northern Maine.

It was a rather lovely store if one liked that sort of thing. There were shelves of antiquities, furniture piled in heaps at the front of the narrow storefront before abruptly stopping just short of the glass cases which glittered like polished diamonds. Here were the real treasures, first editions of gothic novellas, vintage jewelry pawned back in the early century that were still patiently waiting for owners to return who had long since passed away, and coins so rare they were worth more than their weight in gold.

Now, this wasn’t always the case. In fact, two years ago, when Mr. Gold had arrived in Storybrooke, he had been a stranger, a Scotsman who had purchased the rundown store from the old proprietor with all its junk and debt to the amusement of the whole town. After all, who came to Storybrooke, Maine to run a pawn shop that no one shopped at to begin with?

No one dared ask the man himself. With his accented voice, heavy with sarcasm and a quiet wit that put people off, Mr. Gold made it clear fast that he did not want or need any friends, business partners or acquaintances. He wanted to be left alone.

For the first month or so, he got his wish.

Until one day while cleaning, he stumbled upon an odd lamp and his entire world changed.

--

Curled up with a good book, Belle did not even notice the hum of voices indicating someone had come into the shop. She had retreated here after lunch, full and sated to the point of drowsiness with her latest discovery. It wasn’t until she was tipped violently sideways that she even realized someone had picked her up at all.

“Hey, Gold,” a masculine voice boomed. “How much?”

Clapping her hands over her ears, Belle tried to stand upright, leveraging herself off the curved side of her home. Her pillows and cushions scattered around her feet and her book buried somewhere underneath it all. She stayed very quiet and very still, but her heart beat loudly in her chest lest the man holding her heard it. She made a quick run down through her mind of all the ways she could remove this person from the shop and the world entirely when another hand wrapped firmly around her home and gently lifted her away from the stranger.

“Sorry, Mr. Nottingham, I’m afraid this piece isn’t for sale.”

Belle relaxed as the heat from the palm of his hand warmed the lamp. She curled against the side and let her eyes flutter shut in contentment as he gently set her home down safely out of reach of the guests.

“How about this piece?” Gold offered, though his hand stayed securely wrapped around the base of her lamp. Belle placed a small hand where his shadow lay and let her eyes close in contentment as she listened to his voice barter and bargain.

When the shop bell dinged, Gold finally let go of the lamp. “You can come out now,” he said gruffly and in a burst of blue smoke, Belle materialized into the shop.

“Oh, thank you, Master!” she exclaimed as she threw her arms around him. He tensed, but Belle let herself linger just a moment or two longer before she let him gently pry her away. Her master did not like being touched nor did he particularly like being called master.

“You have to be more careful,” he admonished her though his tone was more worried than biting. He lifted her home up in his left hand. “What have I told you about leaving this out on the store floor?”

Belle shrugged guiltily, the bells on her bedlah chiming in the silence between them. “I was reading.”

He smiled crookedly at her but quickly schooled his features back to neutral. “Belle.”

She took a step forward without thinking. He smelled like the wind off the sea and inherently of something wild and feral, something she in the centuries she had been alive had never smelled and which never ceased to fascinate her. “Yes, Master?”

He liked his lips though they were not dry, and hurriedly shook his head. “You should...change,” he rasped as he averted his eyes.

Belle looked down at her bedlah, the golden gauzy fabric see through on her legs and arms and the thicker wrappings covered in filigrees of molten gold and diamonds. “Don’t you like it, Master?” she asked as she looked back up at him.

He cleared his throat as he gently handed her back her lamp. “You look lovely, Belle, it’s just...it’s winter outside and most people aren’t used to…” He gestured helplessly at her bedlah.

“Oh!” Belle brightened immediately. They had talked about this. While her master worried for her health, genies did not catch colds. However, they did attract a lot of attention and she had lost quite a few masters due to their flaunting their genie publicly. So, the whole of Storybrooke knew her as Belle French, the Gold’s live in housekeeper, and housekeepers didn’t dress in bedlahs. With another swirl of smoke, Belle changed into something more fitting. “There?” she exclaimed proudly. “How’s this?”

Straight out of an Instagram post she had seen the day before, she wore a tight mini skirt sewn with every color into a swirl of flowers and a simple white blouse that exposed her sternum. The post had been from someone out in California, a place she was desperate to go visit, so she had also paired it with thigh high suede boots for her master’s sake. He did worry so about the cold.

Gold made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “That’s fine, Belle,” he said finally before turning and fleeing into the back of his apartment. She followed him. Gold collapsed into his desk chair, and Belle hopped up onto the desk which only heightened her master’s color.

She took his face firmly in her hand and peered down at him. “Why, master,” she murmured. “You're as red as a cherry!”

He clenched his eyes shut tight and moved slightly to the left as if rearranging himself to be more comfortable. Belle made soothing noises as she combed his hair back, completely unaware that at his angle he could see up her skirt and down her button up top.

“Poor master,” Belle whispered as she stroked his long greying hair. He leaned into the caress unintentionally, seeking the comfort of her touch. Though his eyes stayed close they relaxed in bliss as she murmured a language long forgotten into his ear.

Someone coughed politely and Gold exploded out of his seat like a coiled spring. He whirled to face the back of the shop, taking a step in front of Belle without thought, but Belle pushed past him to throw her arms around the newcomer in greeting. “Oh, Neal!” she exclaimed in delight. “How good it is to see you!”

Gold’s teenage son went the color of a tomato. The Gold gene for flushing red with embarrassment as strong as him as it was his father. Belle released him but took his hands in hers. “You’ve grown!”

Neal rolled his eyes over her head at his father who was relaxing his death grip on his cane. “I’ve been gone two months, Belle,” Neal said with a teenager’s grace of sounding both pleased and disgusted by the attention.

“Two months is a long time,” Belle told him seriously as she fiddled with the broken zipper of his hoodie.

“Says the centuries old genie.”

“I didn’t realize you were coming home,” Gold said as he came over to greet his son properly. “Didn’t you have a date this weekend?”

Neal coughed. “Uh, yea, about that…”

Belle clapped her hands as her eyes went wide with the possibilities. “A date!”

Neal shot his father a betrayed look. “Belle,” he said gently. “It’s just a date. No need to get fancy.”

It was too late. “Perhaps an evening in Paris?” she suggested. “No, too overdone. Now, Venice is too cold this time of year, maybe something more tropical?” She clicked her finger, warming to this idea. “New Zealand!”

“Belle,” Neal laughed as he recaptured her hands in his. “I think a hot chocolate at Granny’s and a movie at the Camelot Multiplex will be fine.”

His father gave him a questioning look. “You brought this girl home to Storybrooke?”

Neal had the grace to look slightly apologetic. “Uh…”

“It’s Emma!” Belle crowed as she clapped her hands together in excitement. “Oh, this is wonderful!”

Neal went the color of a tomato again as his father sighed. “Neal… the girl is still a senior.”

“She’s eighteen,” Belle reminded her master with a jab at his chest. “Old enough to know her mind and such a lovely girl!”

Not a fan of Emma Nolan or her parents, Gold grumbled something under his breath and his son darkened. Belle hurried to intervene. “Now, Neal, you’ll have to tell us all about college. I’ve never been but I remember when my old master back in Baghdad-”

“Uh, the date’s tonight actually,” Neal mumbled under his breath. “I was going to see...if I could maybe get some flowers? I forgot to get some before I left Boston and...”

With a wink and a small burst of blue smoke, Blue thrust a bundle of birds of paradise at him. Neal took one look at the tropical flowers and their heady exotic scent and winced. “Belle, maybe something a little more in season?”

With a tsk, Belle winked and the flowers shrank into a small but sweet nest of cosmos. Gold peered at them in interest. “The birth flower of October,” he said casually before Neal could say anything. “Lovely choice.”

“Perfect!” Neal quipped, leaning in to press a quick kiss on her cheek. “Thanks Belle.”

She twisted her lips at him. “You sure you don’t want to go to New Zealand?”

He exchanged one of those odd looks with his father before nodding. “Positive. I’ll be home later.”

“Midnight,” his father said without skipping a beat.

“Papa!”

“The young lady will have a curfew earlier than that, I assure you,” Gold said with a pointed tone. “You best get going if you want to spend more than a few hours with her.”

Neal took the advice. He pressed another kiss to Belle’s cheek, nodded formally at his father and rushed out the door. Her master shook his head ruefully. “Dressed like a vagabond,” he sighed. He gave a small glance out of the corner of his eye to her. “Do you think you might…”

Her master so rarely asked for anything, Belle took pleasure in the request. There was a startled yelp from the back alley as Neal’s usual hoodie and t-shirt transformed into something a little more fitting a first date. When Neal did not materialize back in the shop to demand her to change his outfit back, both of them relaxed.

“Dinner?” Belle suggested cheerfully.

Her master nodded. “Let me go and lock up,” he said but Belle winked before he could take a step. The whirl of noise from the front of the shop signalled the door had been locked, sign flipped, money counted out and the shades drawn for the night. He shot her an exasperated fond look. “You don’t have to be so accommodating,” he assured her. “I’m still capable of closing my own shop.”

“You didn’t eat lunch and you’re dead on your feet,” Belle pointed out. “You won’t let me do a thing for you. If any of my sisters knew, they’d laugh themselves to death!”

“Belle, we’ve been over this. You are not really my maid,” Gold said softly, and in the dimming light of the setting sun here in the backroom, his eyes were dark but gentle.

Hypnotized, Belle leaned in a little closer to him. “No, I’m your genie, Master.”

He shook his head as if the spell was broken but Belle reached out to grab his hand. He stilled and looked back at her with his mouth parted as if words words might spill out.

In all her centuries, in all the places she had lived and all the people she had met, she had never known any quite like Nelson Gold. From the first moment he had rubbed her lamp while cleaning the rust off it, he had been utterly at a loss with what to do with her. A stark comparison to how he lived the rest of his life. With his three piece suits and polished cane, Nelson Gold lived his life to a certain set of principles from which he did not waver.

Neal had been nearly twelve when she had awaken from the lamp, and had he not been there when his father had summoned her, Belle may have very well found herself back in her lamp and tossed down a well. Luckily over the years, her master had warmed to her, though he rarely requested more of her than a simple wish here and there, concentrating more of his time on keeping her out of trouble.

“Belle, are you...are you happy here...with me?”

At the moment, the shop was dark and the smells of furniture polish and old paper mingled with the dust mites that danced in the last of the light. Somewhere, her sisters were serving masters in mansions, giving them all they wanted and more and using their magic to make their masters the most powerful, the strongest, the richest among the masters and here she was in Storybrooke, all but forgotten, living with a simple pawnbroker and his son.

Belle leaned into brush a kiss over the stubble on his cheek. He was an older man, gone gray and already slightly lined with his cares and his worries that he held so gracefully on his slight shoulders. Belle had loved him nearly from the moment she had appeared in the small pawn shop and his eyes had grown wide as his son’s with astonishment and wonder.

“Can’t you tell, Master?” she replied.

“Nelson,” he murmured as his hand caught her own where it lay against his cheek. “Please.”

“Nelson,” she conceded, and the intimacy of his name on her lips sent a shiver down her spine.

“You’re cold,” he said with a frown and before she could stop him, he threw a spare jacket over her shoulders. “Let’s go home,” he said with a nod to the door. His Cadillac would be warm when they arrived, as she made sure to start it before she looped her arm around his and headed out the back door.

“Do you think Neal would like pancakes tomorrow morning?” Belle asked as Gold locked the pawn shop back door behind them. “Or a proper brunch? I saw some delicious quiche dish I could whip up.”

His smile tugged the left corner of his mouth. “He’ll love whatever you serve him. If I know Neal, he’s not eating right up there in those dorms.”

“Oh, he’s eating just fine,” Belle said with a wink. “I’ve been sending him care packages.” Gold opened the door for her and the burst of heat colored his cheeks as the cold northern wind blew across from the docks. She sent a quick burst of magic to start the fire at the house and double seal all the windows. His house was old and drafty and she didn’t need either of her men to get a cold on her watch.

As always, the mention of Neal made Gold talkative on the way home. His small smile stayed firmly in place all through dinner and he even let Belle talk him into sitting with her to watch a movie despite his jaw cracking in yawns.

She chose a movie at random from the great list of movies Neal provided her and settled back with gleeful anticipation. Movies were still new to her, it had been something her and Neal had bonded over and when he had left for college, his father had reluctantly taken up the banner.

“Do you think they’re having a good time?” Belle asked, halfway through the movie.

Gold arched a brow at the couple on screen who were locked in a tight embrace, their clothes shedding at an increasing speed. “If I had to wager a guess, I’d say so.”

“No, Neal and Emma,” Belle said as she hit pause on the movie. Gold shifted slightly again, as he turned to face her on the couch. “Should I check in on them?”

Gold thought about it for a moment but finally shook his head. “Neal knows what he’s doing,” he conceded with a sigh. “If the Nolans didn’t call here yet, I think we’re fine.”

Belle nodded absently. Mary Margaret and David Nolan were just much younger than Gold and despite Neal and Emma’s long friendship, the parents didn’t have much in common with each other.  Belle had met them occasionally in her disguise as the Gold’s live in housekeeper, and while good people, the Nolans had a bit of a seniority complex over the single father that galled her.

“He’s fine,” Gold said and he covered her hand where it lay on the couch between them with his own. Her skin warmed rapidly at the casual touch. She smiled sideways at him but couldn’t quite shake the nagging feeling in her chest. “Belle…” Gold said firmly, her name rumbling in his chest. “What is it?”

“What’s a date like?”

His eyes widened but he did not take his hand away. “You’ve never been on a date?”

She shook her head. “Genies don’t go on dates,” she said softly as she grabbed her cellphone. With a few touches, she pulled up her Instagram feed, images splending in color, presentation and splendor and pointed at the top photo.

Gold leaned into peer at it. “Date night with the hubby. So blessed...XOXO?”

“It seems fun,” Belle said quietly as she pulled the phone back into her lap. She flicked through a few of the pictures she had saved, treasured photos of happy couples smiling at each other, hands clasped, foreheads touching…

“Well,” Gold floundered before finding his voice. “A date can be as simple as milkshakes at Granny’s and a movie too...well a dinner at a four star restaurant and a night at the opera or a picnic in the park or a walk on the beach.”

Belle held up another photo of a couple curled in bed. The caption read STAYCATION DATE and the sheets were rumpled in suggestion through the couple curled around each other innocently enough.

“That’s uh,” he coughed, “a more established couple. Married people go on dates too. Or they stay in and...watch movies and eat dinner together. It’s just about spending time with each other...being in the moment with one another”

“You went on dates when you were married?” Belle asked and immediately knew she shouldn’t have. Her master hated discussing his past and Neal’s mother was always off limits.

Before she could apologize or freeze Gold in place long enough to disappear back into her bottle, he shook his head. “I wasn’t a very good husband, Belle,” he said softly. “Or not the husband she needed. I thought love was expressed in taking care of her and Neal, not in showering her with gifts and attention.”

Belle had a brief memory of her last master, a miserly man who wished for all the riches in the world until he had died alone in splendid palace with only her by his side. Her own lamp had been shuffled into the mix and auctioned off until it had ended up in Storybrooke, Maine off all places. She turned her palm up under Gold’s to intertwine her fingers in his. “I think taking care of people is a wonderful way to love them,” she said quietly.

Gold’s eyes flickered in the firelight and he leaned forward so slightly, Belle did not realize she had too until his breath tickled her face. “Are you happy here, Belle?” he repeated. “Now that Neal’s gone off to college...just here with me...don’t you want  to go see the world?”

Her hair had fallen out of her makeshift messy bun and it spilled down over her shoulders as she shook her head. “I like it here with you,” she replied honestly. Though her desire to see the world was great, and she knew deep in her heart, she would never get a master so kind as to offer her the world again, she did not dare spend a moment away from Nelson Gold. Humans lived such a short time…

He nodded slowly, and his nose brushed against hers. “You have a home here for as long as you want,” he assured her quietly and his hand tightened where it held her own. “You’re part of this family, Belle. Promise me though...if you ever want anything, you’ll ask?”

It was her turn to nod and if her head twisted ever so slightly to the right, he didn’t notice. His eyes stayed on her own as if searching for the truth there.

“I promise,” she said after a long moment and satisfied he leaned his forehead against hers before pulling away to retreat to hs side of the couch. He pressed play and the movie continued but Belle barely heard it.

After all, according to him, some dates were simple as watching movies together and besides, he was still holding her hand.

--

Chose the name Nelson in honor of I Dream of Genie’s Major Tony Nelson and a lot of this story was inspired by that show because I love that series. 

[funkymeihem-fiction]

A Perfect Valentines Day for Some Meihem

(I struggled to get all this done today while moving, so I’m sorry if it seems a little rushed! Happy Valentines!)

***

Roadhog was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet in the junkers’ crowded little bathroom, reading another of his old paperback novels. His drooping gaze scanned it as hurriedly as he could, knowing full well that this was likely the only chance to get to read this particular novel before it was ruined. The book was already burnt on the edges and starting to bend and break from the elements, and now it was discentigrating before his very eyes, spattered with water and wilting from steam. As another splash arced his way, he lifted the book up towards the ceiling and tried to keep reading.

“She’s gonna love this, Roadie! A clean, fresh bloke for Valentines Day! You know how many kisses I’m gonna get today? Yeah, she won’t be able to resist all them primal lady urges when she sees all this!” Junkrat sat on his plastic stool in the middle of the shower, bombarding himself with scalding water as he leaned to fill his up his purloined tupperware container and dumped it over his head. He was looking a bit more like a drowned rat than a junk rat, wild swathes of blond hair now sopping wet and drooping all over his head, stuck in a rather grotesque manner across his eyes and face. He was hunched over like a gargoyle on his chair, using his remaining limbs to awkwardly maneuver himself as the water flowing down his body came away black and gray, swirling down a drain that was already bubbling and threatening to clog. Again.

“She probably won’t recognize you,” Hog grunted, lifting his book again as Junkrat filled up his container and missed as he tried to douse himself.

“That’s cause I’m a new man! This is gonna blrlrb-” He doubled over in a fit of coughing as he threw water directly into his own face whilst trying to talk, sputtering loudly before continuing on. “This is gonna be perfect, a real gentleman’s-type holiday. It’s gotta be classy. Okay, hand me all them bottles. We’re gonna turn this Junkrat into a Hunkrat. Okay, how do I… Oi, Roadie, what’s the difference between shampoo and conditioner?”

Hog shrugged.

“Okay, guess I better use both. Oi, Roadie, there’s a whole bunch of them. Where’d you even get all these? Okay, we got melon, we got lavender, coconut, tea tree, dandruff, pear…ooo, this one says it’s ‘musky and sensual’, that definitely describes me. Lots of ‘em smell good though. I dunno, what do you think she’d like most?”

Hog shrugged.

“Yeah, you’re right, better use ‘em all just in case.” He began emptying out the containers onto his head, coating what was left of his hair with multi-colored pools of pearly goop before he began rubbing furiously with his one hand, mixing and lathering until nearly his entire head was lost in a sphere of foam. “I’ve been doing me research, seeing what the sheilas love most. It don’t seem that hard; jewels, candy, flowers, little stuffed thingies…so I get Mei all of that, we get real romantic, and then we’re in for a real ripper of a night, ya know? Oi, you got time to help me nip down to that jewelry place on the mainland? I think they got necklaces and diamonds and whatnot there, we can knock it down easy.”

Hog turned a wary eye to meet his employer’s gaze- or what he guessed was his gaze, his whole head was nothing but a mess of white bubbles- and frowned. “She doesn’t wear diamonds and won’t like you stealing them even if she did.”

“Pffft!” Bits of foam went flying away from his lips. “Okay, yeah, no diamonds. Chocolates though! Like the good kind that are worth more than the jewelry, with those little swirly drizzles on them? Get a big heart full of those. Jellybeans! Who doesn’t like jellybeans? Gotta get some of them. I hear they make lady’s underwear but you can eat it, you think that’s true?” He chortled to himself at the thought. “Just saying, I’d eat the panties right offa her, hehehe. And I’ve seen folks what buy a bunch of those little candy hearts with words and letters on ‘em, can spread like a romantic message out on her bed. Like ‘Dear Mei, I love you lots, can’t wait to root you harder than a-”

“No. Also, she doesn’t eat a lot of candy. You do.”

Junkrat made a little noise of irritation as he continued to massage the unholy mess of shampoo around his head. “Arroight, you got me there. Guess I probably would eat all the jellybeans and panties by myself. What about a stuffed thingy? You and her both like them cutesy shits. Didn’t you just get some kind of new pinkie Pachimari thing last time we were out and about? How about I give that-”

Roadhog reached up one massive arm and grasped the head of the shower, twisting it up and blasting the smaller man in the face with water.

“WHARRGARBL!” Junkrat coughed, waving both hands and shielding his face as the bubbles over his head were washed away in the deluge.

“Don’t touch my things,” the larger junker rumbled dangerously, and he meant it.

Junkrat finally bowed his head against the onslaught, and began sullenly rinsing his head free of soap once more, blowing water out of his nose and sniffling dramatically. “Just fuck my shit right up, Roadie, blimey. Howsabout flowers? You gonna shit all over flowers too? Ain’t flowers too basic?”

Hog thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. “No. For a first Valentines Day that should be good. Flowers are good.”

Junkrat’s grin returned. “You think? I mean, I know she likes pretty things, and all lady-types like flowers, right? I mean they smell real good, almost as good as me! I smell like a florist shop fucked a perfumery and I’m the baby! Okay, I think we’re done, help me up out of here.”

Roadhog just nodded without really listening, as he often did when Junkrat started talking strangely, which was nearly all the time. Holding out one enormous hand, he let the sopping wet smaller man latch onto it, the high-strung junker grasping onto it with his remaining hand and curling what remained of his other arm around it. He managed to stand, but his foot slipped wildly until he snapped aloud, “Oi, bathtub, give me some bumpies.” There was a long pause as Athena attempted to translate his command into one that made sense, before the bottom of the tub basin shifted tactile structure, ridged bumps rising into a more easily-gripped texture. With that and Roadhog’s assistance, he managed to struggle out the side of the tub.

Roadhog tossed him a towel and set his battered paperback aside, starting to disrobe for his turn at the shower. Others in Overwatch might have thought that bathing together was a strange behavior, but the junkers came from a world of scarce water and nonexistent privacy. Seeing nakedness was hardly noteworthy. Junkrat didn’t bother to cover himself as he dried off, smoothing back his dripping hair. “So you seeing anyone for the holiday? Gonna have a romantic night of your own?”

The elder junker  awkwardly turned sideways to sidle into the tub before making a lewd gesture with one hand, which sent his younger partner into another fit of giggles.

“Rosie Palm again! You two’ve been together for too many years, mate, ain’t it time to branch out? Give someone else a go?”

“She hasn’t let me down yet,” Hog deadpanned, fumbling with the shower controls.

“Well, you enjoy your self-handy. I’m gonna go romance the fuck out of the most a-mei-zing lady in the world!” Junkrat declared with no small amount of confidence, pulling the straps of his leg prosthetic tight around his thigh before hobbling back into the room to find his shorts. “Hope I ain’t forgetting anything…”

“Brush your teeth,” Hog’s voice echoed after him.

“Already did, mate!”

“All of them.”

“Er…”

Junkrat turned around and headed back into the bathroom.

***

Mei was standing in front of her mirror, holding up two dresses to her chest over and over again. “Blue or pink? I know pink is more Valentines-y, but I just bought the blue one and I got a nice shawl and tights to go with it, but then the pink one has little cute polka-dots and I love polka-dots! But then again, the blue one-”

“Is just going to get dirt and soot on it,” Zarya grumbled, rummaging through her box of nail polish. “I would not wear anything nice around him. Choose a color, I have blues and pinks to match. You are trying to impress the rat? What does he like?”

“You know how someone will say ‘You look good in anything’?”

“Da?”

“He actually means it. I really could wear anything around him, but I still want to look nice! It’s a special day.”

“I do not trust that skinny man. Or the pig man.” Zarya frowned, slamming one fist into her palm. “If the rat tries anything…”

Mei coughed gently. “Well actually, of all days, I kind of hope today is the day he does try something…Well! It’s Valentines Day! I mean, it’s a good day for it!” She quailed slightly at the look she received, cheeks turning pink.

“We did not celebrate this Valentines Day in Russia.”

“We didn’t celebrate it in Xi’an either,” Mei admitted. “But we sometimes used to exchange little cards and candies at some of the eco-stations I was at. I’m willing to bet the junkers didn’t celebrate Valentines Day back in the wasteland either but Jamison seems really excited about it. It’s a harmless little holiday about chocolates and poetry and love, I think it’s nice.”

“Hmph.”

“You might try talking to them a little more, you know? I won’t say they’re not a handful, but they can be surprising in ways you don’t think of. Give them a chance?”

“I make no promise. Also, blue dress. You always look good in blue. Blue dress and cute little shawl.” She held up one of her bottles of blue polish and shook it back and forth. “Put it on, I will do nails for you. Do you have special plans? It seems everyone is going out tonight.”

“Mm, yes! I am going to bake a lamington cake to surprise him. It’s a type of cake back in Australia, he was telling me about how much he loved them and missed them back when…well, back when he was robbing places in Adelaide…” She coughed and continued on as if Zarya was not giving her an extremely unimpressed look. “But that’s in the past! So! I’m baking a lamington cake for him, and I’ve got coconut and cream for it, and then I’ll let it set for a few hours while we go out. I’ve got reservations at a really nice Korean barbecue with both meat and vegetarian options, then we’re going to go to a really nice boba tea place I’ve heard about, then a romantic walk on the beach, and then we can come back here and…you know…hang out?…” Another awkward cough.

“Hmph.”

“I’ll save you a slice, if he doesn’t try to eat all of it. What are your plans for tonight? Anyone special you have your eye on?”

“Free weights and leg day. Maybe I punch training bots if I feel frisky?” Zarya smirked down at her.

Mei wrinkled her nose, as it did not particularly sound like a romantic evening to her, but didn’t challenge her friend. She held up the blue dress one more time, nodded, then set it aside for later in the evening, flouncing back towards her bed where Zarya was already preparing undercoats and topcoat varnishes and color layers and other things Mei never usually made much time for but always admired. She settled onto her knees, holding out a hand while the larger woman took it with her always surprisingly delicate touch, starting to file and round the edges of her nails, silent as she focused on her work.

“I…hope things work with you and the rat. If it makes you happy,” Zarya begrudgingly remarked out of nowhere several minutes later as she was putting another layer of blue onto Mei’s nails. “It is hard to find anything happy these days.”

Mei smiled back at her. “It really means a lot that you would say that. And don’t worry, I’m sure we’re all going to find something happy, especially you. You never know when you might find it. Maybe tonight, even!”

“Hmph.”

***

Junkrat had hitched a ride to the mainland with Ana and Reinhardt, and had tried to ignore their syrupy little giggles and glances at one another the entire way there. He hadn’t been entirely successful, and when Reinhardt leaned over to nuzzle Ana’s cheek with his beard and was making noises that were entirely too cutesy for his liking, Junkrat couldn’t help himself from pulling a face and sticking out his tongue with a disgusted “Blech.”

Romance was so much better when he was the one partaking in it.

He bailed out as soon as he was able, nearly tumbling out of the backseat as he stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled towards the nearest florist shop, a vintage vine-covered brick building with a cheery display of mannequins holding bouquets of roses and chocolate baskets. That looked promising, so he ducked inside. The shop was bustling about with other last-minute Valentines shoppers all huddled around the roses, though several of them glanced up, looked rather uncomfortable, and scooted out past him towards the door.

The shop owner, a short fat man in a green apron, seemed to notice the sudden exodus, and quickly pinpointed the source as being the impossibly tall lanky young man with a mechanical arm and a janky peg leg, half-naked save for a pair of patched shorts and a skull tattoo, and missing most of his hair. Smiling nervously, the little shopkeep approached the strange creature and gestured to the flowers around him politely. “Ah, good day sir, are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Yeah mate, what flowers you got?”

“Er…Well, this is a flower shop. We have all kinds of flowers here. I’m assuming you’re looking for a last minute bouquet for someone special?”

“Yeah! Yeah, she’s the specialist. So I gotta get something real perfect for her.”

The florist smiled in relief. “Well, you’ll find we only sell top-quality blooms here. May I suggest one of our rose bouquets, specially tailored to the holiday? We have white, pink, red, mixed, and even blue and purple varieties.” He gestured to the large window displays, but his smile faded when the strange young man seemed disinterested. “Or perhaps you’ve something else in mind?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s nice and all. But none of these are us. Everyone’s got roses. Gotta get something with a bit more kaboom to it, ya know?”

“…Kaboom?”

Junkrat snorted and skulked about the aisles, trailed by the concerned little man as he passed by shelves and displays full of roses, carnations, tulips, daisies, sunflowers, daffodils, gerberas, orchids, irises, lilacs; nearly every popular flower available, when he stopped at the back of the store and his eyes lit up, lifting his mechanical hand to point excitedly. “That one there! That big’un with all the colors! That’s got some kaboom!”

“The wildflower bouquet? That’s generally less Valentines, but- Okay, do you need me to wrap that up for you?”

“Sure do, mate, also can you like staple the receipt on the flowers?”

“Wait, what?”

Some minutes later, Junkrat was marching out the door with a wide grin, holding a giant bouquet of cheerful multicolored flowers in both arms, with several copies of the receipt printed out and stapled to all sides of it, signed by the shop owner and notarized by one of the nearby employees, along with a card in calligraphy script that read ‘I LOVE YOU MEI AND I PAID FOR THESE’ in elegant curling letters.

“Oh yeah. She’s gonna love this.”

***

Mei was having a bit of trouble with the baking. She wasn’t much of a baker to begin with, and the lamington cake was proving a bit more difficult to deal with than she’d first expected. Even worse, there was nobody really around to help her out. The more experienced cooks like Ana and Satya were absent, and Zarya had already vanished into the gym and didn’t wish to be disturbed. She followed the directions to the best of her ability and readied the station for later, setting up the cream and sugar and coconut that she’d read were necessary ingredients for a true Aussie lamington. She had struggled through mixing and measuring, but now had the sponge cakes in their respective pans and the oven was fiery hot. It had taken a little bit longer to make than she’d thought, so she set the oven just a tiny bit hotter to quicken the baking time, so it would be done before they had to leave for dinner. By her calculations, everything was going quite well.

Her phone chimed, and Jamie’s portrait flickered onto the projection above it. Mei flicked it on, and spoke up politely. “Zhou Mei-Ling speaking!”

“Of course it’s you, darl, who else would it be? Less you got kidnapped or something, it’s always gonna be you.”

“It’s polite!”

“Yeah, arroight. You wanna come meet me out by the transport when you got a sec. I’ma be there in about ten. I got you something!”

Her cheeks flushed a little, hiding a smile in one hand despite nobody being around to see it. “Oh my gosh! I’ll be right out, I’ll meet you as you come in. See you soon!”

Shoving the cakes into the oven and turning the dials, she set the timers and threw down her mitts, hurrying down the hallway towards her room.

She emerged a bit later wearing her new blue dress and shawl, complete with new white stockings and matching heels, her hair done up in a double loop with her favorite snowflake pin already in place, flouncing a bit as she click-click-clicked her way down the halls toward the transports. She arrived just in time to see the door hiss open, and Junkrat poke his head out curiously. He grinned when he saw her, loping out and opening both long arms, wrapping them around her and swinging her in a little circle.

“You’re looking even more a beaut than usual, lovey. I love seeing you fancy.”

“And you look…clean! Really clean! And you smell like…everything?” She looked confused for a moment, but Junkrat puffed his scrawny chest up and ran a hand through his remaining tufts of hair.

“I told Roadie you’d like that, I did. I even got some real pants and everything so we’ll look all…chic, or whatever. Now that’s romance! Speaking of romance, thought I’d better bring ya these!” He reached behind him back into the transport, and whipped back around with the enormous bouquet, holding it out with a proud grin.

She looked genuinely surprised as she accepted the giant bundle of colorful blooms, sniffing them appreciatively. “Oh my goodness, they’re so lovely! So many colors! I’ll have to make sure to put them in water before we leave. Oh, they left the receipt on the- Oh here’s another one. Why are these all notarized? Here’s another one! What?”

Junkrat preened at himself once more. “That’s right! I had them make extra for you!”

She opened the card and bit her lip to keep from laughing. In true Junkrat fashion, it was simultaneously ridiculous and kind of sweet once she got her mind around his version of logic. He had been proud of legitimately paying for a gift for her because that’s what she’d want him to do, and by god he was going to let her know it.

“That’s really nice, Jamie, it is.” She sniffled, wiping at her eye as she took in the bouquet’s lovely floral scents.

Junkrat’s grin only grew. This whole Valentines business was shaping up nicely, and this was only the beginning of what promised to be an extremely pleasant- and hopefully later on, extremely carnal- evening for them both. He draped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head, leaning down when he saw her cheeks redden and a few tears start to slip down her cheeks. “Aw, Mei darl, they’re just flowers. I mean, they’re nice flowers, probably the best flowers ever, but these are just the beginning!”

More tears slipped down her cheeks, one arm clutching the bouquet as the other clutched at her chest, clearly overcome with emotion. “I can’t breathe.”

“Hehe, aw, you don’t gotta flatter me anymore, I know th-”

“Jamie…I can’t breathe…”

“Huh?”

She dropped the flowers suddenly with a loud cough as the bouquet crashed to the tarmac. He released his hold around her, dancing around to her front and tilting her face up at him. Her face was red, too red for a blush, and her eyes and nose were watering steadily as her gaze creased shut, doubling over to cough and sneeze wildly.

“Were there chrysanthemums or marigolds in the bouquet?” she choked.

“What are those?!”

“The flowers…”

He looked down helplessly at the abandoned bouquet, picking it up and looking frantically side to side before turning to the escarpment and pitching them off the side of the nearby cliff like they were a live grenade, watching them flip through the air in a very pretty manner before tumbling into the abyss of the ocean below. “Fuck! Oh fuck, I’m sorry! I didn’t know! I swear I didn’t!”

“Oh doh…I’m addergic to chrysanthebubs and barigoads…” Her voice became thick and rasping as she wiped at her running nose, trying to keep her shawl clean. “Take be to Bercy?”

“Huh?”

“Bercy! M-ercy! Dr. Ziegler! She has pills!”

“Roight! Roight! Uh, yeah, this way!” Wrapping an arm around her, he started leading her down the hall, only to become irritated with her slower pace in her high heels and scooping her up in both arms to hurry them along their way towards the clinic. It might have looked rather gallant were it not for the fact that the weepy-eyed and runny-nosed Mei was coughing and sneezing repeatedly all over him and protesting their journey with stuffy cries of ‘I tode you I cad walk!’

They caught Angela just as she was preparing to leave the clinic, with the doctor looking a bit startled but not entirely surprised to see them. She managed to swiftly translate Mei’s garbled speech, presenting her with two pills, a glass of water, and an injection. Junkrat sheepishly explained the flower situation to her as they waited for it all to take effect. Angela shook her head, more amused than alarmed.

“You’d be surprised at how often this sort of thing happens. Though it seems Mei has a bit of a more severe reaction than most,” she said, presenting her patient with another packet of tissues to stem the tide of tears and mucus.

Junkrat grumbled from a chair nearby, putting his face in his hands. “This ain’t how I thought this was gonna go.”

“Things rarely work out so well, Mr. Fawkes.” Angela replied soothingly. “Ah, you seem to be doing better now, Mei. That’s right, now try breathing in, then out, in, then and out…”

Junkrat, without really thinking, took up the breathing exercises as well. Angela remarked something about how well he’d do in a ‘lamaze’ class, whatever that was, when he lifted his head and sniffed suddenly. “Hey, you smell that? Something’s burnin’?”

Mei’s eyes widened, sliding hurriedly off the exam table as she fought to get past Ziegler and into the hall. “Oh doh! By cakes! By cakes are burding!”

Sensing the chance for a heroic redemption, Junkrat was off like a shot towards the kitchen, hobbling as fast as his peg leg would allow. “I got it! I got this, darl, you’ll see! Are you watching!”

“Mr. Fawkes get back here this instant!”

He ignored Dr. Ziegler’s angry yelling, running into the communal kitchen where wisps of gray were seeping from the ovens. Grabbing a nearby mitt and pulling open the door, he was enveloped by the very familiar and almost comforting presence of thick black smoke, reaching through with his metal hand until his fingers clicked against the side of a cake pan. With a triumphant grin, he seized one and pulled it out, holding it aloft just in time to spy Angela and Mei in hot pursuit as they made their way through the dining area. He stood straight, his upper body no longer clean, but smoky gray and dark with ash just like he’d been before, the tips of his hair smoldering slightly from the heat.

“I saved ‘em! Mei, I got your cakes! Lookit!” He shook the pan slightly in triumph but found the slick surface of the pan hard to grip as it started to tip to one side. Without even thinking, he brought up his flesh hand to steady it, and both Mei and Angela stopped short when he let loose a shrieking howl of agony, dropping the pan with a clatter onto the floor as he grasped the wrist of his now burnt hand, the palm quickly turning a painful looking mix of red and yellow.

Angela leapt into action, grasping him by the hand and physically dragging him to the sink, turning on the cold water as she held the burnt skin under. “Athena! Turn off kitchen ovens, unlock the security door to the clinic again, and please contact Genji and let him know I’ll be running late.”

A pleasant voice chimed from above them. “Right away, Dr. Ziegler. Do you have a specific message for Mr. Shimada?”

She looked between Mei and Junkrat with a sigh. “Tell him there’s a situation.”

***

They were released over an hour later, with Mei still blowing her nose and wheezing while Junkrat wore a heavily bandaged left hand and a miserable expression. Side by side, they walked back towards the dorm areas, leaving the frantic Angela to rush out the door with her coat only half on, wishing them both a pleasant night. Neither of them seemed to think it was a very pleasant night at all.

“I just wanted to get you pretty flowers, love. Thought you’d like flowers. Didn’t know it was gonna…I dunno.”

“I was going to make you a lamington cake…I thought it’d be nice to come back to after we’d had our dinner and tea and walk and just…everything.” She pulled another tissue, blowing her nose as she glanced to her phone. “Our reservations are gone by now.”

“Yeah. Sorry…Thought this was gonna be a real good Valentines, but it’s all fucked up, I always fuck it up.”

“You didn’t mess anything up, Jamie, honest. We can still salvage Valentines Day! We can have barbecue any old day, that’s fine. Teas and walks too. We’ll just save all that for later…Do you want to order takeout instead? There’s a Thai place that still delivers. And I don’t really feel like going out anymore. We could watch a movie?” She offered him a smile, sniffling loudly.

He brightened slightly at that. “You sure that’s okay with you? Even if it ain’t romantic?”

“We can make it romantic. We can order in, watch a movie, and then…if we get really bored with the movie…” She glanced about, then leaned up towards his ear, whispering.

His eyebrows shot upward. “Crikey…Yeah, yeah, that sounds real good to me. Oi, you mind if we stop and ask the big lug if he wants to order anything with us? Feel sorta bad for him stuck in that room givin’ himself a…I mean, ya know, alone on Valentines. Ya mind?”

“That’s fine. Oh, we should ask Zarya too, since she’s still around.” She tapped at her phone. “Hm…Strange, she’s not answering.”

She followed after him towards the junkers’ shared quarters, and Junkrat was just about to approach with his key when she suddenly grabbed onto his arm, eyes widening as there was a noise from inside. Junkrat leapt back from the door as if he’d just been burned a second time, clutching onto Mei as there was a loud crash and a fading rattle, followed by a yell.

“Here’s the one-man apocalypse!”

“Da! Da! Break me, Big Man! Break me or I will break you!”

There was a loud groaning bellow that seemed to reverberate their very bones, and then what sounded like the breaking and splintering of wood and metal and the sound of gruff, thunderous laughter. Something slammed against the door from inside, causing them both to jump back.

“H-hooley dooley…” Junkrat squeaked, eyes bulging, looked a mixture of impressed and terrified. Mei glanced up at him, her expression much the same.

“My room?”

“Your room.”

The two practically fled back to Mei’s dorm, where she slumped in front of her computer and looked up the take-out order menu, while Junkrat collapsed onto her bed and began flicking through the selection of movies, shaking his head wryly. “Well, at least someone’s enjoying their Valentines Day to the fullest. Even if it ain’t us. Oi, get me one of them curry rices, will ya? Get comfy, darl, I think we’re in.”

Mei put in their orders and then dutifully pulled off her new blue dress and evening outfit, sighing as she hung it back up on the clothes hanger and pulled on her pajamas instead. Crawling across her bed to join Jamison, she propped up several pillows behind them and snuggled up under his arm, being mindful of his burnt hand. “You know…It’ll still be an hour before the food arrives and the movie hasn’t started yet…I’m starting to get bored.”

Junkrat grinned down at her. “Ya know, I was just starting to feel real bored myself. Probably should entertain ourselves for a bit.” He winced slightly as he leaned on his hand, adding, “Just, ya know, carefully. Happy shitty Valentines Day, lovey.”

She leaned up to kiss him, arms wrapping around him and drawing him down towards the bed. “Happy shitty Valentines Day.”

[alittleoptimistic]

Writing prompt reply

Wrote a little story based on the Tumblr prompt: You open the door to someone who says “you’re my favorite book character and I know how it ends and I’m here to change it” plot twist: this person is your favorite character.

So um. A precious bookworm bean only-moderately-insane Loki?

yes. I think so.

Here you have it.

—- To say I was shocked was like saying a pop tart is rather tasty. Or riding on a dragon would be fun. Or that your tongue may be slightly singed upon leaving a hot pocket in the microwave for .0000023 seconds too long.

No, I wasn’t just shocked, I was knocked flat, blown over, mouth open and probably drooling or something because there was no possible way in all of the universe that he could be standing at my doorstep.

I’d been busy finishing a bit of psychology homework in my bedroom, avoiding my screaming baby brother and my mom, who thought it was a good idea to clean the entire house for reasons far above my head. But overall, to say I was content was a pretty good description. I was finally with the girl of my dreams (Her name is Ashlen, by the way.) and tonight I was going to have pizza my dad, who I’d been searching for weeks after it became apparent that my mother wasn’t going to give me any info and immaculate conception was a bit of a long shot. Anyway, I found him and he wasn’t the coolest dude in existence, but he was pretty okay and got me out of some difficult situations. He could talk someone into a puddle if he wished. The man had a tongue like acid. Which was fine when it was in a direction other than me. Hopefully we wouldn’t kill each other within the first hour alone.

But, I mean, really, everything was good. My problems were at ease for the moment.

But now I was at the door, unable to speak. Breathless and slightly singed, the Asgardian outside gulped down oxygen and held up a hand when I tried to speak. Dressed in a tan tunic and green leggings with leather boots, dark hair spilling down his neck, he would have fit in well with a medieval fair. He hadn’t even looked at me yet. “I need to locate Tomas. Have you seen-?”

He finally saw me and his entire form went rigid with surprise, shock equal to my own, maybe.

Do I need to point out that my name is Tomas? Yes, without an “H” get it right. I stared at him and finally gave a nervous giggle thing that probably sounded so freaking unmanly I don’t even want to think about it. “This is a joke, right?”

He cocked his head. “You know who I am.”

“Of course I know you. I’ve seen all the movies and…”

What friend of mine planed this? But, oh wait, I didn’t have any friends. And how the heck did Tom Hiddleson know my name? And why was he dressed like… well, like his character? Were they filming in the area? Why was he at my door again?

Hiddleson blinked at me, seeming to weigh something in his mind. He came to a decision and stepped closer. I stepped back automatically, still so stunned I didn’t even think that I should probably ask for an autograph or something like a normal fan.

The weird thing was that the man was giving me the same expression I figured was on my face. A mix of shock and wonder and excitement. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to meet you,” he said in a murmur, his gaze zipping up and down me.

Right. Okay. This was a dream. This was most definitely a dream.

“Excuse me?”

Loki of Asgard finally seemed to get a hold of himself. “I know you don’t understand this, but I need to tell you. I’m from a universe where you are… acharacterinmyfavoritebook.” He said the last part so quickly I hardly caught it. Probably because he knew it sounded bonkers.

I think I might have wheezed. Or coughed. Or sneezed. Or something in between. “What?”

He shifted his weight nervously. “Look, I’ve been working on a bit of a spell in my free time because it always bothered me how you… well, how the story ended. The twist was…” Loki wrinkled his nose. “And, anyway, I’m here to change it.”

My eyes ought to have rolled out of my head, I had them open so wide. “Uh, right.”

Did he just say spells? Was this some kind of TV trick thing? I glanced around for cameras and saw none. Meanwhile, Loki (Tom, or whatever his name was) was giving me a decidedly irritated look. “I haven’t got long before it wears off and I disappear. You’re smart for a Midgardian. I remember. I need you to act fast.”

Snorting, I placed the door between us and peeked beyond it. “You’re crazy.”

Hissing between his teeth, he pinched the bridge of his nose like he had a headache. “I ought to have anticipated this. You don’t believe in magic.”

Another squeal like noise escaped me and if calling for my mom wouldn’t have made me look like a toddler, I would have shouted for her. As it was, I continued staring at him, debated what exactly to do. Slam the door in his crazy face? Yeah. That was a good idea.

I moved to shut the door, but suddenly Loki raised his hand and the door stuck, lit up by a golden light. Letting go of the door like it was on fire, my gaze jumped back between the Asgardian and the door which was being held by magic or some freaking thing.

The medieval mad man was looking far more smug than I liked. “Your name is Tomas Haddic. You are in love with that lass Ashen, have a little brother you secretly despise, a mother you resent, and a father you’re not sure about. Tonight you’re going to meet with him in his apartment, I believe it is called, but you haven’t told your mother because you’re afraid she’ll stop you, or worse, be an escort.” He was getting more and more worked up as he spoke. “When you get to your father’s, you’re going to find something extremely unpleasant.” He grabbed the door and forced it open. “I’m sorry, but you have to understand, this is for your best interest. It is the deviant point.”

My heart strumming in my throat and my mouth dry, I scrambled backwards. “How do you- how do you know all of that?”

Loki growled in frustration. “I just bloody told you! Do try and pay attention. I know you just act thoughtless so that that imbecile from your education center will not target you, but at this moment, that tactic is ineffective.”

“You mean Tyler? I’m not afraid of him.”

“Yes, you are.”

Forget this. I scrambled back into the house, shouting. “Mom! Mom, there’s a crazy stalker dude trying to-!”

But a sudden hand closed over my mouth and another wrapped around my waist, pinning my arms down. He was impossibly strong and although he did not hurt me, it was impossible to twist free. “You idiot child, if I… This is for your benefit.”

I didn’t have time to wonder how he’d caught up to me or anything because suddenly gold swirled around me, and we were in a small alleyway, trash cans piled in a corner. The bright sunlight glared from the sidewalk outside. Terrified, I slammed my elbow into his gut and managed to twist out of the man’s grip. “You’re crazy! You- you… how the heck did we get out here?!”

“Magic?” he offered with a shrug. His bright eyes gleamed with an excitement I did not understand at all. “Tomas, believe me-”

“I’m not believing a single freaking thing you say!”

He gave me a long suffering glare. “The things I do for you people.”

I scrambled to the light, glad when he didn’t try to stop me. Instead, he called out. “Your book is called The Peculiar Memoir of Tomas Haddic.” I didn’t stop. “My father nearly threw it out of the palace library when Thor and I were children. But I stopped him because I liked the green cover and the simplicity and I didn’t know anything about Midgard and I kept reading it over and over again because you reminded me of… well, myself.”

At that, I stopped and turned, just barely in the shadow. “You do realize you’re a murdering psychopath who betrayed his family and tries to invade earth? That’s not exactly a compliment.”

Loki fell very still at this, paler than before. The shadows made him look almost sickly. In retrospect, that probably wasn’t the best thing to say. “You’re lying,” he murmured. “I would never- what could possibly make me-?”

“That’s the story, Loki,” I spat at him mockingly. The man was insane or playing a really bad joke. He deserved a bit of my spite. “You’re the bad guy.”

With that, I swerved into the street and left the stunned madman behind. It only took me a few moments to realize I was only a street or two away from my dad’s apartment. A sigh of relief fell from my lips. My sneakers thudded on the concrete, and I shoved several people aside as I ran. “Sorry!” I caught a glimpse of my terrified expression in a shop window. My black hair was a wavy mess and my blue eyes wide with fear. I swung around a street sign pole as I skidded around a corner. There was the apartment. Just up there and across the street. Cars wizzed back and forth across the road, narrowly missing me as I jaywalked/ran across.

It was in a run down part of town and some lady smoking on the balcony was dressed like she was fifteen even though she looked forty. Her eyes followed me disinterestedly as I dashed up the stairs and toward my father’s number. Fourty-two, fourty-three, fourty-four. There.

It was already open and I burst inside. “Darren!” I shouted for my dad. “Darren? Tom Hiddleson is chasing me. He’s a psychopath! Dad!”

The apartment wasn’t really that large. He had to be around here somewhere. I flew through the one-butt kitchen and into his bedroom. That was the last place.

What I saw made me stop short in my tracks.

My dad was scrambling out of bed and some woman was in the process of escaping out of the window. Their hair was escue and it did not take crazy deduction skills to figure out what they’d been up to.

In retrospect, I suppose it shouldn’t have bothered me. He wasn’t married to my mom, after all.

But it did bother me. A lot. What kinda cow was this jerk? And who was she? Why was he this kind of guy? Why was he this sass talking, carnal jerk and why had I even bothered to…

It bothered me enough that all I could do was stand there and gape at him, hoping my disgust filtered into my gaze. Darren lifted a hand to me as if I was a wild animal he needed to calm, irritation flashing in his eyes. “Tomas, I can explain-”

“No,” I said in a whisper. And then louder. “That won’t be necessary.”

With that, I stumbled backward, feeling half blinded, out of his dirty apartment, and onto the balcony outside. I fumbled down the stairs, not really caring where I went, and ran toward the road.

I darted into the street when suddenly a truck veered around the corner. I had a moment to open my mouth in shock and terror, knowing without a doubt it would hit me, when a sudden flash of gold filled my vision and something wrapped it’s arms around my waist.

And then I was on the opposite sidewalk, feeling the air from the truck rush past me. Gasping, I collapsed on the ground and lay there on my elbows and hoped I didn’t throw up my heart if it beat any harder.

“I… I almost died,” I exhaled.

“No,” I voice said quietly, evenly devoid of emotion. “You almost ended up in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of your life.”

Shocked, I rolled upward and swiveled to look at the speaker. It was the psycho.

Who was looking steadily less crazy.

I stared at him. “You saved me.”

“Do you always state the obvious?”

“I do when I’m nearly run over by a semi,” I spat.

For some reason, Loki looked delighted. “There you are. I’ve been waiting for that sarcastic devil to show up.”

Suddenly beyond exhausted, I moved to the wall and sat against it. Resting my head back on the bricks, I squinted up at the prince. “You knew,” I said. It wasn’t a question. “You knew what I’d find when I went in Darren’s apartment.”

Loki shifted his weight. “Yes.”

“Because where you’re from, I’m in your favorite book.”

“Yes. Do you believe me?”

I considered this. “It’s easier to think about this than…” I gestured in vague disgust toward the apartments. “That.”

Nodding, Loki seemed to think for a moment, and then, abruptly, he sat next to me. “You are not defined by him, Tomas,” he said in a low voice. “His blood in your veins… it has no bearing on who you could be.”

I blinked at him. “You don’t know how ironic that is, coming from you.”

He frowned, confused. “I don’t-”

“Look,” I interrupted tiredly. I appraised him briefly before sighing. “If you really are Loki from the stories I know, then… you’re going to figure out something. Soon, probably. And… it’s going to change everything. And I mean everything.”

Loki nodded slowly. “Alright.”

“And when you do, you���re going to have to remember just what you told me. Blood doesn’t define you. You can be whoever you want, Loki. It doesn’t matter if Odin approves or not. Or if anyone approves. There’s nothing you can do to change them. So give up and be who you want to be, not who you think they want you to be.”

Loki’s eyes were narrowed. He folded his legs to his chest and rested his arms on his knees. “How about we make a deal?”

“I’m a bit wary to make a deal with the god of mischief.”

Loki smirked. “No mischief. I swear. You promise to remember my words, and… I will promise to remember yours. Hopefully we can change our stories for the better, yes?”

I pursed my lips, considering, then with a sad smile, I caught his eye and stuck out my hand. “Deal. I promise.”

“Likewise, I promise to remember your words, Tomas.” We shook hands, and he winked at me.

And suddenly Loki was gone.

I blinked at the spot he had been, startled. Had I imagined him?

Then I heard something clatter to the pavement and I turned to see what it was. There on the floor was a small green coin. I turned it over in my hands. “Remember,” it said on the side. I smiled.

With a shaky breath, I stood and tucked my coin into my pocket. Forcing myself to look at the apartment, I gulped. My father’s blood did not define me.

With that, I turned and made my way home, a sad sort of smile in my step.

I would remember, but would Loki?

[thatsmisssluttoyou]

Remember That Time...

Below are a collection of my funnier sexcapades. These are the stories my girlfriends snicker over. I still do too. Sex should be an enjoyable experience. It should be memorable. If anything, I hope these stories give you a belly-laugh, and make you think "thank god that's not me"... 1. Overexcited This guy I met walking home. He kept lapping past me, beeping his horn to get my attention. He finally realized that I wouldn't respond to cat-calling and showboating, and decided to pull over to talk to me. He was a little older than me, with beautiful Mediterranean features and a hint of an accent. He asked me for my number and I gave it to him. These days, I wouldnt; but back then I was young and stupid. We met a few times and on about the 3rd date we actually kissed. It wasn't great. Too much tongue. Kissing can be taught though, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. The next time we met, we went for a drive. In broad daylight. He took me to a local parking spot in the middle of the afternoon. I knew what he was thinking and I knew I wasn't up for being an exhibitionist. He started to kiss me- thankfully, he'd taken my hints and his technique was much improved. That little kiss did way more for him than it did for me. He grabbed my hand and stuffed it down the front of his shorts, while exclaiming "see! You've got me all excited!"... to which I replied "you're really not doing anything for me today; can you take me home now?!" I've never seen an erection deflate so fast! 2. Broke-Dick I have known this guy basically my whole life; he's a family friend. We ran into each other when we were all grown up and hadn't seen each other in years. After too much vodka and not enough thought, we bundled into a cab and went back to his place. Initially; it wasn't so bad. I knew him, even though I had never been this intimate with him before, so I was less hung-up than I'd normally be. We decided to play with the handcuffs he had- which was a lot of fun. He was really physically strong, so moved me about however he liked (which I enjoyed). After a few thrusts, we both felt a bit of pain. I told him he wasn't doing it right. But he shook it off and tried to continue. By now, he was really feeling sore and couldn't work out why. He pulled out, and that's when he saw it: blood. Naturally; his first instinct was to ask if it was mine. It wasn't. When he realized the bleeding was coming from him, he let out an almighty girl-scream and ran through the house naked, waking his housemates in the process. He ran a shower and as the warm water lashed at his ripped frenulum, he screamed anew. I'd managed to get loose of the cuffs and get changed to go check on him. His housemates burst into fits of laughter when they realized what had happened and started chanting "broke-dick". The name has stuck. 3. Banana-bender I met this next one online. We had a really lovely date (anything with messina makes me happy) and there was a lot of chemistry. He'd been in some kind of fitness competition and really badly hurt himself. I graciously offered him a massage. He accepted my offer, even though I told him that this wasn't going to be one of those massages like in porn. There will be no happy endings here! Pfft! That bit of wishful thinking didn't last long. I can't help myself, after all. When he pulled it out for me to look at, I had to choke back my laughter with a fake cough; it was literally so bent I bet he could pee around a corner! No joke- it's basically a right angle. Yes; we somehow managed to do the deed. Yes; it felt really weird. But surprisingly not that bad. A little bit of a quick-draw, but flawless technique. 4. The Thrill of Brazil I'd been on a really lovely date with this guy. Date number two was at my place; I was cooking. Naturally, the privacy of my home gave us both other ideas. He'd said to me that he was "very dominant" and that he wanted to do something "special" with me. As we started to get into it, he took out his "python"- the name he gave to it (really, it was not bigger in overall dimensions than a pork sausage- delusions of grandeur, perhaps?!) And proceeded to basically rub the tip of it over my face, like he was drawing an invisible mask of zorro on me, or performing some kind of weird blessing. As he did this, he repeatedly whispered the word "special" to me. I was literally too stunned to move; face screwed up in a curious mix of distaste and disbelief. I mean, come on! Who the hell does that in real life and finds it erotic?! The python spat too early and he was so embarrassed about his performance that I haven't heard from him since. 5. The Convict I met him after a work party that I ditched in order to go party at a strip club instead. One of his friends mistook me for an escort and tried to worm his hand up my skirt. The slap to the face I gave him made him see otherwise. My convict called me over to him to apologize for his friends behavior and make sure that I was ok. He and I spent the rest of the night together- drinking, dancing and getting to know one another. He propositioned me and I accepted. He had the bad - boy look. I didn't think twice. After a marathon round of gymnastic Sex , I said goodbye and he swore up one side and down another that he'd call me. I was pretty "whatever" about it. But to my immense surprise, he did! Though he would only call me on Wednesdays. And he'd flat out text and call me on weekends, trying to arrange to see me again. It wasn't until sometime later, when I questioned the pattern and asked him if he was secretly married or something that he finally admitted to me the truth- he was on weekend release from jail and gets a phone call every Wednesday. Soon after this, he got into some more trouble and his weekend release was discontinued. I never heard from him again. 6. The ANZAC Day Punter Let it be known that the wine they serve in RSL clubs played a massive part in this bad decision. We met around the two-up table. I won most of his money. He kept betting with me to try and win it back, but also to have a reason to stay close to me. By the end of the night I was well past the point of making a good decision. To drunk me, he was at least a solid 8/10, with short, curly hair, broad shoulders and kind eyes. I dragged him home and had my way with him, apparently. I don't remember it at all. The next morning I woke up with a raging, head-splitting hangover... and a foreign arm draped across me. I carefully peeked over my shoulder to see what I'd done and threw up in my mouth a little. My 8/10 in the harsh light of day was barely a 2. I sent my mum a message and asked her who he was. She said I apparently really liked him. I told her she was awful for letting him take me home. I made him a coffee, then feigned a busy day ahead to force him to leave. I thought that'd be the end of it. I was so wrong. About 3 months later, I was in bed asleep; blissfully unaware that someone was calling my name from the front yard. Yes- it was him. The noise woke my mum though; so she went to investigate. And, in a move so awful I can only describe it as a lesser form of child abuse, she let him in and woke me up to speak to him. He told me he hadn't stopped thinking about me and that he thought he was in love with me. I tried to mask my distaste as i told him there was someone else in my life (there wasn't) and asked if he could get home ok. He said he couldn't, and suggested to sleep in my bed with me. I gave him two options; my lounge, or my lawn. Thankfully; he had left by the time I woke up. 7. The Pro Soccer Player We met in a nightclub and he wouldn't let me go from the moment he came and introduced himself to me. He was really sweet; a genuinely lovely guy. He was really humble, and was polite to everyone who came to speak to him that recognized him. That kindness impressed upon me. We went back to my place and got stuck into it. Mum was supposed to be staying at her mates place that night, so I figured I'd have the place to myself. Midway through, I thought I heard the lock turn on the front door, but I wasn't 100%, so I just kept going, until mum flicked on my bedroom light and screamed in shock. I did plenty of screaming myself ("Mum! Close the door! "). The mood was instantly killed. And I sent him packing through the back door. Clearly, mum recognized him. Shed told her friends too. Who were all waiting to greet me in the morning with a Mexican wave, screaming "goal" at me. It took a few weeks for that incident to die down. Miss Slut xx