#Yew and Teeth AU

[scourgesandruinedchances]

Hello! This blog is for my warrior cats au, where hollyleaf is a reincarnation of scourge! Anyways, things will differ from the original storyline (like how hollyleaf's past life was scourge).

Some different things will include for example; the forest never gets destroyed, hollyleaf (or as she's called in this, hollyfrost) doesn't have pure black fur and has heterochromia, hollyfrost is small like scourge but she is still bigger than him, firestar feels both gulity and nervous when he sees hollyfrost (due to her almost identical appear to scourge), and hollyleaf isn't as serious about the warrior code.

Warning: there will be mentioned (or shown, in form of art or in wcue) blood/gore, character death, animal death. There might also be flashing lights/lightly flashing lights sometimes.

--storyline parts--

-Edits-

[★] Start

-Art-

[☆] N/A

HollyFrost and Scourge refrence

[racfoam]

nynn Deathly Hallows AU

A day after Harry buried Dobby, she was sitting at the edge of the beach of Shell Cottage, staring out at the sea.

It was when she felt a wind not borne of the seaside caress on the doors of the soul bond that her body tensed. Picking herself up, Harry pulled out Draco's wand and Disapparated.

Harry landed on another beach, where above her, looking white cliffs stood tall. It was much warmer here.

The doors were pushed gently. Harry approached the sea, pulling of her Muggle clothes as she went, toeing off her trainers and pulling off her socks.

She could feel him at the back of her head now, so she laid on the bed of sand, spreading out her limbs, submerging her body inside the cool, cold water, closing her eyes. All her troubles went away underwater as the ocean drenched her face, her scar, her arms and any unlocthed skin. Everything turned quiet. Harry's long hair floated like a black veil in the sea.

After the first bubble came out her lips, Harry broke the surface again, refreshingly drenched. She stood up from the shallow and dried her hair with a drying charm, then did the same to the rest of her body. The moment the water was gone, Harry missed the feel of it. She Accioed her clothes to her and put on her shirt first.

The doors yawned open, creaking inside Harry’s ears. Saying nothing, Harry pulled up her trousers next.

She was stuffing her socked feet into her trainers when she felt the bond open, and Voldemort step past the doors.

Harry stood up, and Voldemort was there, three feet away from her, a red-eyed skeleton draped in black robes.

“Did the knife find a mark?” he asked, his cold voice all around her, just like the wind.

Harry clenched her teeth. She held her head high, and said nothing. The less Voldemort knows, the better. Harry climbed up the sandy beach, brushing past Voldemort; the cloth of his robe brushed against the cotton of her red shirt.

A skeletal, strong hand latched around her forearm, pulling Harry back, turning her around.

When Harry was turned to him, the hand released her. She felt his eyes on her.

“You’ve grown thinner.”

Was that a note of worry in his voice?

“It’s the fugitive style.” said Harry, staring at his collar. “You should try it out. Does wonders for your brain.”

Voldemort hummed. He moved out of Harry's periohery, and started circling her. Harry heard the sound of his bare feet on the sand as they walked, smelled the snowflakes she came to connect to his scent. She even felt the warmth of his breath on her neck when he leaned in and whispered, “Why did you run, Harry? I wouldn’t have harmed you. I would have been merciful toward your friends.”

Harry feels wetness on her cheeks. Despite drying her clothes and hair, her face is still wet from swimming in the ocean.

Voldemort stops in front of her, blocking her view of the blue horizon of the sea. Harry looks up at him then. His serpentine features are tense, impatience clear on the ivory face.

Harry glares at him for stepping in her way.

There are many things Harry could say.

“How was robbing Dumbledore’s grave?” she asks instead.

The impatience momentarily shifts to surprise. Voldemort looked almost displeased Harry knew what he had done while she was busy crashing on the beach and holding a dying Dobby in her arms.

Voldemort's skeletal hand disappears into the pocket of his robe. It pulls out a wand of dark wood.

Harry already thinks it doesn't suit him. The bone yew suited Voldemort much better.

Voldemort lifts it, sweeps his fingers across the bumped edges, thoughtful.

“It is not as though he will be needing it. I deserve it.”

Harry feels so disappointed and somber no words come. What was the point of trying, anyway?

“You’re still taking things that don't belong to you.” said Harry, breaking the silence.

Voldemort lunged, fast as a viper, with blinding speed. His long, skeletal fingers wrapped around Harry's throat, holding her paralysed.

“You belong to me!” he hissed, nightmarish face dangerously close, red eyes scalding into her. Harry's heart stopped beating for a moment as she stared at the enraged face.

Harry watched the rage fade, the tension vanish from the snake-like face. The fingers restraining her like a python loosened their grip on her neck, and his hands travelled up her skin. His fingers brushed her ears, and the next moment, those same palms were cradling her face as though she was the most fragile thing in the world.

The hiss turned into a silky whisper. “You’re mine.”

Another beat of silence.

“Come home to me.”

The red eyes trailed along her face hungrily, his breath caressing her cheek, wintery cold in a blooming spring sun.

The hunger overtook his eyes, the slitted pupils expanding into exploding dark holes. It was the only warning Harry received. Not that she could have stepped away, anyway, not with her face caged between his palms.

Voldemort sealed his mouth over Harry’s, kissing her hungrily. The kiss was warm and scalding hot, sending electric tremors through the most tender, vulnerable parts of her. Her lips were parted, so Voldemort took advantage, driving his tongue inside her mouth.

Harry didn't move. Didn't make a sound. She let him kiss her, let him have it. Voldemort, greedy as he was, hungering for more, took as much as he could, curling his tongue around Harry's mouth, tasting her and her lips both.

When it got too much, when Harry couldn’t breathe anymore, she whimpered into him. Voldemort pulled away regrettably, releasing Harry from his affection, tongue and lips retreating. He was smiling so beautifully, like an overjoyed boy.

The smile fell when he saw the sadness on Harry's face. Confusion marred his face. He looked as though he had no idea what he’d done wrong.

Harry felt so sad over the fact — over the fact Voldemort thought there was nothing wrong with this — that she felt tears gather in her eyes.

Voldemort bent down and kissed Harry again, this one slow and tender, not as passionate. Harry didn’t know how many times he kissed her. She knew she kissed him back a few times, hoping it would make him stop. But it felt as though he knew her heart wasn't in it, and kept pressing for more, his fingers caressing her face adoringly, repeating “Come home to me.” between each kiss.

Harry returned to Shell Cottage an hour later, rushed to the bathroom, and cried.

[gwaedhannen]

au ideas? 👀

AU ideas! (Also thanks to the anon who asked)

Oh Eru this got long.

One of my first goals when I got into silm fic was a series of works depicting different ways in which canon events could have happened, ranging from different variations of canon compliance to off-the-wall AUs. And of course I decided two of the most controversial parts of canon would be the best places to start: Aredhel and Eöl, and Elwing's leap. I doubt I'll get to these fics any time soon, but I've got some ideas for the variations sketched out:

Ways in which a body strikes the ocean at terminal velocity

Elwing sends Elrond and Elros to hide, and runs the other way to pull the Feanoreans away. Cornered at the cliff, yells at them, jumps.

As before, but Elrond and Elros are captured and dragged before her.

She hands it over, and it burns. The holder walks off the cliff himself (and the other brother follows?)

She throws it away, and either gets stabbed and tossed off the cliff for that, or a brother walks off in despair.

Eärendil is also there. His cousins have made him a kinslayer. He's not happy about that.

Elurín and Eluréd are the leaders of Sirion instead. They leap together. Ulmo can only save one.

Ambarussa are the surviving Fëanorians instead of Maedhros and Maglor.

Ways in which the White Lady of the Noldor was lost in the darkness of Nan Elmoth

Generally canon compliant but give Aredhel a bit more agency (she was content at first, and Eöl's assholery doesn't become as much of an issue until after Maeglin is born, at which point she's unwilling to leave him behind if she flees).

As above, except Eöl has a crisis of conscious and admits his enchantment and manipulation while Aredhel is pregnant. She ditches him for Himlad.

Going off the NoME version where Eöl is an Amanyar Noldor and part of Fëanor's host, and he and Aredhel were followers of Melkor. In which Aredhel takes part in the kinslaying but Eöl doesn't, but Eöl somehow is on the boats when Fëanor and co. slip away. He's not happy about that, fucks off from Mithrim ASAP, and wanders into Nan Elmoth to chill out. Aradhel incidentally walks in 300 years later and shit's awkward.

Galadriel wanders into Nan Elmoth instead. Dunno exactly how this one goes but there's probably explosions involved and at least one of them dead (likely Eöl) within a year.

Nan Elmoth is hungry, and Eöl is trapped there as much as Aredhel is.

Other ideas:

Unwritten AKA "Dior DGAF"

In which Dior noclips out of the Halls of Mandos immediately upon arrival and goes right back into his body. He picks up his sons and walks out of the narrative layer.

The Dusk, the Dawn, the Earth/Dear Shadow Alive and Well/And I am Left

AKA the Beren/Lúthien/Thuringwethil OT3 series. In which Thuringwethil, irrevocably altered by Lúthien taking her bat-fell and partially re-singing her, knocks on their door demanding Lúthien undo whatever change made her start feeling things like "guilt" and "love". Lúthien, horrified by what she did (effectively partially rewriting her personality) agrees to help make a new fell. Beren's along for the ride.

For the fur, she joins Camlost on the hunt. Under his quiet direction she crafts traps for rabbits, whispering her thanks to Yavanna’s bounty as her teeth pierce their necks. She stalks foxes until she is near enough to dive upon them with her claws, Nessa’s most ancient name on her lips for sure steps and bursting speed. She fashions a bow from a young yew sapling, crafts arrows from reeds fletched with Tinúviel’s gifted feathers, strings it with her own hair, and praises Aulë’s ingenuity in searching chirps as the replies guide her aim to a grazing deer. And finally, she calls Tulkas to witness as she hefts Camlost’s spear towards the growls of a desperate wandering wolf bereft of its master. As each prize is skinned, she asks Oromë if she has taken too much from the wild, and trusts in the silence of his answer. The rabbits she consumes entire. The foxes she drains, and leaves the remains for the vultures. The deer she carries back for Tinúviel to prepare venison and jerky. The wolf they burn.

Also featuring the inherent trauma of watching your spouses die and giving your son the cursed jewelry you can tell will one day destroy him.

Children of Dior roleswap

In which Elurín and Eluréd escape with the Silmaril, and Elwing is captured (and not thrown into the woods for whatever reason) and raised by the Fëanorians and not told the details of the Kinslaying. She's thoroughly unhappy when she finds out.

She wants to scream until the entire hill crumbles into dust and ghosts. Murderers, murderers! Maedhros with his dead eyes and nightmares only she can sing away, Maglor and his endless laments for his own failures, Amrod with his maddened silence and vivisecting gaze, Amras desperate for salvation and haunted by guilt—not haunted enough! How long did they mean to continue the lie? Now she knows why Maedhros refuses to train her beyond basic self-defense. Why Maglor only teaches her Songs of healing and succor. Why Amras never brings her more than a mile from the citadel to practice woodcraft. Why Amrod gives her nothing at all. She is a hostage without need for chains and locks, with no way to survive the wilds and roaming orcs should she run. If she looks east and a little south, can she pretend she sees the shoreline kingdom where her brothers reign? She doesn’t even know their names.

Yet another Gil-Galad origin theory

In which Gil-Galad gets adopted by no fewer than three Finweans and yet is blood related to none of them.

Still-untitled "Fëanor takes the Helcaraxë" AU

Second problem: how exactly is he going to get his people to Endórë? Tol Eressëa is anchored, and regardless Ulmo would not move it again for them. The Noldor have little skill in boatcraft, and even if they did, the sheer number required would take decades to build. But there are already fine ships in Aman, are there not? Well maybe he should've thought of that two hundred leagues ago.

Túrin and Nienor live

Unfortunately they're still cursed.

[tsarisfanfiction]

In The Depths of Despair

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rating: Teen Genre: Angst Characters: Michael Yew

Michael expected to die, when the bridge fell.  He did not expect this.

For @flashfictionfridayofficial​ #190: Trapped In The Dark. I have been playing with this AU in my head for a while; there will certainly be more of it, maybe even later today, but for now have a teaser courtesy of FFF waking my muses up.  This comes in at 892 words, according to MSWord.

Small emetophobia warning. Reminder that there’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

Michael was beyond astonished when the world stopped falling apart around him and he was still alive, let alone conscious.  He hurt, bones that felt a lot like they were broken screaming at him even as he lay still, unable to move after landing with a solid crunch that was no doubt to blame for the screaming bones, but he was alive.

Nearby, he could hear water, fast and furious as it rushed along its path, and found the energy to be grateful that he hadn’t fallen in it; in his condition, that would’ve killed him, even if it was controlled by Percy who – hopefully – wouldn’t want that to happen.

Then he realised that didn’t make sense.

He’d been stood on the middle of the bridge, and the Williamsburg Bridge was not some short, small bridge hopping over a small brook in a forest.  It was a massive thing, spanning the breadth of the East River, which itself was hardly small.  Even if he’d landed on debris, there was no way he could be dry.

And yet he was.

There was the stickiness of blood leaking out of wounds, cloying against his clothing in a way that experience told Michael would be unpleasant to peel away from his skin later, but no water.

It was also too quiet.

The rushing of the water had hidden it for a moment, but as he lay in his crumpled heap, feeling his lungs take in breaths that had his body shuddering in pain, he realised that was the only thing he could hear.

There was no sound of fighting.  No voices.

Nothing, except the water, rushing past him somewhere, and his eyes snapped open, only to be greeted with darkness.

Something was very, very wrong.

Dawn had been breaking; he had felt the warmth of the first rays peeking over the horizon as he took his last shot, as the bridge lurched and broke beneath his feet, casting him down to what he’d been sure was certain death.  Had he passed out as he fell?  He didn’t think he had, had a continuous stream of memories from the moment he told Percy to break the bridge to landing with a pained crunch on the ground beneath him, but something wasn’t adding up.

His body didn’t want to move, but Michael forced it to, anyway, biting his lips hard enough to bleed – not that more wounds even mattered at this point – to stop himself crying out in pain as his broken ribs screamed, to say nothing of his left arm the moment he tried to put weight on it and it bent in a place that certainly wasn’t supposed to be a joint, bone stabbing up through his skin and turning his vision white.

For several long moments, he panted, his whole body trembling, whimpers eking past his lips despite his teeth’s best attempts to keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t just lay there forever.  No voices meant no people – for some reason his siblings were nowhere near him and he refused to entertain the notion that it might be because they were all dead when they’d all been off the bridge, away from Kronos and his scythe – and no people meant no help forthcoming.

With a silent, desperate prayer to his dad for help – pain relief, healing, anything, although last he’d seen Apollo was still embroiled in that battle against Typhon and couldn’t give him anything so he couldn’t say he expected a response – Michael pushed himself up with his less damaged arm and almost threw up as he finally managed to find a sitting position.  Bile dripped from his lips, and an unpleasant taste filled the back of his mouth; with a grimace, Michael swallowed it back down and took stock of his surroundings.

Immediately, he realised that he was no longer in New York.  It was dark, darker than night, but he could still tell there were no high-rise buildings near him, let alone the remains of a bridge.

There was nothing at all, except the river rushing somewhere behind him and a voluminous nothing in front of him.

Michael had never known nothing to have such an oppressive presence before, but there was no other way to describe whatever it was, and the overwhelming instinct to run away crashed over him.

By the time he realised what he was doing, he had smashed face-first to the ground, blood erupting from his mouth as something inside him protested the sudden movement his instincts had forced him into.

Still, he couldn’t stop. A deep-seated terror settled into his bones, filling him with the certainty that if he didn’t move now, he would die.

No, not die.

Worse.

It was barely a crawl, but Michael wrenched himself along, muffled whimpers tearing at his lips every time his left arm shifted, away from the nothing and towards… what?

He didn’t know.  He didn’t know where he was, how he’d got there, or how he was going to get out.  He was trapped in the dark, without even the beginnings of an idea how he was going to escape.

The only thing he knew was that he couldn’t stay put, no matter how much agony coursed through him, no matter how much blood he smeared across the ground as he kept going, inch by torturous inch.

tbc...

[bittybattybunny]

I'm quite curious for the fnaf ones and sena's backstory....and ruclipse....ok I'm in for any of them but I'll fnaf since I have never played any of the games, I'm weak at horror

Okay~!

This is a random part of a Security Breach AU idea I had cuz I wanted to just write the Barnaby kicking Monty scene. I may change some things and may not. we'll see.

“Oh, you REEK of motor oil!” Barnaby hissed as he pushed up against the alligator. Monty growled a snapped his jaw as he tried to get the man’s neck with his teeth. Barnaby snarled and looked around for something to aide him as he fought the animatronic.

“Barns!” Dani shouted but grunted when she was flung into a wall by the gator’s tail.

Barnaby ran his hand on the floor and brushed a cord. Looking he saw the live extension cord and smirked.

“Nighty night Florida man!” He sneered and raised it to jam against the metal.

Both the man and animatronic seized as the wire connected. Barnaby gasped and the robot fell on him.

“S-Shit! Barnaby!” Dani coughed as her bones repaired themselves with a sickening crunch. She dragged herself over and pushed Monty off of the violet-haired man and grabbed his face. Tears gunked her eyes as she gently hit him.

“H-hey! Barnaby! Don’t you fucking!!!” She winced as a shot of pain went through her ankle. Turning she saw Monty’s claws digging in. Before she could react she heard the heavy thudding of an animatronic running. She gulped and grabbed Barnaby’s shirt.

She could only watch in shock as a familiar shade of purple fur came into view and he slammed both his feet into the alligator and knocked him back.

“NICE TRY MOTHER FUCKER CAN’T KEEP A BUNNY DOWN!” he taunted. Dani blinked as she looked up at the bonnie animatronic who stood protectively over her. “Touch MY girlfriend?! How about I rip your GEARS out?!”

“B-Barnaby?” She stared at him in confusion. She looked down at his body, pressing her ear to his chest, then back up at the pink-eyed rabbit who bounced in place with a sadistic giggle.

Monty snarled and lunged at the rabbit. “Aye killed yew once! I’ll Do it again you punk!”

“That explains the damaged casing! But I ain’t him!” Barnaby snickered as he bounced around and dodge the gator’s lunges. He jumped and slammed into his back. He peeked back, “get my body somewhere safe, Dan!”

“R-Right!” She checked her leg to make sure her leg healed. She got up to move when she heard thudding, “Oh WHAT now?!” She snapped with a hiss.

Freddy’s feet skid to a stop seeing her. His eyes trailed to Barnaby as he fought Monty. His blue eyes wide, “B-Bonbon?” he stammered. He gasped when his chest opened and Gregory sat out.

“What’s going on?!”

“I don’t know! Help me move him!” Dani urged. The bear snapped back and let Gregory out to help lift the unconscious man. He carried him, eyes trailing to the fight, but Dan pushed his back.

“Come on pooh bear we gotta go! Barns can handle himself! He took on my ass of a cousin AND my uncle once!” she grabbed Gregory to run.

“A-Ah okay!” Freddy followed her towards a party room. Once seated they waited. The bear clearly anxious on his feet.

Soon the door slid open and the rabbit huffed, quite pleased. Dani rushed over, hands to his chest plate.

“Barnaby what the fuck?! Are you okay?” She fretted over him as he reached to cup her face.

“I’m fine. I’m okay.” he leaned down to press his forehead to hers, “More or less I think.” he stood back up and put a hand to his chest. “Honestly I’m confused how I wound up back in one of these but I’m kind of thankful.”

“What about Monty?” Gregory asked, hanging down from Freddy’s arm as the bear was staring at the familiar robot.

“Oh i sent that gator running.” Barnaby boasted, slapped his chest proudly. He frowned, “thought gotta say he did not seem too---” the robot seized up, crumlping down. Dani gasped as he leaned on her.

Freddy ran over, moving to sit the Bonnie down. Barnaby coughed hacking and wheezing as he rolled over on hsi side, seething in pain.

“Fuck! Fuck! That fucking HURTS?!” he gripped hsi stomach in pain. Dani rushed to his side and pulled her flashlight out to check his eyes. He whined and moved to rest his head on her shoulder. She rubbed his back with a pursed lip.

“Bonbon?” Freddy looked at the suit but it was motionless.

“Sorry dude, that was me!” Barnaby held his hand up as he was leaned on the wall, “Um. I guess we never introduced ourselves properly….”

“Who ARE you?” Gregory asked.

Dani sighed, standing and dusting off. She folded her arms behind her back, “I’m Danielle Schmidt. However. My name used to be Danielle Baron. I’m William Afton and Henry Emily’s niece.” she gave a bow, “My father was their close friend and worked closely with William to make…” she looked at Freddy and the Bonnie animatronic, “I am most likely the only properly living person who knows about the inside and out workings of most Freddy Fazbear Machines.”

“I’m Barnaby Simons… well. Technically I’m Chadwick Holmes.” the young man snorted, “I’m one of Afton’s murder victims.”

“M-Murder?!” Gregory gasped, “wait. Wait who’s Afton?!”

“Uhhh..” Dani and Barnaby looked at each other confused on how to explain it.

Freddy stood back up, “So…. Bonbon is….”

“Sorry man. I uh. Well backing up, I USED to possess a Bonnie animatronic at a sister location.” Barnaby rubbed his neck, “Couple friends did too, all of us were… victims.”

“Wait so is Freddy---?” Gregory pointed to the bear.

Dani shook her head, “well, he could be but… Also the AI is quite good.” she beamed, “I remember the AI were so good to me when I was little. Tanya, Bucky, Manny---” she sighed as she heard Barnaby snort, “Look just because you and Buck have a rival---”

“I do NOT have a rivalry with my brother!” he snapped annoyed, “I’m just better than that blue balled bitch!”

[writing-frenzy]

Care to Make a Wager? (SVSSS Fic)

Summery: No System AU: In which Airplane finds he has a new lease in life, but of course it would have a cost. Of course, being the creator of this world gives him quiet the price cut. Not to mention the untended bonus content.

Still, he did not expect the direction his life would go.

(Warning: mentions of death, violence, and most stuff you could find in SVSSS Canon. You should be good, but here is a just in case.)

---

When one Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky was reborn, he really wanted to curse his lot in life. Sure, he had been born into a rather well off Merchant Family, but when the Lord of the Family has two Official Wives and a crap ton of Mistresses on the side, things were bound to get crazy.

Luckily one Shang Huan had one hell of a Mother; in another life, Airplane might have described her as a ‘killer queen or a ‘boss ass bitch’, but as his mother, he just thought of her as the most amazing woman on the planet. As it was, She alongside a whole bunch of tutors taught him everything he needed to know about the world and then some. 

(Sewing was a bitch to get right.)

But with those lessons, it didn’t take long for Shang Huan to realize he was in his own fucking novel; it had not been a happy realization, making him break out into a truly childish tantrum, filled with screaming and tears that only calmed after he was given some delicious melon seeds.

(Luckily it had been attributed to wanting a snack after a morning full of lessons, otherwise he probably would have gotten the switch for it...)

But with all this knowledge of his place in life now with him, Shang Huan needed to start planning; good thing that was one of his specialties.

Noting down every bit of information he could, Shang Huan mapped out as much items and cheats he could afford to take from the Protagonist, as well as places he could and couldn’t go, hazel eyes narrowed as he messily scratched out his plots with his trusty quill and journal. The many lessons he Mother made him go through only helped to sharpen him, as well as learn the world’s common sense.

He was having a good go at it, building himself up as much as he could before something completely from left stage truly changed his course.

“There is a legend of Dreaming Glory, said to be a treasure to ensure great health and excellent rest. Though be cautious, for it is guarded carefully by the spirit of a Felled Divine Beast, angry and resentful of the betrayal it had faced.” was a tale a wandering storyteller spun, a group of children ooooing and awwwwing at the right places, even as Airplane felt his jaw drop at the information, focusing more on those words then the candy his mother allowed him to buy at one of the festival stalls.

See, while the Legend of the Dreaming Glory was definitely right at home with this world, it actually hadn’t been anywhere in Proud Immortal Demon Way; it had been in one of his earlier short stories, where Airplane had been practicing with the Xianxia/Xuanhuan genres (and didn’t need to rely on it, dreaming more of the theater then writing). (Until a mugging gone wrong and dreams cut short-) 

This... opened a few more roads then expected, especially if all his fantasy stories came into play, as there had been a lot of experimentation with plots and ideas until he hit his cash cow with PIDW. After all, taking something from the protagonist was always going to be a risk of somehow getting his attention, no matter how much the man wouldn’t actually need it.

(After all, showing off had always been a part of Luo Binghe’s character; showing that he was no longer the penniless street kid, no longer the weak disciple, no longer the one who was always pushed around, but now the one who can take.)  

It also meant more research; thankfully, his Mother was one to always encourage more in the way of learning, thankfully humoring all the ‘trips’ he wished to take.... In hindsight, he probably should have questioned why she was always willing to take him and go, but at the time was just thankful that he could indeed confirm places he would need to visit later and squirrel away items that were within his reach. (An actual legit Cultivation Manuel, even if it was only directed for growing crops and alchemy, was still his most proudest find, only needing a riddle to get and easily hidden in his pouch with his other learning books. Being an Author only got him so far, as every little detail was needed to ensure one stayed on a steady path, though did provide it’s own little boosts here and there.)

------=------

One day, when Shang Huan had been 13, sneakily already past the first part of Cultivation Qi Refining and entering into the first stage of Foundation Building, found his Mother to be ill, no Doctors seeming to be able to cure her (or willing too as he saw a servant of the Second Wife slip a few gold; he got his revenge in the end), Shang Huan took a deep breath and buckled down, doing all that his Mother said to do with the time she had left, learning as much as he could before it would no longer be open to him. 

(Like he could stay here in this den of vipers, without his Mother’s protection and love; there was nothing else for him here after all.)

In that time as his Mother stubbornly clung on, he listened as she mourned his chance to enter into the prestigious Cultivation Sect of Cang Qiong like the First Wife’s Third Son, Shang Shaoqing. She apologized greatly that she could not fight for him to get that chance, like so many of the other Mistresses did for their own children.

‘Huh,’ Airplane couldn’t help but think, ‘looks like I just dodged a arrow.’ though it was good to finally know just what the timeline was for the story; Shang Shaoqing was to be a certain traitorous Peak Lord after all.

As it was, his Mother showed her determination and spirit greatly, lasting till he was 16 before she finally past away, a smile on her face as she did, her son long gone with his inheritance and her blessing of broken ties, carrying her name meaning of Shang instead of his Father’s.

(If the night before, Shang Huan had decided to tell her of his other life, told her how this was a story he had happened to read, showing her a few of the treasure he had gathered, how he cried when Shang Wenyan had only smiled with a few too many teeth, her voice fierce as she praised her son with all her heart, hugging him close with what remained of her strength as she told him her last words.

“Live life however you want my child, live and dream and hope, do not be afraid to destroy any your way, and know I will love you always my greatest pride and joy.”

Well... no one needed to know about that.)

But with this new freedom came it’s cons as much as it’s pros. As he was stuck at a bottleneck in Foundation Building at Middle Stage, there was still a number of things outside his reach until at least Core Formation First Stage...

------=------

It was during his wandering, selling talismans he could make at his level, along with tales he made up that he finally got his big break.

He first heard tales of a powerful Resentful Spirit that was residing in a broken land near the Borders, no one from Demons to Humans wanting the land as it was deemed useless for all the resentful energy there, and no one bothering to pay a sect for what they considered a waste of money and time.

Shang Huan saw this, and wonder if it was what he recognized... Taking in more details and scoping out for any information, Airplane couldn’t help but wonder how lucky it was; this was indeed a spirit from one of his very first stories in fact. He knew exactly what to do.

Instead of fighting the Resentful Spirit, Shang Huan brought it pure cave water and incense, smelling of ash and jasmine. 

This certainly got the Spirit’s attention.

“What do you want Rogue?”

“I want for many things to be honest.” the brunet Cultivator smiled, not showing any teeth so as to make it look falsely gentle, “But for now, I admit I do desire your land.”

That got a huff for his efforts, the spirit a mass of negativity and ire, but actually still listening.

“You have provided the right offering, so I will give you a chance; bring me wine of the Soothing Jade Flower, the Broken Sword of Chun, and a branch of Deathly Yew... You get me these three things, and the land will be yours.” And with that shopping list given, the spirit was gone, even as the energy seemed thicker then before, the incense and water gone.  

And with an absolutely evil grin, Airplane was off; he had already remembered the Wine and branch, had even gotten them first as he had plans for them, but he had not remembered the broken blade.

Fortunately, it wasn’t too hard to find; he had written that the blade had been struck with a heavy stone in a battle between Demons and Cultivators on the borders of the land, where it would lay forever. And lo and behold, there was only one ancient battlefield it could be abandoned in, as this was PIDW.

There weren’t many left over from the borders after all, most of them being purified already. And as he thought, the Bloody Sword Grave was still around, a testament to just how much the resentful energy had soaked into the ground, demons and cultivators alike avoiding the place like the plague, even as bloody rusted swords stayed stabbed into the ground, their thirst and hatred still felt even to this day.

Couldn’t be compared to Xin Mo of course, but for being swords on the surface they sure were impressive. Ignoring all these deadly, intact blades stabbed into the ground, Shang Huan covered his face with a scarf drenched in purified Qi infused water, even as the talisman he sewed on for defense and purity glowed the more he traveled through.

He finally stopped at a blood splattered rock, digging carefully around it as he did, before he managed to pull out four broken pieces of what had once been a beautiful blade, but was now nothing but shambles and rags.

Having what he needed, Airplane made his way back to the spirit and their lands.

------=------

(This deadly spirit of a truly terrible Cultivator, who had been feared and revered for being a monster on the battlefield... cried as they saw the items laid out before them.

“Ah, no my Han-Er, my beloved figher... why you stupid, loveable fool...” The Spirit sobbed, easily using his energy to clean and reformed the blade, manipulating the energies of the other two items to aid it, ensuring the sword would still be pure, hugging it close even as it seemed to damage them.

“... He tried, to come back to you; his fellow soldiers betrayed him... He loved you so much... still does.” Shang spoke, watching as the spirit that laid resting in the blade finally came out with this truth, purifying the other as they did, along with most of the land around them.

The brunet had to look away from their reunion, their emotions a bit too much for him... This had been one of his first tragedies he had written, a solider and their beloved separated because of jealousy and hate, doomed to wait for each other forever, the solution to be so easy to have, if someone had given them a bit of kindness, to discover the truth of their separation, though never given the chance in the end... He never mention just what the Beloved’s gender was, made it ambiguous, but had in his mind of minds always thought of them as a man...

Maybe he shouldn’t have put too much of himself into his work, but a habit is so hard to break.

“... We truly thank you; as promised, the land is now yours to do with as you see fit; all you need to do is put your name on the deed and your blood into the ward stone. All the treasures inside are now rightfully in your ownership, so mote it be.” was announced, making Shang Huan turn to see two beautiful and handsome men smiling at him, before they bowed seeing they had his attention.

Airplane could only bow back, biting on the words of how he owed to them to do this at least.

And with that, they were gone, to enter finally into the cycle of reincarnation, together at last...)

------=------

Having his own place was wonderful; a lot of work, but wonderful all the same.

The wards around his land ensured no one with malice could actually enter it, along with protections against thieves and robbers like most noble Sects had. Shang Huan even went as far as to make sure he owned the plot of land in the official records, having everything stamped and recognized, even as he made sure no one actually looked too closely at what land it actually was.

He even made sure to pay his yearly taxes to the Emperor on time, making sure everything was nicely recorded and logged. (And seeing as he didn’t live in any town or such, he didn’t have to bother paying anything to any Lords for protection! How nice was that?)

But having a base of operations, one with land rich in Qi and perfect for Cultivating on, it not only gave Airplane security, but many other advantages as well.

He now had a place to securely put all the treasures he had gathered, which was a lot considering it was a variety of weapons, valuables, and even priceless seeds to plant. He could be completely self-sufficient as he cultivated, the spirits on the land easily convinced to do chores in exchange for sweets and treats (And being able to live in such a energy rich place). Not to mention how his Cultivation not only went up, but combined with other manuals that were treasures of the home, Shang was set on his way to being a powerful Cultivator in his own right.

And if he was feeling a bit cooped up, he could always go on journeys around his world, exploring and treasure hunting for odds and ends as he saw fit.

Soon enough, Shang Huan had managed to reach 34 years old, entering the Peak of Nascent Soul stage in his cultivation when, in a bit of boredom and interest, he bought out a debt ridden gambling house on the border of his territory, that rested in a ghost-like town on the border of the Human World and the Demon Realm.

It was, quiet frankly, just something to do to pass the time. It wasn’t too hard to fix the place up, and warding it had been a fun challenge of his skills, but he honestly hadn’t expected anything much of it, just putting a few of his lessor needed or easily replenished treasure up to be won. And making it to where anything bet could only be what one had to bet, alongside making sure others would have to honor it had been a fun spell to create, as he really didn’t want to be bothered by liars and braggarts and then having to chase them down. He even just made up some Golems and bargained with a few willing natural spirits to help run the place.

This was just suppose to be a fun little venture; he never expected it to blow up like it did.

------=------

It started slow; a trickle, with a whisper, a simple rumor.

There is a place where priceless treasure could be won; if you’re willing to bet for it that is. But be careful to not bite off more then you can chew, for it might be more then a bit of blood and coins you lose.

Some poor sods have even lost their very souls to the place, even now working where screams and laughter flow so freely to the terrible click the dice, the gentle flap of the cards.

It is a place no Mortal is safe, where no Demon has promise, where a Cultivator is honor bound to accept what is due; after all, no one has to enter the place, no one needs to keep coming back, no one has to bet their all, not all all. 

But oh, how they come; even those who dare not darken the doorway of that gambling hall come, filling what was once an empty town into one practically bustling with life. Funny, how it came about because of such a deadly place.

And oh, do not even bother messing with the Gilded Plane Gambling Hall’s Owner, a man who at first seems so weak and stumbling, so gentle and busy with their hard work, who at first couldn’t hurt a fly even as he smiles so prettily.

He’ll smile that same smile even as you sell your very soul at his tables, those gorgeous hazel eyes amused even as the crowds pant at his feet, screams all around from both terror and ecstasy.

(Shang Huan can’t help but sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he is once more offered someone’s entire being; if he’s said it once, he’s said it again, betting is at the tables, not at his feet.

Just another day it seems; hopefully there will be no explosions in the kitchen again.)  

-----------------------=-----------------------

0.0 huh, I did not expect this when I started writing; I just wanted to have Airplane have some fun in the world he created, maybe opening up a few businesses to make money on the side. I did not mean to make him into an oblivious Hua Cheng of the PIDW verse (Yes, in this verse, he will be as terrifying and pretty, I will not take criticism for it.)

Also, I was greatly inspired by Nighthaunting, though instead of ballet I have SQH as a theatre kid whose dreams got cut short due to bad luck and assholes. I love how they have built their world, and how they say that writing was probably a side thing for Airplane, which just makes so much sense. Also, I am all for Airplane being scary and fully taking advantage of his author knowledge, so haha! Hope you all enjoyed this story~

[daebakinc]

Hero Among Thorns - Pt 4

Pairing: Hyunwoo x Reader Genre: Undercover Detective AU, Action, Romance Word Count: 2.5K Summary: When a mistaken connection results in your kidnapping by one of the city’s most notorious gangs, the undercover detective Hyunwoo has no choice but to rescue and protect you, and, most dangerously of all, fall in love with you. Warning: Mentions of violence and blood. Parts: See Masterlist for previous parts. (Sorry, but Tumblr won’t show posts with links in tag searches.

“But you have to.” Minhyuk stares you down, his happy demeanor gone without a trace. “Didn’t you hear what we just said Yew has done? You can’t just let him walk free.”

“I also heard that all your witnesses end up dead. Getting shot once is an experience I don’t want to repeat, especially if the next time ends with me not breathing.” You drop your face into your hands. Your heart beats in a rabid tattoo, hastened by imagining your dead body sprawled bloody in some dingy alley or dumped in some lonely shallow grave no one will ever find you in. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. Well I did, but I want to put this guy who can’t even do his homework and kidnaps the wrong person in jail, clearly. It’s just… do you have any idea how scary this is?”

“The other witnesses never had us. Our team is the best there is,” Hyungwon says.

“No one is getting close to you unless we let them,” Hyunwoo adds so firmly you almost believe him.

Almost.

You shake your head and hug your knees. It does little to comfort you. “I don't know.” Your voice comes out as a whisper, but you know everyone hears you.

Minhyuk lets out a huff that's somewhere between frustrated and disgusted. The legs of the couch squeak against the floor with the force of him standing. You instinctively pull your legs closer to distance yourself from his angry disapproval. Without giving you another glance, he crosses in front of you. A few seconds later, the door to the apartments slams behind him.

“Don't mind him,” Hoseok says, breaking the tense silence. “Min's just tired and ready to go home. This hasn't been the easiest mission for us.”

“I'm sorry,” you instinctively reply. You're already regretting your impulsive statement. A lot.

“Don't be.” Hoseok smiles, rolls his shoulders as he stands, and crosses the carpet to give your uninjured shoulder a gentle squeeze. “He'll be fine by the morning. Don't worry about all this. Just concentrate on getting better.”

Hoseok looks to Hyunwoo, asking, “We'll see you two at the shop tomorrow?”

Hyunwoo shakes his head. “I'll probably stay here with her for a few days. Might look weird if I go right back to work when my girlfriend was almost killed. Yew's going to be keeping a close eye on us for awhile. Watch your backs.”

“Always. Come on, Hyungwon. I'll give you a ride back.”

Hyungwon dislodges himself from the couch, flashing a salute at Hyunwoo and nodding at you before following Hoseok out the door.

“Guess I better head out, too,” Kihyun says, “since I open tomorrow. Need to be there early for that parts-shipment from Kyushu.”

Changkyun goes to the counter to slip his laptop and tablet into their respective cases. “Can you drop me by my place? I rode with Minhyuk but I doubt that asshole remembered and stuck around.”

“Sure.”

They both say good-night and leave. Jooheon follows, but only after checking your vitals again and repeating his instructions for your medication to Hyunwoo.

Silence fills the space left behind. Mentally exhausted from having to go through the night over and over again, you slump on the couch. Opposite you, Hyunwoo sits in his armchair, lost in thought or half asleep, you can’t tell. With being an undercover agent, keeping up chatter with someone not on his team probably isn’t a frequent occurrence.

As you open your mouth to ask if you can get more items from your apartment eventually, Hyunwoo gets up and moves toward the kitchen. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” he asks.

You think about it before replying, “No, thanks. Do you have any tea though?”

“I should.” He squats down to look in a cabinet and you glance away from the lovely view provided by the sweatpants. Where isn’t this guy perfect? “Ah, yeah, here it is. There’s raspberry, green, and honey chamomile. Kihyun can pick us up more if you prefer something else.”

“Chamomile is fine for now, please. Thank you.”

“Sure.”

Curiosity gets the better of you after Hyunwoo turns the electric kettle on and sets out a green ceramic mug beside it. He starts rummaging through the refrigerator. You see him glance at you from the corner of his eye as you climb onto a stool on the opposite side of the counter. But he doesn’t comment, continuing to place different things on the counter.

A packet of kimchi. A can of spam. Eggs. Cabbage. Soy sauce. Sesame oil. Packaged noodles.

Your stomach gives a muffled gurgle. Maybe you will take him up on his offer of a meal.

With quiet competence, Hyunwoo moves around the kitchen with the uncommon ease of a man who knows his way around cooking, measuring, prepping. When the kettle boils, he pours the water over the teabag and sets the mug in front of you with a small bowl of sugar and a dainty bottle of honey shaped like a teddy bear.

As he turns, you ask, “You don’t talk a lot do you?” Realizing you sounded rude, you add, “Not that anything’s wrong with that. It’s nice being around someone who’s okay with not talking.”

Hyunwoo shrugs. “I’m not always good at it. I make things awkward when I speak sometimes, so I don’t unless I need to usually. Does it make you uncomfortable that I don’t?”

“No, no. Definitely not.”

He smiles and turns back to his work.

After fixing your tea to your liking, there's nothing else to do but wait. But you can only sit still so long. You never did do well sitting idle. “Can I help?”

“Sure.”

Despite his quick answer, Hyunwoo has to look around for something to give you. He finally settles on giving you some cabbage to shred for the soup. You clumsily grip one end of the leaves with your injured side’s hand as you tear, your tongue unconsciously poking out the corner of your lips. Quickly, the only noises in the apartment return to the clicks of utensils and rips of your work.

With how chaotic your days usually are, the majority of your hours full of people whining, yelling, and demanding in your ears, quiet when you get home is welcome. But it isn’t always so. More often than you would care to admit, when you’re alone in your apartment in worn pajamas, sitting on your couch with your laptop and a snack in peace, the quiet reminds you how alone you are. No roommate, not even a fish for a pet. Your dating life has been about as dead as Frankenstein's wife. For years now. An embarrassing number of years.

You had underestimated the comfort of having another living, breathing human living in the same space as you when you shared a room with a friend in university. The knowledge that someone else was there, that you could talk to them if you wanted, reach out to touch them. Someone to share your thoughts with that wasn’t yourself. Someone to just kick back and enjoy a movie and pizza with without having to deal with the pressure of maintaining the perfect, polite image work and dates demand.

Yes, you were lonely. Are lonely. If that somehow lowered your standards for human interaction, so be it. Yet, you didn’t feel like you were settling for Hyunwoo’s quiet. Like the man himself, it feels solid, wholesome. Even if it is literally now Hyunwoo’s job to keep you around, you appreciate his company. Watching his hands as he cooks and listening to him clink and bang around the kitchen, the normalcy of it, brings back the warmth to your bones as much as his hoodie does.

“You sure you’re not hungry?”

Meeting Hyunwoo’s eyes through the steam of the cooking ham slices, you shrug with a half-smile. “Maybe a little.”

“I figured you would be.” He takes two bowls from the cabinet. Smoothly, he deposits a healthy amount of noodles into one of them and puts it in front of you. The steam of the soup mingles with that of the two slices of ham he places on top of the noodles. Together, they may be the best thing you've ever smelled.

Kihyun's soup earlier hadn't been bad, but it'd been decidedly bland. Probably under Jooheon's orders. As soon as your spoonful of Hyunwoo's soup hits your tongue, it's heaven. Salty, earthy, noodly heaven.

You rush another spoonful to your mouth, happily chewing away at the ham. As you go for a third, you pause, the hair on the back of your neck tingling. Looking up, you realize Hyunwoo is watching you. He's leaning against the counter, arms crossed, mouth tilted in a smile that shows just a hint of teeth.

“That good?” he asks in an amused tone.

It takes conscious effort not to drop the spoon in embarrassment. You just stuffed your face like a heathen in front of one of the most attractive people you've crossed paths with in awhile. Like an idiot.

Lowering your spoon and your eyes, you sheepishly reply. “Yeah. It's really good.”

“Good.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Oh,” he sets down the bowl he'd picked up for himself and drags a bag of medication, “you should take these now. Jooheon said you should take them with food, remember?”

You nod and gulp down the pills as Hyunwoo serves himself. The earlier quiet descends again, broken only by your spoons clinking against the sides of your bowls and the occasional slurped noodle. It's beyond nice.

Just as before, it hits you how isolated you've been the last few months of your life. When you think about it, it's hard to tell if it was because of your job and its accompanying exhaustion or your personal choice. Maybe a little of both.

“Want more?”

Hyunwoo’s words break through your mood. Noticing your bowl is empty, you shake your head and push it away. “I’m good, thanks.”

“No problem.” He takes the dish and puts it in the sink, looking back at you. “Does your shoulder hurt?”

“No. Why?”

“You’re frowning.”

Not for the first time, you lament your utter lack of a poker face. Admitting just getting to eat with someone made you over the moon isn’t an attractive option. “No, it's fine. It feels pretty dull. I was just...”

You run a hand through your hair out of habit. The strands feel greasy. A perfect excuse. “I was just wishing I could wash my hair. But it'd be really hard to do without getting the bandages wet. Maybe we could cover it with something to keep it dry? Like wrap a garbage bag or plastic?”

“That should be okay. I might have a spare trash bag.” He reaches towards the cabinet under the sink, but pauses before opening the door. Hyunwoo straightens and says, “Or you could just wash it here if you just need to wash your hair.”

“Here as in the kitchen sink?”

“Why not? I’ll just move the dishes to one side. It has one of those hose things so that would make it easier to rinse. That way your bandages don't have to get wet at all. I've had to wash my hair in a sink a lot when a shower wasn't an option.”

“I guess that'll work...”

He smiles. “I'll get the shampoo and a towel for you.”

You refill the space in front of the sink after Hyunwoo vacates, eyeballing the hose. Maybe if you just bend forward with your face in the sink that could work. But then the shampoo would get in your eyes. You try bending backwards, but the height of the counter proves your undoing. Even with your flexibility, a must for a dancer, your head barely comes anywhere near the sink.

Still half bent over backwards, you glare at the upside-down sink. “Stupid,” you mutter.

“Is that comfortable?”

You stumble as you right yourself to find Hyunwoo returned with a fluffy black towel and a very large black shampoo bottle. “No. Maybe the sink isn’t such a good idea. Even with the hose, I think it would be too weird an angle.”

Putting the towel and bottle down, he studies the sink. His fingers drum against his hips as he thinks. Hyunwoo grabs one of the stools and pulls it around the counter. He moves around you to put it in front of the sink. “If you sit on this, I can wash it for you.”

“You’d do that?” you ask, caught by surprise. You haven’t had anyone else wash your hair since you were a child. Not even when you get a haircut. Certainly no past boyfriend had ever offered.

“It’s not like women wash their hair any different from men.” Hyunwoo says. “Or do they?”

You can’t help your laugh. “I guess not. Okay, thanks.”

He nods and hands you the towel. Once you have it draped around your neck with your bandaged arm safely covered, you slowly lean back until the back of your neck touches the cool metal of the sink. Hyunwoo leans over you to turn on the water. As you stare up at his chest, just how big he is hits you all over again.

Thank goodness he’s on your side. 

You jerk in surprise when instead of the warm water you were expecting, Hyunwoo’s palm comes to your forehead and pushes it back. Despite your discomfort, you keep your mouth shut. He’s doing you a favor afterall.

But when Hyunwoo starts trying to massage the shampoo into your hair like it’s a stubborn stain in a rug, you hiss and clap your good hand over his. “Ow!”

He stops immediately and asks in a worried tone, “Did I hurt you?” 

“Just a little softer, please.” Readjusting to a more comfortable position, you move your hand on top of one of his. It doesn’t quite fit, but Hyunwoo lets you manipulate his fingers in much gentler motions. He seems to get the hang of it after a few moments, but you keep your hand where it is a little longer than necessary. The warmth of his hand feels too good.

“Sorry, for hurting you,” he says. “Never done this before.”

Snatching your hand back into your lap, you reply, “So you're not like the Zohan.” You chuckle at your own joke.

“The what?” He stops.

“The Zohan. Zohan Dvir. From 'You Don't Mess with the Zohan.' The Adam Sandler movie?”

“Never seen it.” Hyunwoo shakes his head and shrugs apologetically.

“It’s okay. It’s kind of a lot of stupid, but it’s good for when you want to just laugh. You don’t have to think about anything. It’s about an Israeli special forces agent who fakes his own death so he can pursue his dream of being a hairstylist.”

“Seriously?” He laughs, which makes you smile. It’s too cute.

“Yeah. I haven’t watched it in forever. Too many movies to watch, too little time.”

“You like to watch movies?”

You’re grateful for the excuse to close your eyes when he starts rinsing your hair. “It passes the time well when you’re alone a lot.”

To your surprise, Hyunwoo answers, “I get that. I sleep or workout, but movies sound fun. Sorry, I don't have anything more girly smelling, by the way. I can ask one of the guys to grab you some of whatever you like using from the store and drop it off.”

“It’s okay. Yours smells good.” You open your eyes when you feel Hyunwoo lift the towel from your front so he can help you sit up. He drapes the towel around your shoulders and starts drying your hair. His hands are much gentler than before so you can’t help but sag into your seat a little. The simple comfort makes you feel like a cat, ready to curl in a purring ball. “Are you sure you’re a secret agent?”

“Pretty sure.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Why?”

“You’re better at this than you think.” And despite his size, he has the personality of a teddy bear. It’s hard to equate the person tenderly drying your hair with the badass who rescued you.

“You have to be a quick study to survive at this job. Otherwise you don’t stay alive long.” His voice lacks any hardness in spite of the bluntness of his statement, as if he’s just stating a normal fact. Hyunwoo pauses, then says, “That was a little dark, wasn’t it?”

“A little, but I guess it’s true. You can’t deal with the underbelly of humanity and get by on a whim.” Hesitating, you add, “Thank you, by the way.”

“No need for that. It’s just hair.”

“I mean for saving me from those men.” You feel Hyunwoo’s hands slow, but keep your eyes straight ahead. “I don’t think I said that to you yet, but really, thank you.”

“It was nothing. Just another day for us.”

Just another day. And you’re just another mission, you remind yourself. Your gaze falls to your hands as you fight that tiny feeling of disappointment. “Oh. And I’m sorry for pulling the gun on you.”

That makes Hyunwoo laugh again. He comes in front of you and leans against the counter, still smiling. “It was empty, remember? No harm, no foul.”

“Still… it wasn’t nice.”

“Trust me, I’ve had much more dangerous people point loaded guns at me. I’ll take you pointing an unloaded one at me any day.”

“Are you saying I wasn’t intimidating?” you ask, only half-joking.

He smiles and walks away with the towel and shampoo. “Yes.”

[agapaic]

Continuation of Magic!Au where He Tian tries to hide Mo and teaches him how to live like a human does because the villagers are out for his blood for their lost ones. *Bonus if Mo decides to trust a nice "harmless" boy with silver hair with his secret or hints at it in some way and returns to his little home with He Tian in the mountains to the sight of Tian getting cornered on a cliff edge. Villagers pitchfork and all, ready to out the witch harboring the creature that killed their people.

18. (Nian Shou: part 2)

Couldn’t fill this prompt in its entirety because it would be too long, but will follow this up with a part 3 soon! I also had another request for a continuation of this trope that I accidentally deleted, so consider this a 2-in-1 prompt fill! :)

‘These things—so fuckin’ stupid. So... in my way.’

He Tian smirks at Guan Shan, plucking at the fabric draping his arms, his legs. The red tunic is slightly too long, trousers gathered loosely around his ankles as he slips into leather boots. All He Tian’s clothes, leftover from when he was a boy, still too big on a thing like Guan Shan, a little too slight from a hard winter, muscles atrophied and working their way back slowly with congee and bone broth.

‘You’ve spent too long without them,’ says He Tian. ‘They protect your modesty. And other people’s eyes.’

Guan Shan frowns. ‘People’s eyes? I can’t breathe fire like this. My body can’t fuckin’ hurt anyone.’

‘It’s a figure of—’ He Tian scratches his head. ‘You know what? Never mind. Just wear it, would you?’ A thought makes him pause. It’s inappropriate, lingers on exploitative, but what does nudity matter between two men? ‘You can take if off when it’s just the two of us.’

Guan Shan sighs. ‘Fine,’ he says. To his evident chagrin, lip curled, he adds, ‘You get me my food. I’ll keep my end of this bargain.’

He Tian bows his head. ‘Appreciated.’

It’s dark outside, He Tian’s shutters closed against a star-thick night. The town is louder, brighter than usual. Two weeks and no attacks, and the people are rejoicing their sudden luck. No one has questioned the new redheaded presence in the town, but neither has anyone seen him. He Tian still wakes up with sweat-pricked skin, waiting for someone to have connected the dots and found the newcomer hidden away in He Tian’s rooms. To discover the Nian-turned-boy come down from the mountains and into their homes. 

And yet—the boy’s a tiger, a creature made for the woods and the clean air, and Guan Shan hasn’t left the four walls of He Tian’s bedroom in weeks. He Tian has found him curled in front of the fire in the middle of the night, catches him pacing the room and scratching mindlessly at the floorboards with his fingernails.

‘It will be quiet in a few hours,’ says He Tian. ‘Everyone will be sleeping.’

Guan Shan narrows his eyes at him. For someone freed from the bounds of a thousand-year-old curse by He Tian, his suspicion of him is still strong.

‘So what?’ Guan Shan asks. 

‘So,’ says He Tian. ‘You have real clothes now… I’ll give you a hat—to hide your hair. We can go outside. A walk.’

Guan Shan’s eyes dart between He Tian and the window. ‘Outside?’ he echoes. ‘Really?’

‘Of course,’ says He Tian. He stands up from the bed. ‘I wasn’t going to keep you here forever.’ 

—

He Tian loses him in the first ten minutes they go outside. It’s predictable, but it takes He Tian by surprise. His own tracking skills are impeccable, embedded in his blood, his family’s hunter heritage, but Guan Shan’s disappearing skills are better. A shadow in the night, footsteps too light to hear, a dragon-cat built to slink away from paths and traps and move downwind from the wolf packs. 

‘Guan Shan,’ He Tian whispers, crossing through the empty town square, moonlight casting his shadow onto the cobbles. ‘Guan Shan, where are you?’

His question goes unanswered, and his eyes catch on the horizon beyond the town. The darkened treeline. The woods, a shallow pathway into the mountains, where He Tian and Jian Yi had found Guan Shan two weeks ago. 

His home.

It’s an easy path in the yellowish gloam, ground hardened from cold weather and no rain, and He Tian follows his old footsteps with ease. His footprints have faded or been worn away by other sets of boots, and He Tian knows that the lack of Guan Shan’s own prints doesn’t mean he hasn’t been here. He Tian presses on in determined silence.

A flash of red catches his eyes a mile up, a piece of cotton clinging to web of thorns. The tunic. Guan Shan, unused to wearing clothes, unused to this body, ensnared by the surroundings of his own home. 

He Tian lowers his eyes, continues along the path, slower now. He shouldn’t have brought Guan Shan into the town; Jian Yi had been right. He’d put them all in danger. For the first time, he wonders if perhaps Guan Shan hadn’t wanted to be released. What did he know about the curse? About the curser? What had come first—the beast, or the man? 

His questions go unanswered, interrupted by the sound of voices. He Tian picks his way carefully along the path, presses himself against the wide trunk of a yew tree when the voices are clear enough, the yew’s boughs clustered with red berries that glint blood-like beneath the moon. 

‘He Tian never introduced you when you arrived. How rude of him.’

He Tian grits his teeth. He recognises the voice, silver-tongued and cloying. The swordsmith’s son. 

‘I had a long journey,’ comes Guan Shan’s reply, and He Tian’s heart pulses quickly at the sound. ‘I needed to get my strength back before meetin’ anyone.’

There’s a snap—bracken and fallen twigs breaking underfoot, She Li taking a step. ‘And look at you now,’ he says. ‘Wandering unaided into the mountains in the middle of the night. You should take more care, sir. There are monsters in these words.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ Guan Shan says flatly. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Against the Nian? I’m afraid none have met that creature and lived to tell the tale. Except my father, of course.’

There’s a hesitant pause. ‘Your father?’

‘The greatest swordsman in our region,’ She Li remarks. Liar. ‘He fought the beast twenty years ago, left it with a gash all the way down its hind. Not enough to kill it, I’m afraid.’

He Tian swallows this. He’d thought the story was a lie, that She Qi’s tale was told with deer’s blood drying on his sword and a gash through his right eye from falling on a rock shard, drunken stumblings down from the mountains spun into glory. But He Tian’s see the scar that dips below Guan Shan’s waist and down his right side, deep and silvery, ridged to the touch. His blood on She Qi’s sword. His claws blinding the man’s eye.

‘S’that so?’ says Guan Shan. There’s an edge to his voice—He Tian knows exactly what it means. ‘Maybe soon he’ll get another chance.’

-

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[coffeestainsandcashmere]

‘All that’s best of dark and bright’ - a Draco x Hermione x Theo story - Chapter Six

Summary:          

Hermione's birthday starts inauspiciously and ends... well. You'll see for yourself how it ends.

Notes:          

Warnings for some PTSD and nightmares right off the bat. And finally here’s that ‘Mature’ tag too, right at the end of the chapter :)

Note: does the Wizarding world have birthday cards??? They do in this story, and like wizardy photographs, they move. If I goofed up and this isn’t a thing, please just accept it as another AU element :). There’s also a reference to an old British store chain in there, so kudos to you if you spot it.

I hope this chapter is ok - I’ve actually got a retinal migraine at the moment and have lost the sight in most of my central field of vision, so editing it one last time was a bit… hit and miss, let’s say. Anyway, thank you for your feedback on previous chapters too! Looking forward to your reactions to this one for sure…

Chapter One here: Tumblr | Ao3

Chapter Two here: Tumblr | Ao3

Chapter Three here: Tumblr | Ao3

Chapter Four here: Tumblr | Ao3

Chapter Five here: Tumblr | Ao3

Hermione woke in the early hours of her birthday with a scream.

The snatchers had her. Hands all over her, couldn’t break free, thrashing, struggling, writhing.  

Sweating, she twisted and sheared their grasp away from her arm for a second and ran, lungs burning, legs trembling. One fall over an unseen root and that would be it. The war could be lost if they got caught now.  

He would win.  

And Harry would die. Oh God, they couldn’t lose. Not now. Not after everything.  

The forest was closing in.  

She had only seconds to think, to disguise Harry, to keep them from snatching him and knowing who he was. “I’m sorry,” she hissed as the stinging jinx took hold of his face and it began to swell.  

More hands on her. Unrelenting this time. There was no escape.  

Darkness.

Rushing darkness of forced apparition.

Yew hedges and an iron gate that thrummed with wards and enchantments.

Bellatrix’s awful, gleeful face.

Then pain.

Fear and pain unending.  

Silver eyes staring, wide and horrified.  

Screaming.

Screaming, screaming, screaming…

Jerking awake violently, with sweat running down between her breasts and tracking down her torso, hair a damp, tangled nest, and throat raw, she thanked all her magical forebears, starting with Merlin and Morgana, that she’d had the sense the previous night to cast a silencing enchantment again between the four posts of her bed. The rest of the dorm slept on. Ginny was even snoring.  

Her heart was still pounding and she looked over at the window, the dawn still a good hour away at least.  

The faint grey light filtering through the leaded window beside her bed reminded her of Draco’s eyes from her dream.  

He’d been there that night and had been forced to watch his own aunt carve that word into her forearm after god-knows-how-long of cruciatus torture. Had he always looked as revolted by it all as he had just then in her dream? She’d had it so many times now that she could no longer distinguish memory from nightmare. Her skin itched and burned but she refused to look down and stare at the word ‘mudblood’ engraved into her skin.

“Happy birthday,” she muttered under her breath before getting out of bed and inhaling deeply. The air in the room was cold, and goosebumps prickled along her skin as she reached for her Gryffindor red dressing-gown that had been a present from her parents on a birthday a few years ago.  

She stood and went to the window, opening the casement which squeaked like an affronted gnome, but still no one stirred or complained. Damp, autumn air flooded in, sweeping around her and cooling the sweat on the exposed skin of her collarbones til she shivered, but it slowly helped to calm her heartbeat. Her eyes roved along the lines of the mountains that surrounded the school. “Nineteen,” she mused with a sigh. “Nineteen years old, and my parents no longer have any idea that I’ve ever existed.”  

Kingsley had said there was still a chance that the memory-altering spell could be reversed, but it had been so powerful that it risked destroying their minds altogether, and she hadn’t had the courage to give him the okay to try. They were happy and safe as Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and would probably stay that way forever thanks to the strength of the charm she’d used. She couldn’t regret protecting her parents, but the necessity of it brought tears to her eyes every time.  

She didn’t feel nineteen. What was it supposed to feel like anyway? Besides, what normal nineteen year old was still at Hogwarts? Most of the rest of her year was out there, beyond those mountains. Seamus was in Auror training with Harry, and Dean was apparently working in the Goblin Liaison Office after his surprising and enduring friendship with Griphook, while a number of others were in a similar line of work, patching up holes where Death Eaters had exposed their world to the muggles, or training with magical creatures, or working in bars, or travelling the world — Blaise Zabini was rumoured to be in Portugal working with the authorities there, and she’d even heard a rumour that he was engaged to Pansy Parkinson, though she found it hard to believe. Blaise had always seemed the type not to be interested in romantic attachments. Perhaps it was a pureblood thing?  

With an enormous sigh, she abandoned thoughts of purebloods, and turned away from the window to find a small parcel sitting by the little fireplace in their dorm, with two envelopes beside it. She frowned and stepped closer, her heart leaping for joy when she recognised both Harry’s minuscule writing and Ron’s untidy scribble. 

Sitting cross legged by the empty hearth, she ripped Harry’s envelope open first and discovered, to her delight, a muggle birthday card with a hideously gaudy badge on it, sporting a cartoon birthday cake. She carefully unpinned it from the front and set it to one side to attach to the drapes of her four-poster. Inside it read:

‘Dear Hermione,  

I’m sorry I haven’t written to you! I’ve been so busy and I can’t really tell you about any of it yet. I loved your letters though, and I’m not surprised you’re so busy. Please remember to stop every now and again, won’t you? Hope you have a great day full of surprises!

Love,

Harry x’

She narrowed her eyes at the ‘full of surprises’ bit, hoping that he hadn’t told Ginny to do something very Weasley-esque and embarrassing, and then opened Ron’s card. Their friendship had been somewhat strained since they broke up, and Fred’s death had understandably brought out his more morose side in the last few months, but she was pleased that he’d remembered. His had a silly cartoon of a dragon lighting a birthday cupcake with a gout of flame that incinerated the whole thing before the dragon looked out at the viewer and shrugged before the image looped around again. She was honestly just relieved that it wasn’t some kind of new exploding card from the joke shop.  

‘Dear Mione’ it began. She squinted and peered at the next lines. Gods, he could have worked for the Ministry in their Department of Mysteries, encrypting messages for them.  

‘Dear Mione,

Happy Birthday! Sorry I haven’t come to see you yet but hopefully it won’t be too long. Promise not to bring any skiving snack-boxes for you…  

Love,

Ron’

In the quiet of the four-person dorm, with only the soft whisper of three sleepers and the whisper of the wind outside, Hermione smiled. They might have been terrible at keeping in touch, but her friends did still care after all. It wasn’t that she’d doubted them necessarily, but the silence had still stung.

She picked up the parcel next and unwrapped a small box of sherbet lemons from Harry with a label bearing his tiny handwriting that said: ‘Got these for you from Woolworths pick ‘n’ mix. Thought you’d like them. H x’.  

Tears filled her eyes and the bright yellow sweets swam before her. She thought back to her very muggle childhood - a fact she shared with Harry, though hers had been a little happier on the domestic front - and also thought of Dumbledore, who had famously had a great penchant for the sour boiled sweets. Despite having dentists for parents, she had always loved these, but even now as she guiltily unwrapped one, she felt like a child sneakily opening a present on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas Day. It tasted amazing, and it brought back so many memories.  

Hours later, turning another sweet over between her tongue and teeth, she dressed and headed down to breakfast without waking Ginny or the other two seventh years and breakfasted alone at the Gryffindor table well before the post owls arrived. She didn’t fancy advertising that it was her birthday, drawing attention to the fact that she was older than almost any other student ever had been in the entire history of Hogwarts. Probably. That was one she’d have to look up in Hogwarts: A History when she got back upstairs.  

Thoughts of the book, and whereabouts she could look in the various chapters for such a reference, evaporated as she left the hall after breakfast, and spotted Theo and Draco eating together at one end of the table. Ahead of the Slytherin tryouts that morning, Draco was dressed in his quidditch gear, and - damn him - and he looked… he looked regal. His white hair gleamed, the soft wave to it making him look much less harsh now, and as he and Theo shared a conversation, he even managed a brief laugh that lit up his silver eyes and lifted the tiredness from his sharp features. He’d grown into that pinched, pointy face, she realised, and he now looked strikingly handsome when he smiled.  

While she continued to stare at them, Theo held up a grape and Draco rolled his eyes but let Theo pop it into his mouth.  

Hermione walked right into the stone doorway of the entrance arch and rebounded with a soft grunt, face burning and mind reeling. Burning with shame, she scuttled across the entrance hall and had just set foot to the first tread of the Great Staircase when a familiar voice echoed off the stonework.  

“Granger!”  

She froze and then turned around. Malfoy was standing in the archway to the Great Hall, and the full sight of him in his quidditch kit nearly knocked her breathless. How had she not appreciated just how tall he’d grown or how good he looked in that rich, dark Slytherin green before? It complemented the silver of his hair and the paleness of his skin so perfectly that she almost forgot that he’d spoken and called her name.  

“Yes?” she croaked.  

He swallowed and crossed towards her, holding two small envelopes in his left hand. He proffered them to her between index and middle fingers, and swallowed again. “Happy Birthday, Granger,” he said in a soft, slightly husky voice.  

She stared at them envelopes stupidly for a second and then gingerly took them from him. “They’re not howlers, are they?” she asked, aiming for a light tone.

He shook his head and a section of his silver hair fell into his eyes before he brushed it back. “No, Granger. No tricks. Just two birthday cards.”

“Thank you, Malfoy,” she said, oddly choked. She saw Theo’s writing on the front of the top one, and assumed the other was from Malfoy. “That’s… That’s really sweet of you.”

He rolled his eyes and turned away, shaking his head. “I’ll pass on your thanks to Theo,” was all he said as he retreated. She watched him go, eyeing his narrow hips and long legs, and she gulped. That was the closest she’d come to getting an apology from him, and she could recognise it for the white flag it was. He was clearly trying.  

She smiled and turned them over in her hand.  

Her fingers trembled as she broke the green wax seal, blank and un-stamped, she noted, and opened the first one then and there in the liminal entrance hall. It might have felt somehow symbolic if she’d paused to give it any thought.  

Draco’s card bore a moving image of a set of floor-to-ceiling library shelves, a few of the books sliding in and out at irregular intervals, as if drawn out for examination by invisible fingers, and a ginger kneazel’s tail flickered into view in the bottom corner every so often. He’d noticed Crookshanks then? Not only that, but he’d noticed Crookshanks from years ago and had remembered him? Surely it wasn’t a coincidence. Malfoy never did anything without a purpose. His message inside was simple, but it was his handwriting that made her eyebrows rise.  

It was terrible; almost illegible. Even worse than Ron’s.  

For some reason she’d always expected that he would have the curling, looping handwriting of a prince or something, but this was a barely-discernible chicken scratch, and was even a little smudged over his signature.  

‘Hermione,

I hope today brings you every joy you deserve.

Yours,  

Draco Malfoy’

She re-read it three times before she really saw it though, still shocked at receiving a birthday card from Draco Malfoy of all people. Another white flag.

Taking a deep breath and deciding not to ponder it too long, lest she run into the danger of over thinking again, she moved to Theo’s which was written in a tidier and much more ornate hand. The script on this envelope was a perfect, fluid, graceful, English roundhand, like the kind she’d only seen on old parchment documents, and the ink was, surprisingly, purple. She recalled the smudges on his fingers from the other day and wondered if that was the Slytherin’s favourite colour.  

Theo’s card was also book-themed, but it bore an image of a battered old copy of ‘Advanced Potion Making’ beside a softly-steaming pewter cauldron. She smiled, reminded instantly of their last potions session and all the revelations it had carried with it, but she set that aside for the time being and read his message. She could almost hear him saying it, and she laughed aloud as she read it.  

‘To the most perfect of prefectorial and potions partners,

I hope you have a wonderful day and that, should you wish it, your friends get you very, very drunk up in Gryffindor tower. Whatever you do, you deserve to have fun, Hermione, and I hope today of all days is full of it.  

Love,  

Theo.’

The difference between the two was striking. Malfoy’s was reserved and his writing seemed almost shy and awkward, whereas Theo’s reflected his usual, outgoing, charming self. Plus, he’d signed it ‘love’, though again, she tried not to read too much into it.  

She glanced up to find that both of them were looking at her from their distant seats at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. Theo grinned and waved, but Malfoy just continued to stare at her with his expression carefully veiled.  

“Thank you,” she mouthed at them and Theo bowed his head rather theatrically.  

Before she could decide to go over them at strike up a conversation, Ginny bounded down the grand staircase behind her and barrelled into her, along with half the Gryffindor team at her heels, all buoyed up with excitement about tryouts, and the head girl tackle-hugged her almost into a headlock. “Happy birthday!” she screeched, setting Hermione’s ears ringing and the few students in the hall staring. “Did the owls come already then?” she asked when she saw the cards in her hand.  

She shook her head but didn’t elaborate. Ginny was too excited about the tryouts anyway. “Please come and watch us later,” she said. “Just for a bit? Oh, and I’ve got Harry’s and Ron’s cards for you! I put them out by the fireplace in our dorm…”  

“I found them already,” she smiled. “Thank you. But why didn’t they just owl them straight to me?”

“They wanted to make sure they got here on time so they sent them together a few days ago with Harry’s new eagle owl. She’s huge! Anyway, please come?” she wheedled. “Pleasepleaseplease?”

Taking a deep breath, she glanced over at Theo and Malfoy, who were apparently just finishing up with their breakfast. Gone was the tender grape-sharing, to be replaced by a muttered conversation. Her brain rather unhelpfully supplied that she might get to see Malfoy in his uniform again if she showed up.  

“Fine,” she grunted through gritted teeth. “I’ll come for a bit. But literally just twenty minutes or so, ok?”

“Yes!” Ginny yelled, fist pumping and then hugging her again. “Thank you! I’ll have to tell Ron.”

“Why?”

“He nearly bet me five galleons that you wouldn’t go to a quidditch practice on your birthday.”

“Nearly?” she asked archly. “Well, I’d hate to be predictable…”

“I wouldn’t let him lay a bet on what you did on your birthday,” she said and Hermione blessed her silently with her eyes. Someone yelled Ginny’s name from the Gryffindor table and she nodded. “I’m gonna go grab something to eat. We’re heading out early to watch the Slytherins first and see what the competition is, but we start at one thirty, ok?”

Hermione showed up at the quidditch pitch at quarter past one and found that a few Slytherins were still there, though clearly most of their tryouts had finished. Those who remained were flying for fun now. A few of them were still running drills under the watchful eye of the Slytherin captain, and somewhere on the absolute opposite side of the stands she could see a few Slytherin supporters, but mostly, the place was oddly deserted and quiet.  

The weather had also turned absolutely bloody miserable, with a fine sheet of mizzle wafting down around them, drenching everything and reducing visibility to almost nothing. She huddled deeper into her cloak and cursed, hair expanding steadily with the damp conditions. She really, really hated quidditch.

“How in Godric’s name did I let myself get talked into this?” she growled to herself after just ten minutes of sitting in the freezing stands, wishing she at least had a book to distract her from her chattering teeth. “Ginny, I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m freezing my arse off. I’m going back.”

“What? You haven’t even seen us fly!” Ginny laughed, though clearly not upset in the slightest. “I’m surprised you even showed up without Ron and Harry to cheer at. Have fun in the library. Until your party that is…” Ginny added ominously. “Don’t forget. I’ve got a surprise for you. Don’t worry; you’ll love it,” she added when Hermione balked visibly. “Fucking shit,” Ginny hissed, her gaze sliding past Hermione to the pitch behind. “Malfoy is really bloody good. I hate him, but look at that… It’s… It’s poetry, Hermione. Bloody poetry.”

She turned and watched as a blur that was presumably Malfoy did an eye-wateringly fast swan-dive, rocketing straight out of the clouds right down to barely half an inch from the turf below, before barrel rolling upwards with the grace of a swallow to avoid a bludger. He pulled out of the roll and peeled right, drifting in a lazy arc and coming to a halt in front of the stands on the far side. He seemed to be holding a conversation with someone for a moment or two before he peeled away into a lazy backwards dive and then looped up into the air to begin soaring around the far end. The fluidity of his movements was mesmeric, and even Hermione had to admit that he was an absolute pleasure to watch.  

And then the wind blew raindrops down her neck and she shivered.

“Nope,” she said. “I don’t care how beautiful he looks on a broomstick, I’m going in. See you later, Ginny. Good luck getting a better team than Slytherin!” and she disappeared before she lost her fingers and toes to frostbite on her nineteenth birthday.  

It took her well over an hour to warm up by the fire in the Gryffindor common room, but just when she’d contemplated going to the prefects’ bathroom to take a long soak to drive the residual chill from her bones, she found that she was actually nearly thawed out. It was only the lingering stiffness in her muscles after being locked in a tight ball in the armchair that remained. Deciding that a spot of exercise would probably finish the job, she grabbed her notebook and quill, and made her way towards the library.  

Predictably, it was almost completely deserted at nearly three in the afternoon on a Saturday, and she wove her way through to her favourite corner in the Charms section, settling her books down and thinking about what to start first. She had one Transfiguration essay that was admittedly optional, and one Ancient Studies translation to crack on with for Monday. Deciding to tackle that first, given that it would probably take her half an hour at most, she moved with familiar ease through the shelves until she drew closer to the restricted section. The book of runic verb tables was not held there, but the Ancient Studies section was visited so infrequently that it was tucked away near the restricted section all the same.  

As she approached, on the point of rounding the final corner of a bookshelf and entering the small, square alcove created by two bookshelves set perpendicular to the stone wall, she heard a gasp and a deep, guttural grunt, and froze.  

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d stumbled on someone doing something illicit in the library, but there was something about the timbre of that voice that made her pause and her heart race. Usually, people had the grace to conceal themselves or put up a befuddlement charm to distract other library users until they were done, but she was not so lucky this time.  

“Oh fuck,” she heard a breathy, male voice snarl and her eyes widened.  

It was Theodore Nott. She was sure of it.  

As she slid behind the bookcase that separated her from that small, secluded alcove, she peered through the books on the shelf and inhaled sharply in surprise, immediately holding her breath in case she’d given herself away. She needn’t have worried - the two engaged in something a tad racier than a quickly-stolen kiss or two were in no danger of hearing her one tiny gasp of surprise.  

Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott were pressed up against the far side of the bookshelves, mercifully on the other side of the square alcove from her hiding spot, and Theo had his jeans round his ankles, black boxer-briefs yanked down as well, while Draco had his own dark trousers undone and merely hanging around his narrow hips. Malfoy was wearing a long-sleeved, smart-looking white shirt which was now rumpled and untucked, and he had his left hand between the two of them, hidden from sight for the moment by his own body.  

She might have though it jarring to see them in more casual clothes, were it not for the incredibly distracting activity in which they were currently and rather shockingly engaged.  

Theo looked… debauched.  

His curly hair was mussed up and thoroughly ruffled, his cheeks were flushed to the point that his freckles had vanished completely, and his wine-dark Henley had a distinctly fist-shaped crumple at the shoulder. His thin lips were also puffy and red, kiss-swollen and still wet. Meanwhile, he barely seemed to be keeping himself upright, with one hand gripping the stone wall nearby, his other clutched on the bookshelf behind him, and his dark blue eyes kept fluttering closed.  

Hermione stared, utterly transfixed.  

Draco had an enormous hickey on the side of his neck, angrily standing out in stark relief against the white of his skin.  

She couldn’t have looked away from them if a dragon had entered the library and begun to breathe fire amongst the books. They looked so beautiful together, chests heaving, muscles straining and clenching in their exposed biceps and necks, the tendons pulled taut and straining as they ground against each other, breathless and gasping.  

“Fuck, Draco, fuck...” Theo snarled as Malfoy worked them closer and closer. The slick sounds of their efforts began to fill the small corner of the library and it was all she could focus on. They’d obviously been in such a rush that they’d neglected to throw up a concealment charm, or they thought that no one would be there on a weekend. Or… Or they liked the risk.  

“Fuck!” Theo’s knees buckled as he yelped, and Draco’s right hand flew to cover Theo’s mouth.  

As his long fingers wrapped around Theo’s face, little finger just below Theo’s nose, she caught the silver flash of his signet ring. The sight of it pressed against Theo’s skin, the bone-pale colour of Draco’s body contrasting with the warmer tones of the taller boy, made her suddenly wet and hot all over. They turned a little bit as Draco applied a little pressure to Theo’s jaw with that hand and tipped Theo’s head to one side so that he could mouth and kiss at his exposed neck for a moment, and she saw that he had both of their cocks in one hand. His pace was quick and brutal, perhaps trying to finish them both off as rapidly as possible and send them tumbling over the edge of orgasm before they were discovered.  

The sight of Draco Malfoy’s hand around both his and Theo’s cocks together nearly undid her and she had to bite her lips together to keep from making a noise. Not once had she ever fantasised about anything like this. Even though she’d entertained the brief idea that the two boys could be together, it had never encompassed a sight like this, with Theo unravelling in a series of muffled groans and stifled gasps while Malfoy jerked him off with relentless focus.  

She knew she shouldn’t be watching, but before she could turn away and flee, Theo’s muffled words dissolved into a long, deep, guttural groan, his blue eyes rolling shut, as Malfoy paused and swiped a thumb over the weeping tip of his cock and Theo’s knees caved again.

“Quiet,” Malfoy snarled, tightening his grip and causing Theo to throw his head back with another broken moan. He seemed incapable of keeping quiet, and he thunked the back of his head on the bookshelf but barely seemed to notice. Malfoy’s hand had been dislodged from his mouth by the movement, fingertips dragging obscenely at Theo’s lips for a second, and now his long fingers lay splayed and tense over his exposed throat, middle and ring fingers on either side of his sharp Adam’s apple. “This is a library, Theo,” he purred. “Quiet.”

“Fuck… No one… comes to this… to this section anyway,” he panted, thrusting his hips weakly into Malfoy’s hand. “Oh fuck, there, like that. I’m so close. I’m so fucking close, Draco. Well… no one except…” he paused before managing to open his eyes and grinning wickedly. “Granger…”

“Fuck! Don’t mention Granger now!” Malfoy practically yowled, fingers tightening in an involuntary spasm around Theo’s neck, and Hermione tried not to be hurt. Presumably though if they were there, doing this with each other, she wouldn’t have been of any interest to them anyway.  

Or… not…?

Malfoy came almost immediately with a choked-off growl, as if the full force of his sudden orgasm took him by surprise, and he came hard. His head bowed forwards to rest against Theo’s collarbone as his back heaved and his hips jerked. He spilled into his hand and all over Theo’s hard, slick cock as well.  

Theo crashed into his release only a second or two later, one hand clinging to Malfoy’s shoulder, the other on the wall beside him, and then they both slouched against the bookshelves looking dazed and weak for a moment or two before Malfoy straightened and scourgified them both clean with a wandless wave of his hand. Talented and beautiful. Not many people would have had the presence of mind to do that kind of magic in the aftershocks of an orgasm like that.

Hermione was breathless, still staring at them with eyes wide and heart pounding. She’d soaked through and ruined her underwear, she was sure of it.  

“Fuck, Draco,” Theo hissed, tucking himself back into his trousers and leaning shakily against the bookshelf. “I know it’s my fault, but we’ve got to stop doing this… It’s… It’s not fair…”

Draco didn’t speak, and other than the vibrant, blotchy flush that crept up his white neck and onto his cheeks, there was no outward sign that he’d just come his brains out in the library, with Hermione Granger’s name fresh on his lips.

___

To be continued.

If you enjoyed, please reblog and share! I’m new to the fandom on here and appreciate all the help I can get!

___

writing masterlist | Ao3

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 77

DISCLAIMER: This is a modern AU crossover story with Outlander and La Femme Nikita. LFN and its characters do not belong to me nor do those from Outlander.

SYNOPSIS:  The OCTB detectives investigate the bloodbath at Jonathon Randall’s nightclub. Meanwhile Inspector Jiang Ng is worried that his duplicity will be discovered because of the turn of events there. The Inspector has also been given explicit orders from the Chief Commissioner as far as Claire Beauchamp is concerned, which will play very nicely into Section One’s hand.

 I would like to THANK YOU for all so much for your stalwart support of my Work in Progress. As a writer you never know how your writing will be received, so THANK YOU, lovely readers for liking what I have written thus far.  I really appreciate that you are enjoying reading Covert Operations.  Previous chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

  CHAPTER 77

  Inspector Jiang Ng sat at his desk littered with cold coffee cups and used cigarettes. Leaning back in his chair he rubbed his eyes then stretched his hands behind his head trying to waver off the tiredness he felt.  He’d been up all night trying to sort through this mess at The Triangle nightclub but seemed to be getting nowhere. He’d not slept a wink at all and looked decidedly dishevelled because of it. It had been a very long evening for his officers at the Organised Crime and Triad Bureau as well, for their investigation had gone long into the night. Many detectives were also still at headquarters refusing to go home until they had some concrete leads on this case. He’d taken a call from Jonathon Randall which had come through in the early hours of the morning to attend a random shooting and firebombing at his nightclub. When he had placed the call for assistance last night, Randall had said there’d been a disturbance on the dance floor at the most exclusive nightclub in Hong Kong where he was holding private birthday celebrations. The Inspector had immediately rallied and sent over a fleet of detectives, back up squads, and along with his police officers he’d also rushed over to the club when told there had been a murder. When they’d arrived, the scene outside the club was chaotic. There were many distressed guests from the birthday party standing on the pavement in shock at what had occurred inside The Triangle and many more who were obviously traumatised by what they had seen. There were several distraught men and women, some covered with blood splatters, who were being comforted by other bystanders. Some were walking up and down aimlessly mumbling under their breath, while others were being attended to by medics who had quickly arrived on the scene. The Inspector had dispatched some of his men to interview the eye witnesses and to take their statements to what had occurred.  He was now in the process of reading some of those reports and they weren’t pretty.  

Then, on entering the premises, they had never expected to find the massacre that they had on arrival. The real carnage had been inside the nightclub. It was more than just a murder; it was the sight of a triad bloodbath. The main area of the club and all the exits and entrance to the nightclub were littered with the bodies of the slain. At first glance it had all the characteristics of a territorial dispute where members of rival triads had flexed their muscle to exert their power or to cause as much trouble as possible for Jonathon and the Rising Dragons. The Inspector had ordered that the area be cordoned off to allow the police to conduct their investigations. Forensics photographers had photographed the deceased while other officers had tried to find any identification on the bodies. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was a disaster ... the shootings and firebombing at Randall’s club last night would be a nightmare to sort through in the coming week and beyond. Not only was it a blow for Jonathon Randall, but it was a catastrophe for the triad as well. The press would ultimately focus their attention on the Rising Dragons and the reasons why such a tragedy had occurred at a private party. He would also need to act swiftly to lay blame elsewhere. The evening was supposed to have been a private party celebration for Jonathon, so how did members of rival triad groups manage to get in the nightclub? 

He knew he would have to pull something extraordinary out of the box to turn this calamity around. Investigations would go on for some time and the nightclub would need to be closed for at least a week if not longer until the place had been thoroughly investigated for clues as to what really had happened. All security staff would need to be checked and verified, all invited guests screened and more statements would need to be taken from every person in attendance. Furthermore, the dead would need to be identified and next of kin notified.

Jiang shook his head in disbelief at the work that would be involved in this investigation. 

When he’d spoken to Jonathon earlier this morning, he’d said that the triad had sent in reinforcements ... yet there were still multiple causalities and the Rising Dragons had suffered their fair share too. How was that possible? They were well trained men who were proficient and skilful. How was it that they had died? Their work at the OCTB was often like this, but somehow this particular case seemed different. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason for what had happened. From all appearances, from those they had identified as belonging to the Black Panthers triad, there really weren’t that many rival triad members there ... So how come the Rising Dragons suffered multiple casualties particularly in the stairwell area? How did so few people cause such mayhem? The one thing he hoped was that this was not an inside job, but he would need to do a forensic check on the bullets of the dead victims to see their origin first. Perhaps that would shed some light on investigations as to who was responsible and why? He knew he would have to work fast to diffuse the situation at The Triangle and not centre attention on Jonathon Randall. This was not his fault ... the blame lay elsewhere.

 Placing his hands to his head, Inspector Ng shut his eyes and leaned forward deep in thought. In light of their investigations this past week about the Black Panthers and Samuel Li there was only one thing he could do. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* The news media had quickly appeared on the scene knowing that any story about Jonathon Randall was newsworthy. Inspector Ng thought that the best form of attack was to confront them up front, so he had called a press conference to clarify the situation and to allow journalists and reporters to ask questions. Jonathon Randall’s name had appeared in the press on numerous occasions and most recently with the attempted kidnapping of Laoghaire MacKimmie of which he had been exonerated. Perhaps the fact that he was handsome, rich and somewhat untouchable made him a person of interest to the public. Now there had been multiple murders at his nightclub. This would place Randall in the spotlight again as well as provide a great deal of material for investigative journalists to sink their teeth into because of this explosive story. Hence juggling what the print and visual media reported would be a balancing act as well. That's why when he spoke to the press after the operation Jiang moved swiftly to diffuse some of the heat from Jonathon Randall and place it elsewhere. As he stood on the steps of the OCTB building to face the media to release a statement, the camera flashlight bulbs were almost blinding. Microphones were thrust into his face as journalists jostled for the prime position to hear what he had to say and to ask questions. The reporters and journalists threw questions at him from left, right and centre. “Inspector Ng! What happened at The Triangle?” “Inspector Ng! What are the OCTB doing about the triad violence in Hong Kong?” “Do the police have any leads?”

 “Is it true there were many causalities?”

“Inspector Ng!” “Inspector Ng!” Holding up his hands to silence the frenzied questions Jiang managed to gain a modicum of silence, then when he was satisfied, he spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen ... I will answer your questions one at a time after I have made a statement. As you know police officers from the Organised Crime and Triad Bureau visited and searched the entertainment premises of The Triangle nightclub early this morning and found many deceased persons. Our investigations are progressing at the moment.” “Inspector Ng ... Jennifer Yew from “China News” ... Is it true that the OCTB conducted raids on the headquarters of triad groups this morning?” “Yes ... On the pretence of an early morning anti-triad operation raid, the OCTB simultaneously carried out raids on the headquarters of the Black Panthers and Red Lanterns’ headquarters early this morning. This resulted in several persons being arrested who are now in custody. The flash operation was conducted following the affray which had occurred at The Triangle because we believed that some triad members were involved in the incident.” “Inspector, can you elucidate further please?” “The men were aged between 18 and 47 and a large quantity of firearms and weapons were also seized.” “Martin Lam from “Inside China Today” ... Does this mean that we can expect more triad unrest because of the murders at The Triangle?” “We certainly hope not ... but unfortunately it is a possibility. Triad activities still remain a major policing priority of the OCTB. This morning's operation only reinforced our determination to confront and tackle those involved in these illegal activities and murder.” “Will there be a crackdown to prevent an incident like this occurring again?” “We’re determined to crack down on triad activities and will continue to carry out regular anti-triad operations to combat triad-related crime in Hong Kong. We will detain the arrested persons for further investigation.” “Inspector, Simon Leung from “The Hong Kong Chronicle” … Are these murders in any way connected with the car bombing in Victoria Park?” “It’s possible.” Jiang however, didn’t want the journalists to pursue that line of questioning and abruptly cut off any more questions. “I’m sorry ladies and gentlemen but that will be all for the time being.  When I have more information, you will be the first to know,” he stated calling a halt to the press conference. However, the press was still intent to fire questions as he left the podium. “Inspector Ng! Samuel Li is back in Hong Kong.  Is he involved? Or the Black Panthers?”

“Jemma Lin from “Oriental Morning Post” … Is it true Inspector, that there is a connection between Jonathon Randall and the Rising Dragons? … Why won’t you answer my question Inspector? … Inspector?” Turning his back on the gathered journalists, Inspector Ng made his retreat back inside the OCTB building amid more frenetic questioning that he didn’t want to answer from the Chinese press reporters gathered outside the building.  He totally ignored the last question, but because of it, he knew that he had much work ahead of him to dispel any connection between Jonathon and the triad. Without a backward glance, he briskly walked away from the press conference with much on his mind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

This murder fracas could prove to be volatile. Ruffling the feathers of the triads was not going to go down well with Sun Yee Lok or the other leaders for that matter. He was also worried that his duplicity and membership with the Rising Dragons may very well be revealed because of the investigations. Consequently, he would need to keep a tight rein on procedures and take control over the proceedings. The need to tread warily was imperative as exposure would be the death knoll for him. There was much information that his enemies would like to know about him and his associations. 

Fiona Graham had gotten too close and she had paid the price but her death was inevitable and, in his mind, justified. Her threat to expose him had shown he could be ruthless and dangerous if the envelope was pushed too far. There was no way that he could let Intel about his associations be made public. Fiona had served him well over the years but she had slipped up and he had given her the benefit of the doubt because of their association. This dated back to when they were young. She had befriended him as a new recruit at the police academy and had graduated with him until she had left the force to go into private investigation. Over the years she’d provided some excellent Intel on enemies from within, and when called upon she had used her skills to infiltrate into the Hong Kong police. However, when Fiona had said she’d wanted out ... he was left with little choice. Her death was an inevitable consequence ... she knew too much about him and he couldn’t risk her passing on information into the wrong hands. His position in the OCTB was well ingrained and it served the Rising Dragons well. Over the years he had managed to prosecute their enemies and help the triad avoid other advantageous legal things that had seen the Rising Dragons prosper. Fiona had been an excellent undercover agent for the OCTB. She had infiltrated the other triad gangs to get evidence and intelligence they needed for prosecution and he had used this Intel to the Rising Dragons’ advantage. His musings pondered that transferring the blame to the Black Panthers for her death may very well have led to the bloodbath in Jonathon Randall’s club last night. It was well known that there was bad blood between the Rising Dragons and Samuel Li’s triad. Now the problem had just gotten bigger. It may not just go away and he may not be able to make it go away. This time he might just have been backed into a corner. The Inspector was in a quandary as he knew Claire Beauchamp and Karen Yee were in attendance last night as well.

 He would need to tread professionally with both women and play along with the charade with Jonathon Randall without giving it away that both of them were members of the Rising Dragons. Claire could not suspect that he was in any way associated with the triad and given that the Chief Commissioner had spoken with him, he would need to be wary of her and not raise any suspicion of his involvement.  He would need to be very careful and balance out the lies upon lies that would come out of his mouth in front of Claire Beauchamp. 

This was a tricky situation but it was not insurmountable ... he’d done it before ... but this time he would need to take precautions to cover his own back. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Inspector Jiang Ng had much to mull over with the unexpected circumstances at Jonathon Randall’s nightclub and it was to be expected that the Chief Commissioner would eventually contact him and ask questions ... as he’d done. He wanted to know about what the Organised Crime and Triad Bureau, and Inspector Ng in particular was going to do about this investigation. When Jiang informed him about the state of affairs thus far, the Chief Commissioner was impressed with the speed of the OCTB’s investigations and raid on the rival triad headquarters. To keep up appearances, Jiang had categorically stated that although Jonathon Randall was indeed a suspicious character for such an incident to have happened at his nightclub, it was apparent from their investigations that the Black Panthers and Red Lanterns’ triads were the prime suspects in the atrocities. However, since the OCTB had never been able to pin anything substantial on Jonathon Randall, the Chief Commissioner thought this may be their chance to see if he was in fact a member of a triad group. He had wanted Inspector Ng to place Jonathon Randall under closer surveillance and had given him a direct order to do so. That’s when the Chief Commissioner had dropped his other bombshell.

Unbeknownst to him, Claire had already been instructed to check out Jonathon Randall, through her friendship with Karen Yee and her boyfriend who worked at The Triangle nightclub.   Jiang was surprised by this information and he’d certainly not expected the request put to him concerning her.  However, in retrospect though, one of his quandaries and the one thing that had concerned him ... just who was Claire Beauchamp ... was unexpectedly taken care of with his request. The Chief Commissioner had given him explicit directives about this new mission for her. He’d been informed that Claire was to undertake a special assignment on his command, stating that this provided the perfect cover for her to keep tabs on Jonathon Randall and verify if he was indeed a member of the Rising Dragons’ triad. He had ordered that she be released from duties at the OCTB immediately and be placed in an undercover roll for this very purpose.

Not only that, but the Chief Commissioner had also long suspected that there was a traitor on the inside within the ranks of the Water Police or the OCTB. He’d said that Claire’s assignment would be to find out if Intel was being exchanged or compromised by a mole within their own people. Hence, if she were close to Jonathon Randall, she may very well find out if this was true or not. He’d further stated that it was imperative to find out who the person or persons were passing on information to the Rising Dragons’ triad particularly now in light of the atrocities that had taken place at the nightclub. The police could ill afford for their enquiries to come to naught when trying to prosecute the perpetrators of this these heinous crimes. Therefore, it was a priority one to set up this particular scenario to flush out the mole and to implicate and confirm Jonathon Randall’s alleged association in triad activities. 

This then was a two-way fortuitous situation, for not only could Claire Beauchamp supposedly check out Jonathon Randall, but he could find out more information about who she really was.  It also gave Jonathon a chance to be cautious and to be wary of what he revealed.  However, these directives were also a double-edged sword and were very worrying for Inspector Ng. Could it be that his duplicity would finally be found out? Was the net getting smaller on his triad activities? These orders placed him in an invidious position. He could hardly refuse the Commissioner’s request or else it could expose his link to the triad as the mole and then his career would be in ruins. Not only that, but his incarceration could very well be the cause of the triad disintegrating. He knew too much and would be a liability to the triad. He’d be a marked man and without doubt would be dead within the hour once Sun Yee Lok found out. He had to think ... and think quickly for if he protested, then the Commissioner would want to know why.

Just who was this woman Claire Beauchamp and who was she working for? It was certainly apparent to him now that she knew more than she should. Jiang rattled his brain to come up with a counter plan.  He would just have to turn this into a positive win-win for the triad for this could work both ways. Having Claire where the triad could keep an eye on her would be unexpected. If she was under their scrutiny, then they could obtain Intel from her as to what she knew about the Rising Dragons too. The Chief Commissioner knew that undercover work was extremely dangerous and no doubt she would be out of her depth dealing with the triad. Then, if Claire was to meet with an accident ... that could be seen as an occupational hazard. Accidents happened. She would come to grief once they knew what they needed to know about her then dispose of her body. It would all be so easy. Since Claire’s undercover assignment would be clandestine then her death would be viewed as an unfortunate but surreal consequence of how dangerous this kind of work was. It would be regrettable but necessary. The sooner he set this scenario into action the better, that’s why Inspector Ng had decided to call Claire into his office that very afternoon in the guise of questioning her about last night. He smiled at the cunning but stupidity of the Chief Commissioner’s request. Claire Beauchamp would not live to tell her tales that’s for sure. In the long run it would be to his advantage and he would come up smelling of roses. Sun Yee Lok would be pleased. It would be a pity to see Claire die, but this was not happy families ... this was the reality of triad life. If you betrayed it in any way shape or form, then you suffered the consequences. Jiang knew their mantra only too well and he knew what would happen to him if he betrayed the Rising Dragons. Be wary of its mercilessness For treachery brings you danger. Perpetrators be especially vigilant, For it will rise up in anger... The Rising Dragon! The triad has a cruel, ferocious wrath Beware! Take heed! Think twice! Never ... ever ... deceive or betray For you will pay the price... The Rising Dragon! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* “Sir ... you wanted to see me.” “Yes. Come in Claire ... thank you for coming down to the station on your day off.” “That’s okay.” As she entered the office and took a seat opposite Inspector Jiang Ng, he explained why she was called in to Headquarters. “I believe that you were at The Triangle last night celebrating Jonathon Randall’s birthday.” “Yes that’s right.” “Is there anything you would like to say that could shed light on what happened?” “I got separated from my friends as we were leaving the nightclub when it was apparent that some trouble was brewing.” “Do you know who started the fracas?” “Not really sir. Although my friend Karen Yee said she thought the person was a member of the Black Panthers who had gained entry by deceit. Other than that, I really can’t elaborate on investigations I’m afraid. I had left before anything really serious had happened,” Claire expounded.

“Very well ... I will need to interview your friend as well to collaborate your story. Do you have her number?” “Yes,” she replied handing over Karen’s cell phone number. “Good ... I’ll contact her to come in for questioning later this afternoon.” “Were many people killed Inspector? I heard the gunshots from outside.” “Unfortunately there were quite a few fatalities.” “That’s regrettable. I guess Mr Randall will be devastated that the nightclub will be closed.” “I’m sure you’re right ... but that brings me to another matter Claire.” “Yes sir?” “I have an order here from the Chief Commissioner.” “Yes?” “I won’t beat around the bush or keep you any longer than necessary.” “Thank you.” “I won’t mince words either...” Inspector Ng paused for a brief moment before continuing. “... You are to go on an undercover mission to see if Jonathon Randall is a member of the Rising Dragons triad.” “I see. But may I say sir, that I find that a little surprising and hard to believe. What do you think?”

Was she goading him to make a declaration as to the absurdity that Jonathon Randall could be a triad member or was, she trying to trap him into revealing too much about himself? Given the second part of the Chief Commissioner’s demands he was wary… very wary.

“If he is, then I would be shocked but, then again sometimes the less likely people can be hiding their true identity.”

“Well I guess getting close to him will reveal the truth whatever that may be.”

Jiang merely nodded but her words stung. He would need to warn Jonathon that Claire Beauchamp was too perceptive and he needed to watch his step as indeed did he.  

“The Chief Commissioner also wants to know if he has connections to a traitor within the police ranks.”

Claire watched the stoic look Inspector Ng gave her, knowing that what he was telling her was really about him. The man had gumption. He never even blinked an eye when he was talking. “The Commissioner informed me of your excellent work in Aberdeen, which I might say I was unaware about, and he has specifically requested that you take on this new assignment.” “I’m sorry Inspector, but I couldn’t reveal any of that mission to you when I was transferred here to the OCTB.” “Not a problem ... I completely understand; however, this is a new assignment and one that I’m sure you will give your upmost.” “I will ... Is there anything else sir?” “No ... you may go. Knowing of your skill set Claire, I’m sure you will be successful in this request.” “Thank you.” Jiang watched as Claire Beauchamp left his office knowing that this would be the last time, he saw her alive ... the woman was history. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Claire came away thinking that Madeline had set this scenario up perfectly. The cat was indeed amongst the pigeons now. Section One had cleared her absence from the OCTB for a short while to expedite the new profile, and had managed to put the fear of God into Inspector Ng at the same time. There was no greater opportunity to apprehend Jonathon Randall as his focus could be channelled into time spent with her. The target’s obvious interest in her would work to Section’s advantage and Madeline had profiled accordingly. She would capitalise on his infatuation with her over the next few weeks. Also, this new assignment would work in conjunction to what she had already told Karen and given that Randall had asked her out to dinner, then the wheels would be set in motion. This would collaborate the premise she had given Karen and Jonathon Randall as well.  It was a win-win scenario that could only benefit Section’s capture of several main protagonists.  Jamie wouldn’t like the scenario, but she thought the plan was a lay down misere … an absolute certainty of a predicted and easy victory for the Section and perhaps be the catalyst to capturing the leader of the triad if it remained as originally profiled.

 As for Inspector Ng ... his day of reckoning was coming sooner than he thought.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued on Saturday.

[irelise]

the yew tree 3.3a/3.4

Erik has worked with Sebastian Shaw ever since Shaw rescued him from human experimentation when he was a boy. He is reluctantly enlisted to assist in Shaw’s newest scheme: seducing the wealthy and enigmatic Lord Xavier to claim his vast fortune. With Shaw posing as Xavier’s doctor, Erik goes undercover as Xavier’s personal manservant to convince him to fall in love with Shaw.

But Xavier has secrets of his own, and it isn’t long before Erik starts having second thoughts about the whole thing…

Featuring mysteries, hidden agendas, and a whole heap of master/servant tropes.

(the handmaiden inspired au - no canon knowledge required

part one and two now on ao3!

beginning of part 3)

Warnings for this part: Canon-typical violence and death Rating: M Word count: 2917 Notes: holy shit i’ve been so late with these updates, but the end is in sight! Next part is definitely the last, we only have two scenes left to go \o/

Shaw is waiting to spirit them away. He stands in the middle of the road, a tall dark figure idling by an automobile. Under Shaw’s watchful eye, Erik clambers into the driver’s seat while Shaw ushers Charles into the back, his voice dripping like honey as he fusses over Charles, all false solicitousness, and Erik grits his teeth and seethes quietly to himself.

The engine purrs to life under Erik’s touch and he spares a moment to admire the fine workmanship, knowing this journey may be their last moment of calm before all hell breaks loose. Before, he might not have particularly cared. Now, he takes the time to run his senses across the metal, enjoying its pleasant hum as he taps on the accelerator. The ink-dark countryside unfurls in front of him as he drives, and the journey would be perfectly tranquil if not for Shaw. In the rearview mirror, Erik can see him gathering Charles close. Shaw knows how to play the role of a doting lover; he leans in, mouth brushing against the shell of Charles’ ear as he murmurs something. Charles’ lashes flutter in response and Shaw smiles, arranging the two of them so that Charles’ head is pillowed against his shoulder, and Erik frowns at the way Charles just lets him, pliant as a little ragdoll. It isn’t long before Charles’ face goes slack with sleep, but Erik can see a small line of tension furrowing the space between his eyebrows, and he knows Charles is less at peace than he appears.

Still, nothing prepares Erik for the sudden whisper of Charles’ voice: Erik? Erik, can you hear me?

Erik’s fingers twitch violently on the steering wheel, shock flooding his mind. You’re in my head. Charles had never used his telepathy with him before. He thought Charles’ abilities would be weak from disuse, but the hint of Charles’ power brushing against his mind feels impossibly vast, deep and boundless as the sky at dusk.

Yes. Is that fine with you? We need to talk.

Of course. Perhaps he should be uneasy with a telepath rummaging around his head – certainly, he would never trust Emma in the same way – but right now, Charles’ powers are simply breathtaking.

He can feel Charles’ surprise colouring his mind, quickly followed by warm gratitude. Thank you.

Talk to me, is Shaw planning anything we need to know about?

The marriage ceremony will be carried out tonight. Afterwards… Erik can feel a chill creep through their connection, a gathering of dark clouds. He’ll consummate the marriage.

No!

Charles continues as if he had not heard the red-hot flare of denial. Within the week he’ll have secured the fortune. He plans to kill you after that, although he’s yet to work out the specifics. We were planning to fake my death so Uncle won’t have any reason to search for me; Shaw intends to stage an automobile accident. A rather explosive one, shall we say. The sort that leaves behind nothing but a corpse charred beyond identification.

Using my body, you mean. Well, it’s a sound plan. No reason we can’t turn it back around on Shaw.

Charles’ presence in his head goes pensive and thoughtful. No. No, I don’t see a reason to stage my death anymore. I can’t spend the rest of my life running from Uncle.

And Shaw?

What about him?

He needs to die, Charles, you know that.

…Yes. Yes, I know.

Erik thought he would feel triumphant at dragging the concession out of Charles, but instead he’s left strangely unsatisfied. So you’ll help me?

That was never in question. But I’m concerned about the potential fallout.

What do you mean?

Uncle’s research. I’m thinking about the best way to help our people. I think I may have a plan, but it would require me to step into the spotlight – and the last thing we need is for a bloody, brutal murder to be traced back to the two of us. If we must deal wi– if we must kill Shaw, then let’s do it in a manner that is more subtle.

I don’t care how we do it as long as we don’t leave him to walk free. What do you have in mind?

Shaw promised me something at the start of all this. A tool to escape my uncle for once and for all. Let’s see if he keeps his promise.

***

The wedding is a hurried, emotionless affair. The officiant rushes the couple through their vows, and when Shaw bends to kiss Charles, Charles merely blinks at him placidly even as Erik sees red. He calms only when Shaw steps away to sign the marriage document, especially when he feels Charles' presence slips into his head once more.

The officiant has been handsomely paid off, he won't ask any questions. Whatever Charles is feeling, it's locked tight away somewhere Erik can't reach; all he senses is a steel wall of resolve. After we're gone, he'll conveniently forget to file the marriage certificate.

Are you going to wipe all his memories of tonight?

Erik glimpses a flash of regret, then the walls rise up once more. I should, shouldn't I?

You know it has to be done. You won't cause any permanent damage, I've seen Emma Frost wipe memories all the time.

You're right, of course. I'll do what I have to. To keep us safe.

Charles' presence fades away again. The sham of a ceremony ends; Erik sees Shaw pull Charles to one side, and he strides forward just fast enough to catch the tail end of what Shaw is saying: "-not to use it so soon, hmm? We have a fun night ahead of us." Shaw’s thin lips twitch in a familiar, mocking smile, and light glints off his hand as he passes something to Charles.

"Ah, Erik!" Charles feigns surprise as he turns to face Erik, his eyes wide and blue. I have it, he says directly into Erik's head, even as he asks, "Is it time to leave already?"

"Just about, I'll go get the car ready. If you'll come with me, sir?"

"Yes, let's not delay. Sebastian?" Charles favours his newly-wed husband with a beaming smile, so brilliant and charming that Erik might have believed it if not for the lingering darkness that shadows Charles' thoughts.

Shaw, still playing the role of the perfect gentleman, offers Charles his arm with an indulgent chuckle. Charles takes it, the smile never leaving his face.

But as they walk past Erik, Charles - hesitates, a barely perceptible flinch. Certainly, Shaw doesn't notice. But Erik is attuned to Charles' moods after months spent by his side. Stick to the plan, he warns Charles, sending a pulse of reassurance even as he tries to stress the urgency of the situation.

Charles responds with a wordless brush of acknowledgement. A second later, Erik feels something small and hard pressed into his hand.

He turns away, hiding a grim smile.

***

Shaw promised me a wedding gift, you see. He doesn't want to murder me outright, but he thinks I'm not strong enough to survive the outside world. So he intends to give me a painless way out and claim the entire fortune once I'm gone.

And this gift is...?

A vial of opium, concentrated enough to kill. I'll be sorry to part with it. But Shaw is known to indulge in alcohol and opiates and the like - it won't be so strange if he accidentally imbibes too much during tonight's celebrations.

Replaying their earlier conversation in his mind, Erik stares down at the innocuous crystal vial resting in the palm of his hand. There's only a small amount of liquid inside, colourless, catching the light in a glinting prism of colours as Erik tips the vial from side to side, watching the opiate swirl around.

Strange to think that something so innocent-seeming will be the end of a mutant as powerful as Shaw.

Stranger still is the thought that he'll be the one killing Shaw, killing him with poison and treachery, this man who had raised him and called him son.

It's not too late to back out, a voice at the back of his head murmurs. Erik can't be sure if the thought belongs to himself or to Charles. Either way, he shakes his head, drawing on the bottomless reserves of his anger. Shaw had his parents killed. Shaw sold out his own kind. Vengeance, justice - they're one and the same. Erik has a duty to see this through.

He looks down at the modest spread of food in front of him. Currently, he's alone in the kitchen of one of Shaw's safehouses, still playing the part of Lord Xavier's dutiful manservant. Shaw had tasked him with preparing dinner - "Oysters, perhaps," he had said with a chuckle that almost made Erik hit him - and, more importantly, Erik is to serve their drinks. Well, dinner is as finished as it's ever going to be. He rings a bell to signal the start of the meal, bringing the appetizers out to the cozy round table where Shaw and Charles are seated. Too close, Erik thinks angrily, only for Charles to smooth calming mental fingers against him, a feeling not unlike having his hair stroked.

The main course is next, with the wine alongside. In the closed confines of the kitchen, Erik stares down at the glass of dark red liquid, rolling the crystal vial around in his hand.

Shaw made him into the man he is today.

And Charles... Charles is making him into someone better.

Erik tips the entire vial into one of the glasses. Then he carries both glasses out, setting one in front of Charles, one in front of Shaw. It feels like a goodbye.

Charles dips into his mind again, and his presence already feels so familiar that it makes Erik ache with the enormity of all he feels. It's done, he tells Charles, and Charles surrounds him in a warm blanket of reassurance and love.

Then it's almost over. I'm glad.

Don't get too comfortable yet, he might still have a trick or two up his sleeve.

It doesn't take long for Erik to be proven right. The effects of the opium start subtly at first: a yawn, a lazy blink, a flirtation trailing off into drowsy silence. Shaw keeps drinking - but not fast enough.

Erik! Charles' mental shout of alarm sends Erik grabbing all the nearest metal just as Shaw surges to his feet and slams his hands on the table in a deafening crack.

"You!" He thunders at Charles, lurching forward. "The hell did you do to me?"

The effects of the opium have made Shaw clumsy, but he's still a deadly threat - Charles had scrambled up to his feet already and is now backing away, glancing between Shaw and Erik. He lifts one hand and presses two fingers against his temple.

Then he drops his hand, eyes wide.

"Hold him, Charles," Erik snarls. There's plenty of metal orbiting him, sharp knives and heavy tools, iron banisters fashioned into deadly points to stab and pierce. He doesn't know if any of it will do any good against Shaw.

Shaw spares him a look. Fury twists his face into a snarling mask.

Then he smiles. It's a chilling, poisonous expression. "Charles," he croons, sickeningly sweet. "Have you turned my Erik against me?"

"Charles did nothing except give me the truth." Erik clenches his fist, reshaping all the metal around him into long, flowing lengths of chain. Brute force won't work against Shaw; he must keep him contained somehow...

Shaw gives him a contemptuous look, dismissing him as easily as he would swat a fly. Erik's heart leaps into his throat as Shaw advances on Charles again, menace roiling off him in waves. "Did you seduce him? Does he know what you do behind closed doors, little Lord Xavier?"

"Hold him, Charles, what are you waiting for-"

Be quiet, Erik, he's stronger than I expected. Charles' fingers go to his temple again. He stands his ground, staring Shaw down, a quiet fury in his eyes that Erik has never seen before.

But Shaw just keeps going, looming over Charles, and Erik's panic grows. “Get away from him!”

He hurls the chains forward with a jerk of his hand. They snake around Shaw’s neck and chest, a strangling noose of iron powerful enough to break bone. Erik yanks at the chains; he needs to force Shaw back, anything, anything at all to get him away from Charles…

Shaw only laughs. The air around him ripples with heat, and his skin churns nauseatingly as he absorbs the energy of Erik’s frantic attempts. “I taught you better than that,” he chides.

With nothing but a light flick of Shaw’s wrist, the chains snap. The fragments crumble to the ground and Shaw treads carelessly over them. He’s only three feet away from Charles now. Two.

Erik sees red. He doesn’t think, just hurls piece after piece of metal at Shaw, Shaw’s sick laughter ringing in his ears as all his efforts crash and break against the unmovable wall of Shaw’s body, useless, powerless.

Keep it up, Erik, it’s working, you’re distracting him–

Charles’ presence in his mind vanishes abruptly. His face is blanched of all colour, but the blue of his eyes remains stark and fierce, and he never once blinks in the face of Shaw’s advance.

But courage isn’t enough against an enemy like Shaw. Neither is brute force, Erik thinks, even as he sends the chains lashing forward again. Subtlety, that’s what he needs here, that’s what Charles had taught him; mere anger isn’t enough.

“Once we’re done here, I’ll tear down every single one of your projects,” Erik promises. He winds the chains around Shaw’s neck again and again, and when Shaw shatters them, Erik reforms them once more, implacable. “The Brotherhood will know everything you’ve done. Your memory will be a curse.”

Shaw is snarling now – his pride and greed have always been his weakness, and Erik presses his advantage.

“Mutants will flourish without you. All along, you were the one holding us back–”

“After all I’ve done for all of you – I was the one who made you–“

“You lied to me!” Erik roars, fury surging. “All my life, you’ve been using me!”

“For the greater good!” Shaw whirls around to face him, eyes blazing–

–And then his eyes go empty. He is a statue, frozen in time. Erik darts a quick glance at Charles and finds his expression drawn tight with strain. Blood is trickling down his nose, a shade of red so dark that it’s almost black. But his voice is even as he says: “Hurry, Erik. Remember the plan.”

Erik picks up the wineglass and approaches Shaw. His eyes are so dead. It’s as if he’s already a corpse already – and perhaps that’s not so far from the truth, when Shaw will never move under his own power again, will never speak another word, never tell another lie…

Vengeance should be more satisfying than this. Erik only feels numb as he prises Shaw’s jaw open and forces the rest of the poisoned wine down his throat.

Shaw collapses. His eyes are closed, his breathing shallow. Erik knows he’ll never wake again.

Then Charles crumples to the ground as well, and Erik moves before he registers what he’s doing, rushing to Charles’ side and dropping to his knees. “Charles! What’s wrong?”

Charles’ eyes are cloudy, blood still trickling down his nose, splashing his lips red. “Did it help?” He asks quietly.

“You’re not making any sense.” Erik gathers Charles into his arms, registering with dull surprise that his hands are shaking. Charles is trembling as well, swallowing convulsively, his breathing rapid and shallow. “Talk to me, Charles, what’s wrong? How can I help?”

“Did it help?” Charles repeats insistently. “Killing Shaw. Did it help?”

Erik shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. It’s impossible to think about Shaw when Charles looks worse with each passing second. Erik fumbles for his pulse, finding it dangerously weak and thready. “Forget Shaw. You’re, are you–” He grips Charles’ hand. “Fight it, Charles, whatever it is, you need to fight it.”

Charles reaches out, gently running his fingers against Erik’s cheek. “I think I’m still in his head.” His voice is soft, almost dreamy. “You were magnificent. You made him so furious at the end, he forgot about everything else. He was determined to take us down with him. He still is.”

“He won’t succeed,” Erik vows, even though he’s cold with dread. “Stay with me. Focus on my mind, not his.”

Holding tightly onto Charles’ hand, afraid to let go, Erik guides him to press the tips of his fingers against the side of Erik’s head. Stay with me, he calls to Charles again, trying to project warmth and comfort, candlelight and memories of the long hours they had spent in the study. He grasps hold of the little details: the feeling of parchment paper under his fingertips, the play of light across Charles’ hands when he gesticulates, the cadence of Charles’ voice as he argues a particularly fine point…

They stay together like that, Erik holding grimly onto Charles, an unmovable anchor as their minds bleed together, intertwining. Behind them, Shaw’s breathing gradually slows, then stops, and with his passing Charles goes still as well, peace falling over him.

(next part)

[bindingties]

ur words are: aberrant, temporary ur characters are (also randomly generated by number order on ur muses page): shelly & lang good luck have fun

(( idk if the words are supposed to be used together for each one, we’re playing calvin ball so im going Aberrant, Shelly and Temporary, Lang ))

ABERRANT - SHELLY

To become a De Killer assassin is to enter a pact with a general, horrific, malevolent force.  Ella de Killer looked like a normal woman but, in her true guise, she had a large, crimson red neck frill, clawed hands permanently stained crimson, and an endless void where one of her eyes was supposed to be. 

To be fair, though, having your physical form ripped asunder to be pieced back together in a totally foreign, but considerably more powerful, manner is much preferable to dying strung out in an alley somewhere.

The twisting force the De Killer line is hitched to has no entity pulling the strings. At least, not one individual. The De Killer assassins answer to the most cruel, selfish, vicious intent of humanity. Shelly has no need for the money he gets from each job; the blood he spills is all he needs to survive.

The seam line down his face can actually open, splitting his head into two halves.  Each half is lined with razor sharp teeth. He sees through both objects and the eyes of other people. If he were to open his eyes, everyone of a weaker will would find themselves suffering from the worst migraine of their lives and be instantly blinded and possibly incapacitated.  They may not gain their sight back.

As in canon, he does not take betrayal lightly.

—

TEMPORARY - LANG

I don’t know why my brain leapt to this but: Role-Reversal AU between Lang and Shih-Na/Callisto Yew. I’m justifying this by saying that Callisto’s aliases were temporary so so would Reverse!Lang’s. 

This would 100% change Lang’s base motivations. Maybe instead of seeking to restore his family’s honor, he’s embittered by the President’s betrayal and the fact the public just goes along with it, so he seeks revenge by ruining Zheng Fa via getting involved with Alba and the counterfeit money production.

In this AU, Callisto Yew would be a person that actually exists and was so distressed by her sister’s, Cece’s, death and Coachen’s acquittal that she becomes an Interpol investigator to take down the ring. Which holy shit is kind of a neat way to play Callisto and I don’t need another muse but y’all…..

[bakugou-tm]

so excited that your box is open!! could i please request a pirate au for our angry boy and his gf? (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ thank you lovely!! have a good day x

MmMMmmMMMmm Pirate AU actually sounds interesting, this was pretty fun to write sorry it’s so short. I hope you enjoy ;)

What a situation this bartender had gotten into, or shall his true identity be known as leader of the black skull.

The man, Captain Fuma Cataru, was one of the many captains of the many pirate crews that sailed the vast blue seas, but to his disadvantage he was one of the weaker captains.

Cataru used to be the greatest pirate of all time; slaughtering pirate crews left and right, and almost conquering every inch of water on the entire planet.

That was, until that little blond shit made his debut.

The new coming pirate was supposed to be a minor inconvenience, all the older experienced captains telling Cataru that he was “nothin’ ta worry ‘bout”.

Never had he imagined he would be tied up before the young boy with his crew surrounding him at gun and sword point, standing before the great, yet infamous, Bakugou Katsuki.

“Ye thought hidin as a bartender would get ye out of this aye?” Bakugou scoffed, a smirk evident on his face as he lifted his sword up to the man’s chin, forcing his drooped head up to look him in his crimson eyes, “How pathetic.”

Letting out a growl the man narrowed his eyes toward the ash blond pirate while jerking his head away from the sword, “Yer a dead man Bakugou Katsuki I swear it!”

The ash blond let out a dark chuckle, digging the rusted sword even deeper into the man’s throat, “I don’t think yer the one to be calling shots here, Cataru.”

Cataru cursed under his breath at the situation he was drowning in, why had he taken the deal with the little punk? At the time having Bakugou’s crew escort his own crew into the european conference was a great idea, that was until they got caught and left the ash blond’s crew for dead.

It also seemed like a good idea, at the time of course, to steal Bakugou’s ship so his own crew could escape and take everything they owned, especially the chest of gold Bakugou’s parents had passed down to him. But as the infamous captain’s crew came back together and sent threat’s to Cataru’s crew, his pirate group split up leaving him alone to deal with his mistakes.

All he had left was this (h/c) doll face who he had met at the bar this past week when he took the job up, in hopes of staying hidden from Bakugou’s crew.

“Yew seem awfully quiet there bud.” A tall boy hissed from behind Bakugou, Cataru immediately taking in his spiky red locks tied back into a bandana and remembering him as the boy who personally escorted himself inside, “Feeling guilty about anythin?”

Cataru scoffed, barring his teeth to the boy and his captain while narrowing his eyes, “I ain’t guilty bout nothin, ye punks are nothin but trouble and don’t deserve ta be as popular an’ strong as ye are.” 

The five members, the few of many on Bakugou’s crew, began to growl angrily at the captain’s words, clicking their rifles, smashing their fists together, and banging their swords against the ground while shouting out rage inspired profanity; that is until their captain held his hand up, their yells immediately going silent.

“Nough’ of this fucking bullshit, ye either give me the damned chest or I’ll kill you quicker than you can even blink.” Bakugou hissed, his grip on his sword tightening while he narrowed his eyes.

Captain Cataru wasn’t dumb enough to know that the ash blond was angry now, he also wasn’t dumb enough to know that if he didn’t give him what he wanted he would be a dead man. But Cataru was dumb enough to know he wasn’t going to be giving Captain Bakugou what he wanted, never would he submit to such a pesky pirate.

“Aye doll face!” Captain Cataru shouted, followed by clicking heels against the wooden floors as wide (e/c) eyes quickly bursted through, (h/c) locks bouncing behind you as your cloaked form entered the room.

The captain grinned, turning his eyes over to your form with a grin as you leaned over the counter, that seductive look in your eye you’ve been showing him all week, “Take the chest out ta the back and get as far away from here as ye can, I’ll meet ya after I deal with these chumps.”

“Of course Mr. Fuma.” You purred before jumping a bit as all of the weapons in the room were now pointed at you, this onyl causing Cataru to burst into laughter.

“Na ah ah, this lil lass here has the key to ye dumb chest, ya’ll kill her and ye’ll never get it back!” Cataru boomed, a grin plastered on his lips while he watched your devious form click away to the back. 

Captain Cataru had to admit, he always imagined this moment to be a little better. To watch Bakugou’s crew crumble before him defeat, to watch the little punk’s face drop in horror as he watched his precious gold get away. But to his surprise, the captain seemed rather… unfazed.

“Oh Mr. Fuma,” You called from the back, your black cloth trailing behind you as you walked around the corner, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I believe I have a better place for this gold.”

“Oi oi lass what’re ye doin, his crew’ll kill ya if ye get to close!” Cataru said with wide eyes, watching as you walked over to the captain before he froze, only being able to watch as you lifted the chest into Bakugou’s arms.

“W..Wha… why did ye…”

The elder captain watched with wide eyes as you stripped your black cloak off to reveal a cream laced white dress, one that was all to familiar to him.

“Wait a sec, don’t ye tell me you’re-” Cataru began before a bright yellow haired boy came behind you with a long brown pirate’s coat and matching hat with a cream feather in it, “Ye back stabbing bitch!”

“That’s Captainess (s/o) to you.”

Smirking wickedly to the shocked pirate you shrugged the coat on around your under-dress before moving closer to your boyfriend, his arm snaking around you while he smashed his lips against yours, a smirk mirroring your own on his lips, “I missed you lass.”

“I think you missed me more than you think.” You said with a grin as you unlatched the chest with the key and opened it up to find not only Bakugou’s share of gold but even more jewels and valuable items inside.

Bakugou’s crew ooo’d and ahh’d as they huddled around the chest, even the ash blond boy himself observing the abundant chest in shock.

“Ya little witch, that’s all me valuables!” Captain Cataru shouted, struggling against the ropes he was bound in while gritting his teeth.

Folding your arms you narrowed your eyes down to the man with a smug look on your face while your boyfriend’s crew had their look through the chest, “While ye were out tryin to find things to impress me, I had a lil looksies around yer place, hope ya don’t mind if I borrowed some things.”

The older captain growled at your teasing wink, pulling with all his might against the tight rope while the crew began to file out of the pub, cheering at the returning of their captainess and their precious items.

“Ye just wait Captain Bakugou, I’ll get me jewels back and I’ll snatch that pretty girlfriend of yours too til’ yer beggin on yer knees for me!” The man shouted at the ash blond who was escorting you out of the old bar.

Bakugou froze in his spot while the two of you turned around, a crooked smirk still on the ash blond’s lips as he dug around in his pocket, “Oh ye thought I was gon’ let ya live?”

When the younger captain pulled out a match, Captain Cataru’s eyes widened, his struggling against the rope stopping as he realized his soon coming doom.

“Ye wouldn’t dare…”

The ash blond chuckled before offering the match to you, “Would ye do the honors my love?”

“I would love to captain.” You said with a grin as you swiped the match against the wooden post of the exit before flicking it towards the center of the pub, the wooden floors already beginning to catch fire.

“No.. No!” Cataru shouted as he began to violently squirm around in his bonds while the two of you walked out, laughing sinisterly to the old captain, “This isn’t over Captain Bakugou Katsuki!”

Both you and your boyfriend continued chuckling at his desperate calls while you sauntered over to your new ship, your crew already on board getting ready to set sail.

“Great job lass, ye really took one for the crew.” Bakugou said, his crimson eyes peering down to you while he kept one of his arms slung around your waist.

As much as you admired your boyfriend, he was never one to give praise to anyone so you took his words with honor smiling sweetly up to him, “Thank ya Katsuki.”

The ash blond smiled softly at your adorable features, loving the way your face lit up whenever you got excited, though he would never admit. As the two of you walked up the wooden plank to get onto the ship the boy stopped when you tugged at the edge of his leather coat.

“But let me just warn ya,” You said with narrowed eyes, his own eyebrow raising down to you at your sudden mood change, “If ye ever make me stay with a creepy old hag like that capt’n in there again, I’ll kill ya.”

Bakugou only chuckled at your disgusted face, only imagining the torture you had to put up with for that full week. Even though it was worth it in the end, the ash blond couldn’t help but feel his blood boil at the thought of that captain laying a hand on you. Now that he saw your pure discomfort with the situation, he made it his priority to never force you through something like that again.

Pulling your pouted face against his chest he ran his fingers through your tangled (h/c) locks while lifting up your hat to kiss your forehead,

“Wouldn’t dream of it lass.”

[pagesoflauren]

A Thousand Years (vampire!Jack x reader AU) - Part 10

Part 9 Masterlist

Jack and Y/N drive to her parents’ house as the sun sets on her last day of finals. The backseat is stocked with presents for all of Y/N’s relatives that he doesn’t know, with suitcases for the next two weeks in the trunk. They had given Ash and Garrett a key to the house to check on Socks and fill his food bowl for him. “Just don’t move in,” Jack said.“You have a fluffy, sassy black cat,” Ash replied, “I make no promises.”

They arrive a little before midnight, two days before Christmas.

“Oh thank you for letting us send the presents to your house,” Y/N’s mum gushes, “the little ones have been snooping about trying to find them. They’ll be thrilled when they’re finally under the tree.”

Her parents help them unload the car before pulling Y/N aside while Jack carries their suitcases upstairs. “When you tell everyone about Jack, please do it delicately.” “What do you mean?” “There’s just…I don’t know exactly what everyone’s opinions on vampires are. Some people might be open, but I’m not so sure about your nan and aunties.” “But papa fought with them in the war, Jack was a spitfire pilot like him.” “Darling, I know, but…you have to understand there’s still a stigma about them.” “Well, maybe you can tell them? Kinda hint at it and if they don’t catch on then I can tell them? He hunted last week so he’s not hungry. And-and he doesn’t hunt people, just the ones who are really violent and attack others. He’s not gonna hurt anyone, especially the kids. They’ll love him, I’m sure.”

Y/N’s sudden worry catches her mum’s attention, who works diligently to calm her. “No, darling I know. He’s a lovely man and he just adores you so much. I’m sure they’ll come around, like your father.” “Has he, though?” Her mum stammers out her response, “Well, sort of. Just give it time.” “How much? It’s been over a year.” “He just worries about you.” “And you don’t?” “I do, but not on the same level as him. I think after you told us about Jack’s friend he’s just worried you’ll do the same. Leave and never come back.” “Mum, I’m sticking around whether you want me to or not. Trust me. And I’m not going anywhere that you can’t get to me or I can’t come home easily.”

They laugh together, her mum pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Alright darling, best get some sleep. The next few days are going to be a little hectic.”

Y/N goes upstairs and finds Jack waiting in the doorway of her bedroom, leaning against the frame. “Hey,” she says as she approaches him. “You think they’ll like me?” “Of course, they just need to get to know you. And you have to show them how wonderful you are,” she says, pressing kisses to his cheek, “I’m sure you can do that.”

“Let’s bring some light into this house, why are all your curtains drawn?” Y/N’s Aunt Sharon asks the next morning as she arrives. Her mother hurries to shut the curtain again, clamping it shut with a binder clip.

“We can’t have too much light in here for the next few days,” she hushes to the room, catching everyone’s attention. “Why ever not?” “Y/N’s new boyfriend…he’s a bit…um…” “Oh, has he got light sensitivity in his eyes?” Aunt Clara asks, almost ironically. Her name does mean “light,” after all.

“Yes, a bit.” “Oh, that’s not a problem, a little sunlight won’t kill him.” “I’m not too sure about that, loves,” her mother says, “I’d rather be on the safe side.”

She continues shutting and clipping the curtains together, limiting the sunlight drastically and turning on the lights.

“This is quite strange,” Y/N’s nan states. “Just, something to get used to, don’t worry,” her father brushes it off, waving his hand in the air as if to wipe away the idea form everyone’s mind. “Now, shall we get started on breakfast?”

By the time Y/N wakes up, Jack is pacing the floor, hearing the sounds of her family downstairs. She sits up and grabs his hand, pulling him to sit on the bed. “Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise.” “You sure we can’t just go home and celebrate on our own?” “Yes, because the sun’s up. Don’t need you dying on me now.” “I can’t just stay up here?” “Mum’s already told them all about you. I’m sure my cousins really want to meet you, too.” “Well, maybe we can—“ “No. Come on. Come have breakfast with me. We don’t even have to sit in the kitchen, we can sit on the couch like we’re at home.” He inhales deeply before nodding. “Okay.”

As they come down the stairs, Jack smiles to himself at the fact that Y/N’s mum had clipped the curtains shut. Before he can thank her, a group of younger…humans…are running towards them calling her name.

“Y/N!!!” they all chorus. “Hi guys!” she says, running the rest of the way down the stairs and getting engulfed in a group hug.

Jack watches lovingly, remembering his dream about her before he feels someone pull at his pant leg. He looks down and sees a little boy, probably the age of four holding his arms up. He has bright green eyes that vaguely remind him of Socks and he smiles as he picks him up to settle him on his hip. “Good morning,” he greets the child. “Hello. I’m Adrian.” “Nice to meet you, Adrian. I’m Jack.” “Hi Jack. You’re cold,” he observes, pressing his hands into various places, testing his temperature. “You’re cold all over. Did auntie Y/N take all the blankets last night and that’s why you’re cold?” “No,” he laughs, “Just naturally this way.”

Suddenly there’s a cacophony of older women and men swarming them and Y/N’s introducing everyone to Jack.

“Aunt Sharon her husband Dominic, Aunt Clara and her wife Helen, Aunt Toni and her husband Henry, that’s my nan, and there’s Aunt Julia and her husband Benjamin. And that’s my older cousin Jenny and her husband Sam.” She begins introducing her cousins, bopping each of them on the heads to point them out, “This is Timmy, Tracy, Gavin, Henry Jr., Veronica, Mars, you’re carrying Adrian, that’s Emma and her sister Evie and their brother Walter.”

It’s a blur of names and shaking hands, but Jack’s sure he’s got the names down. “Come get some tea, young man, your hands are freezing,” Uncle Dominic says. “Oh, Jack doesn’t drink tea,” Y/N says. “Coffee?”

She shakes her head, walking over to the counter to make herself a plate and her relatives close in on him more. “Wait, Y/N, where are you going, don’t leave me!” he shouts quietly. He’s about to follow her when he feels a hand on his bicep. “Well, you must be eating something,” Aunt Sharon asks as she squeezes his bicep, “You’re in shape!” “Oh, that’s just…genes and stuff,” he says waving his hand, still balancing Adrian in his arms. “You’re such a lovely young man,” Y/N’s nan says. “Oh thank you, but only half of that statement is true,” he laughs.

He suddenly sees gears turning in their heads and Y/N’s back at his side.

“He is lovely, thought isn’t he?” “Adrian, come to mummy, darling,” Jenny says with some urgency, holding her arms out for her son. He shakes his head, tightening his arms around Jack’s neck. “Go on, Adrian, your mum wants you,” Jack says, gently prying his arms loose and handing him to his mother. She takes her child quickly, holding him so that she can shield him with her body.

“Are you a vampire?” Timmy practically blurts out.

There’s a moment of tense silence, and Jack does something he never thought he’d be able to do. He looks at his mother for all intents and purposes, Y/N’s mum, and asks for a signal of what to do.

She makes a motion that looks like a shrug.

“I am, yeah,” Jack says, Y/N weaving her fingers through his. “My teacher is a vampire too!” Timmy says, “That’s why I know!” “No he isn’t, Timothy,” Aunt Clara rushes, “He was just a vampire for Halloween.” “But he’s cold all the time too. And he tells us about when he was a teenager, he fought in the-the-the um, the war in America! He was a red coat.”

There’s more silence and the discomfort is extremely tangible.

“Well, we’re going to eat in the living room, don’t want the food getting cold,” Y/N says, pulling Jack toward the living room. “It was lovely meeting you all,” Jack stammers out before following her to sit on the couch.

The crowd of Y/N’s relatives disperses to sit down again at the dining table, Y/N’s cousins peeking into the living room before coming in and staring at Jack.

“How old are you?” Henry Jr. asks.

Y/N nudges him, telling him it’s okay.

“I’m 167.”

They explode in shouts of astonishment and excitement.

“You’re older than sliced bread!” Gavin shouts. “And Walt Disney!” Walter says, proud that he knows so much about the man he’s named after. “Can you turn into a bat?” Emma asks, staring up at Jack with wide eyes. “Do you hang upside when you sleep?” Evie asks. “No, I don’t really sleep and I don’t turn into a bat. But that’d be cool though.”

“Vy don’t yew sound like zis?” Gavin asks, putting on a bad Romanian accent. “Because I’m Scottish,” Jack laughs, “I’ve never even been to Romania.”

Suddenly Adrian runs in and hops into Jack’s lap. “Are you really a vampire?”

“Yeah, I am,” he smiles.

Without any other word, Adrian puts his hands on Jack’s face before prying his mouth open and looking in. Jack opens his mouth despite the discomfort of having little fingers in it and hears Y/N choke on a piece of pancake as she giggles.

“Where are your fangs?” he asks, tilting his head to try and find the pointed teeth.

Jack moves his head back so that the little boy’s fingers can slide out of his mouth, “Do you wanna see them?” “Yeah, yeah!” they all shout. “Okay, okay,” Jack laughs, “Don’t touch them okay?” “Okay,” Adrian smiles, clapping his hands in anticipation.

Jack opens his mouth and feels his fangs protrude as they all cheer in excitement. He retracts them before closing his mouth. “How strong are you?” Walter asks. “I don’t know, exactly.” “Carry me, carry me!” Adrian cheers. Jack gets up and obliges, before Emma’s pushing his arm up and telling him to extend it. She jumps up and hangs on his arm like a monkey bar and her other cousins follow suit, climbing up and hanging onto Jack in anyway he can. There’s the exception of Mars, the next one after Y/N, though he’s younger than her by eight years. He stares at Jack intently, squinting his eyes suspiciously at him. “Yes?” “Your name’s Jack.” “Mhmm.” “Like Jack the Ripper.”

If they were in a sitcom, there would be the sound of a record scratching, cutting off the happy music playing in the background and the sound of the studio audience laughing.

“Uh, no, mate, m’not a serial killer. You think I’d be hanging around your cousin and letting all these kids hang off me if I was?” “Maybe so.” “Mars is really into crime and stuff,” Y/N explains, “he wants to be a police officer when he grows up, don’t you?” “Yep. You’re all clear for now, mister,” he says to Jack. “Thank you, officer,” Jack laughs, setting all the kids on the floor and sitting down to hang out with them.

Y/N gets up to bring her plate to the sink, getting intercepted by her concerned relatives. “You left him with the children?” they ask, astonished. “They’re fine,” she says casually, “he won’t hurt them. They’re actually quite fascinated with him.” “Isn’t that what they do, though?” her nan says in an accusing tone, “They use their charm to get into people’s heads and draw them in and then they just take them away?” “No, he’s not like that at all!” “He’s got a hold on you, doesn’t he?” “No, it’s not like that. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. He hunts animals.”

There’s silence.

“Go look at see,” she points towards the doorway to the living room. They eye her suspiciously before Aunt Sharon goes to peek around the wall. She relaxes visibly before turning back. “What’s going on?” “They’re just playing and he’s telling them stories.” “He’s such a wonderful person, I promise. He fought in the Great War and World War II. He was a spitfire pilot, like Papa.”

There’s more silence and Y/N thinks she might’ve gotten through to them.

“You watch out for the children, okay?” they say, “You don’t let him hurt them.” “I won’t. Please, please give him a chance, he’s so sweet.”

There’s a sign of resignation in their eyes and they appear to concede.

“Just make sure you’re being safe, dear,” Aunt Helen says. Y/N had a special place in her heart ever since she was a little girl.

“People can be mean, Aunt Helen,” she had said, “but you’re nice. You’re just trying to love Aunt Clara. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

“I will, Aunt Helen. He loves me and I love him.”

They all kiss her cheeks and forehead, reminding her they’re just worried because they love her and she can’t help that she feels a little thankful that they care so much. When she returns, Jack is telling them about Socks and his naughty habits, stopping to smile at her when he sees her walk in.

There’s a moment between them, suddenly broken by Evie’s outburst of “Do you love each other?” “No, they don’t Evie, only mommies and daddies can love each other,” Walter says. “Or mommies and mommies!” Timmy says, reminding them of his parents. “Yeah!” Walter agrees. “But they look at each other like mommy and daddy do,” Evie explains to Walter.

As they continue to banter, Y/N sits next to Jack, who’s bouncing little Adrian in his lap. “How’s it going?” “I think I got their approval,” Jack says proudly. “Good. The older folk are working at it.” “If they’re the older folk then I must be ancient.” “You are, though.” “Oi!”

The rest of the day was spent cooking, Jack helping in the kitchen where he could, proudly sharing his newfound cooking expertise with all the aunties while Y/N played video games with her cousins in the basement and the uncles watched football in the living room. Occasionally, Y/N would come in and grab snacks for the kids and Jack would quickly steal a kiss from her, earning coos from the aunts and a smile from Y/N’s mum.

After dinner, everyone gathered in the living room to open one present, Y/N picking her present from Aunt Clara and Aunt Helen as Jack settled behind her, extending his legs so she could sit between them. Her mum walked over and handed him an envelope with his name written on it.

“Here, darling,” she smiled, “Y/N told us you’ve yet to use your music app on your phone, so we figured we’d help you get started.”

He tears the envelope and opens the card, catching the iTunes gift card that slides out before reading the card.

We are so happy to have you as part of our family. May this be the first Christmas of many.

It was simple, but somehow it gave him all the reassurance he needed.

Y/N had jumped up at the excitement of unwrapping a designer bag, running over to hug her aunts. Jack got up to thank Y/N’s parents, hugging each of them tightly and kissing her mum on the cheek.

“Thank you,” he says, “I’m so grateful that you guys have accepted me into your family.” “Of course,” her father says, eyes drifting towards his daughter who’s modeling the bag in her pajamas, “She loves you very much.” “I want to say that I know, but I think she loves me more than I could ever imagine. And I feel just the same.” “If you ever want to marry her,” he says casually, “you have my approval.”

Jack looks at him, astonishment slapped all across his face.

“Are you serious?” “Yes. Hopefully that doesn’t scare you away,” he laughs, “I just imagine that…you two will be together for a long time and if marriage ever comes up you know you’ve got my blessing.”

Jack smiles, trying really hard to not let his emotions get the best of him, and thanks him.

When they go upstairs as everyone’s setting up their air mattresses and beddings, Y/N asks him what he and her parents were talking about.

“Oh I just thanked them for the iTunes, told them I’d use it to buy some Beatles music and stuff.” “Seems like you’re getting along well with everyone, especially when you were helping in the kitchen. Are they coming around?” “A little. I still can sense a bit of discomfort but it’s nice to know that your mum is getting me involved in everything.”

“I’m glad, too.”

They exchange kisses before Y/N snuggles up to him in bed and falls asleep. Jack gets up and opens the curtains, watching the snowfall as the moonlight filters in through the window. He remembers Christmases with his parents, opening presents and drinking hot cocoa while sitting by the fireplace. He remembers playing in the snow with Thomas, snowball fights and kissing pretty girls in the cheek as they stood under the mistletoe before running away. He doesn’t think about them much, but around this time of year when everyone is with their families, he can’t help but miss his own parents, wishing so badly that they hadn’t turned him away.

His thoughts are interrupted when Y/N stirs, in bed, her teeth chattering agains the cold. He closes the curtains before lying next to her and bringing her into him, pulling another blanket over her to shield her from the cold air. He presses a series of kisses to her forehead, her father’s words echoing in his mind. I just imagine that you two will be together for a long time.

He thinks about his dream again, having Y/N at his side forever. He shelves the idea again, knowing that Y/N might change her mind one day and decide to be with a mortal. As much as he’d understand why she would make a decision like that, he really hopes she doesn’t.

The next morning, Jack hears rattling at the door before it opens and Adrian runs in, jumping on the bed.

“It’s Christmas, it’s Christmas, it’s Christmas!” he cheers, shaking Y/N awake. “Oh, gosh, Adrian, okay, okay,” she laughs, “I’m awake, we’ll be down in a bit.” “Come on, Uncle Jack, come on!” he says tugging his arm. “Go, go, I’ll catch up,” she says, pushing him towards the edge of the bed to follow the little boy.

Jack’s mind is in a frenzy. He wants to tell Adrian to wait for Y/N, but his thought are muddled by the fact that he called him uncle. He’s able to come down the stairs, grabbing Adrian and scoop him into his arms before he slips on the last step and carries him into the living room.

Jenny’s eyes light up with concern for her son when she first sees them together, but relaxes when Jack sets him down with his other cousins to play with the race car track that Gavin got from his parents. Y/N finally comes down and she’s swarmed with everyone wanting to give her presents since she’s the last of the cousins to do so. She unwraps sweaters, gift cards and makeup bags before Jack hands her a slender box with her name written in curly handwriting.

“This one’s from me,” he says. “Did you write this?” she says, pointing to the penmanship written in black marker. “I did. Told you I had some of the best handwriting in Oxton.” “I stand corrected. Here,” she says handing him her own box as well. Their first Christmas they spent together, they had just cuddled and watched movies all day as the snow fell outside, not exchanging gifts. This Christmas they had made it a point to give gifts to each other, keeping them secret and stashing them in places around the house where they know the other wouldn’t find it.

“Open yours first,” Jack says. “Can’t we open it together?” “No, I wanna see your reaction.” “Okay,” she laughs, tearing into the gift wrap and tossing it aside. “Jack please tell me you didn’t get me a diamond necklace. “I didn’t,” he says, shaking his head.

She opens the box to find a Victorian folding fan, delicately taking it out of the box and slowly opening it. Lace lined the top of it and a floral design was spread across the pleated section.

“It’s from around my time,” he explains, “If I was courting you and you wanted to communicate with me, you would’ve used a bunch of different movements and ways of fanning yourself to do so.”

“Well right now, I’m gonna use it to actually fan myself because it’s hot here,” she says, fanning herself quickly. He suddenly becomes sheepish, catching her attention. “What?” she laughs. “Well, in Scotland that means ‘kiss me.’” “In that case,” she giggles, turning more towards him and fanning herself even faster. Jack leans in and pecks her on the lips, before drawing away bashfully. She laughs now, folding the fan again and kissing his cheek. “I love it. Thank you.” “M’glad, lass.”

“Okay, now open yours,” she says.

He undoes the twine bow and begins slowly tearing the paper away, revealing a small book. It’s leather and his initials are carved into the cover. “What’s this now?” he asks. “Open it,” she says, her cheeks glowing with a slight pink tint.

He pulls the cover open, resting his fingers on the page so that he can look at it.

It’s him.

It’s a picture of him at the stove, with a bar of text that says “Get you a man that can cook.”

“How did,” he starts, his question dying in his throat as he turns the page.

It’s a picture of him sitting on her bed in her dorm, smaller this time, along with a couple screenshots from her phone.

GUYS GUYS LAST NIGHT I WENT TO THE BAR AND THE BARTENDER WAS SO HOT HE WALKED ME BACK TO MY DORM AND LEFT ME HIS JACKET BECAUSE IT WAS COLD GIRL YOU BETTER GET THAT ASS WHAT WAS HIS NAME? WHAT DID HE LOOK LIKE?? HIS NAME IS JACK AND HE’S SO FREAKING TALL AND BLONDE AND HE HAS BLUE EYES AND HE’S SCOTTISH AND HE LEFT YOU HIS JACKET? GIRL HE WANTS YOU YOU HAVE TO SEE HIM AGAIN I WANT TO. I’M GONNA GIVE HIM HIS JACKET WHAT ELSE SHOULD I SAY JUST BE LIKE “Hey this is really nice, where’d you get it?” Just make conversation with him. THEN FUCK HIM.

Jack laughs when he reads that conversation before looking over at Y/N and seeing her laughing with him.

The next picture is of him reclining on the couch, Socks on his chest as he looks in the direction of the TV. 

He’s smiling, feeling tears build up in his eyes.

The next page is another couple of screenshots and a picture of him folding laundry.

Y’all he’s a vampire, how did I not realize. damn WHAT! Okay but if you think about it that kinda makes sense? Like, working in a bar late at night when the sun isn’t out, living in one of the cloudiest places in the entire world? That’s true. Should I still go for it though? did you talk to him today? give him his jacket? I did. I kissed him too. Y/N FJI;RHGROIEF;VHIG;AIH OH MY GOD YOU DID STOP EVERYTHING I KNOW I KNOW I COULDN’T HELP IT THOUGH, HE’S SO PRETTY AND HE WAS GONNA LEAVE BUT I DIDN’T WANT HIM TO SO I JUST WENT FOR IT HE KISSED ME TOO THOUGH HE DID!!! Y/N YOU KISSED A VAMPIRE I DID HOLY SHIT NOW WHAT THOUGH HE’S TAKING ME OUT TOMORROW. WHERE? WHERE? We’re going to a restaurant lmao he’s just gonna pay for my food. Bruh he totally wants you HE WANTS TO TAP IT Y/N!!!

They laugh again and Jack turns to the next page, seeing a picture of him painting the house. There’s another of him napping, the camera close to his face, and he cries. “What, what is it?” Y/N asks, everyone’s attention turning to him. “I just,” he starts, his voice full of emotion as he looks at the picture, “I haven’t seen myself in years. I’ve forgotten what I look like.”

Y/N laughs, wiping his tears with the sleeve of her sweater and kissing his cheek. “How’d you even do this?” “You show up on iPhone cameras, love,” she explains, still laughing. “I can’t believe this,” he says, “I never-I never thought I’d see pictures of myself again, I’ve only had ideas and vague memories.”

He continues flipping through the pictures, finding one of him scolding Socks, then fist bumping him even though he still looks rather annoyed, laughing through his tears. There’s one of him driving, his mouth open as he sings, and another of him scowling at the TV, probably watching Jeremy Kyle. He stops suddenly, looking at a photo of him and Y/N. They’re at the club from Halloween, in their costumes, him laughing as Y/N kisses his cheek. He figures Ash or Garrett must’ve taken it, but he’s still overcome with emotion. He has a picture of himself with her.

He cries even more, Y/N rubbing his back and laughing as she tries to calm him down. “We can have pictures together,” he says. “We can,” she confirms, nodding her head. “And we can have videos too? Videos of us together?” “Mhmm. Here,” she says, grabbing her phone and opening snapchat. She activates the selfie camera, holding it up to her face before leaning over to bring Jack into the picture. His eyes and nose are a little red from his tears and he almost starts crying again at the sight of himself. “Hey, stop crying,” she laughs, kissing his cheek. Jack looks beyond the phone and finds everyone watching him, their eyes soft after witnessing the scene unfold before them. Y/N snaps the picture then, his eyes looking away from the camera and her lips pressed against his cheek as she looks for a Christmas frame to add onto it before sending it to her story. “Can you teach me how to do that?” he asks. “Snapchat?” He nods, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “Of course, darling. And you can take all the pictures you want.”

[kookie-vith-suga]

Ordinary #11

Word count: 1191

Warnings: Angst, violence, use of drugs, nothing too serious yet

Author’s note: Omg I do not know why I am doing this to myself but that is probably the only way to satisfy all of you since I got the request three time with different people :D Please tell me if you liked it my lovely anons ♥

Also @twitchysmiles @lovingkittyobject @deltablue202 hope this is to your satisfaction as well! Thanks for showing interest ♥

I would like to make this a longer thing if you want to so go ahead and request ;)

P.S.: I am not so content with the headline so I may change it… now I stop bothering you. Happy reading :D

–> Masterlist

#1   #2   #3   #4  #5  #6  #7 #8 #9 #10

!! Requests are closed !!

Request: For the Drabble game can I request taehyung (bts) with the mafia with numbers 6&16??? love yew

Bts Yoongi Mafia au with 6 & 16 pls?✨🌙             

Can I request a drabble with EXO’s Chanyeol, mafia #6 and #16?? Anyway, I love your blog!!😍😍             

6: “Look at me when I’m fucking talking to you”

16: “Looks like I’m going to have to punish you, babydoll”

What if a handsome gang leader, a smart assassin and an admirable drug dealer were head over heels for one girl. A girl which was called “ordinary” so often that no one would ever believe their intentions could be real. But they were and the girl we just talked about, is you. 

First encounter

Run. That was everything that had been ghosting through your head since your eyes met the ones of the brown haired boy once again. You crawled out of your hideout and your feet started moving without further commands into the opposite direction. Of course the boy immediately started following you. He was fast. He proved you that for the past ten minutes already. Your veins were filled with adrenaline which was probably the only reason how you could endure running at such a fast pace for so long. You did not really knew why you were running from that boy. Maybe it was the way he had eyed you with an evil grin on his lips as you had sit on the abandoned park bench in the dark. That did not promise anything well.

You turned around the tenth corner which led you to the main street again. You sighed relieved. Quickly you dived into a group of people. Just walk in the middle,Y/N! He cannot spot me there. You did not turn around to actually check on your thesis and only prayed to god that it would be like this. The group of people were friends apparently and besides one or two confused looks they just accepted your presence.

It had been the lit up sign of “police station” that let you feel safe enough to leave the group. You slipped through the doors only then pulled down the hood from your head.

“H-h-ello officers. I have to report something.” Your voice was still a bit shaky from all the stir.

“What exactly are we talking about here?”, a rather corpulent one apporached you.

“Well I was followed by a stranger all the way from the great park till here”, you had calmed enough to speak normally now.

“What makes you think that he followed you?”, he questioned.

What kind of stupid question is that?! It started boiling in you. You were still not down from your adrenaline high which made you way more emotional.

“When I noticed him walking towards me I got up instantly. He continued walking behind me. When I got faster, he got faster too. When I started running, he was close behind. It took me nearly fifteen minutes to get him off my ass”, You talked yourself into rage so that you were shouting at them.

“Young lady please calm down. We cannot talk properly like this”, he demanded.

You exhaled once. “I am calm”, you pressed through your gritted teeth.

“Can you describe the man?”, he picked up a piece of paper and a pencil.

“Umm..not really…I mean I was facing the other way mostly. I only saw that he had light brown hair, dressed all in black with a black cap on his head and something silvery was shining around his neck.”

A sudden expression of shock flashed the officers face and he turned around to the small office in the back.

“A silver necklace you said?”, the other officer questioned while he joined his partner.

You nodded hesitantly. The both of them exchanged a look you could not define. Then they faced you again.

“I am sorry ma’am but with such a weak description we cannot do anything for you.” The taller one shrugged lazily.

“What is that supposed to mean?! Is it because that necklace? I mean it is nothing to be afraid of right?! It is not like that guy is in a gang or something?”, you inquired to know.

They exchanged another look and you sensed them growing nervous. Now you instantly knew you asked the very right question.

“This is unbelievable!”, you threw your arms in the air, “This just cannot be real! How can you even know if it is not only a NORMAL necklace and just a NORMAL pervert?! The police your so said friend and helper is to afraid to help a young woman who is being followed by a creep because he wears an accessory that may could be connected to a gang. What a nice headline for the newspapers don’t you think?!”, you scoffed.

“W-w-watch your words ma’am!”, the corpulent one stuttered, “These allegations are all wrong! Th-”

“I think it would be better if you leave now”, the other interrupted him. 

You huffed. “So just to be clear here. You want me to go out there again with the possibility of getting abducted without any protection?! I am so gonna report the two of you.” Your words were meant to provoke. These useless scumbags.

The taller one whispered something into the other ear.

“We can only offer to drive you home if you promise to not report anything.”

“That is really the LEAST you can do! You should maybe overthink if that is the right profession for you. Now let us go!”

I just want to go home…

You had calmed during the ride and even had a little small talk with the officer. As you finally let the door of your aparment close behind you, you could finally relax. You removed your coat and tossed your bag to the side. You tapped into the living room and turned the lamp on.

“Welcome home babydoll.”

You froze in your position. A cold shiver was running down your spine as you noticed the boy from the park.

“You may think you are smart but unfortunately I am smarter”, he continued rambling, “Also how dare you to call me a pervert or creep? I am very far from that. Okay I may be in your apartment without your permission but if you knew me, you would feel totally different.”

Meanwhile your eyes flickered through the room if there was anything within range you could use as a weapon. To your distress there was nothing so you calculated if it could be possible for you to run outside before he would caught you.

“Don’t even try babydoll. I will get you anyway and what I need to do then will not be too pleasant for you. So please don’t foce me t-”, he could not end his sentence when you had made your decision and started running towards the door. You reached it and tore it open. For just a second you thought you had made it when you felt a hand wrapping around your arm with an iron grip.

You cried out in pain as you were pulled towards him with force and something soft was pressed onto your face. The smell that now creeped into your nose was more than acrid. Your voice died out and short after your whole body seemed to just give up. He supported your body so you don’t just fall onto the floor. You felt yourself gently lied down and he brushed your hair to the side. It was nearly a loving gesture if you would not consider the situation.

The last thing you saw was him bending over you with the pendant of his silver necklace dangling in front of your face. You could read the word “Family” before everything went dark.

I know this isn’t really what you may have expected as you requested that drabble. But I thought it had much more potential and don’t worry I will use those catch phrases sooner or later ;)

Requests for a part 2 are open! ♥

[irelise]

the yew tree 2.6-7/?

Erik has worked with Sebastian Shaw, mutant revolutionary, ever since Shaw rescued him from human experimentation when he was a boy. He is reluctantly enlisted to assist in Shaw’s newest scheme: seducing the wealthy and enigmatic Lord Xavier and claiming his vast fortune. With Shaw posing as Xavier’s doctor, Erik goes undercover as Xavier’s personal manservant to convince him to fall in love with Shaw.

But Xavier has secrets of his own, and it isn’t long before Erik starts having second thoughts about the whole thing…

(the handmaiden inspired au - no canon knowledge required

part one now on ao3!

and click here for the beginning of part 2!)

Warnings for this part: suicide ideation, sexual exploitation, depression, referenced human experimentation, dubious medical ethics, referenced suicide Rating: M Word count: 4379

6. Time passes. Days, months, years, all blurring into each other, an endless grey haze.

Sometimes Charles wakes with his heart in his throat, a suffocating pressure crushing down on his ribcage. He needs to do something – this can’t be the rest of his life, it can’t–

He doesn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified when the panic always, inevitably, fades away, replaced by a familiar numbness and tired resignation. Waiting to die, he thinks cynically, staring at the worn golden tassels of the rug. Maybe today will be the day one of Uncle’s machines shorts out his brain.

Time passes.

 7. Charles first meets Sebastian Shaw during a particularly lurid reading of The Misfortunes of Virtue.

Such readings are entirely routine by now.  Eyes on the page, look up every few words. Meet the eyes of a specific man in the audience, smile at him like the reading is all for him. Back to the book. Rinse and repeat. He floats somewhere above his own body, telepathy spreading loose and uncontrolled through the hall like a cloud of spilled ink. Lust, predictably, is the dominant emotion, colouring the room in a humid and stifling haze. Charles lets it wash over him. Through him. It’s been a long time since it had any effect on him.

But something is different tonight. There’s someone – someone’s mind – a sort of unnameable brightness, an otherness…

A man in the second row. He lounges in his seat, perfectly at ease, as if the performance is nothing more remarkable than a night at the cinema. Charles meets his eyes. The man had introduced himself to Uncle as Dr. Klaus Schmidt, but inside his head he thinks of himself as Sebastian Shaw – or perhaps that’s another alias internalised for so long and so often that it had become the truth.

Sebastian Shaw smiles at him. It is an inviting thing, a lingering look of appreciation, a touch of flirtation. Power and confidence radiate from him.

But he has Uncle’s eyes, cold and calculating.

Charles smiles back at him, serene, and continues his reading.

***

The second time he meets Sebastian Shaw is in his bedroom.

Charles had been in his study paging through the newest volume of Human Genetics when he felt the approach of two minds. Uncle’s he automatically walls off, but the presence next to him – Shaw, Schmidt, whatever he calls himself – is like a beacon. Intrigued, Charles gets to his feet and returns to his bedroom, ready to play the role of the gracious host.

The door swings open and Uncle steps in, eyes sweeping dismissively around the room. Usually Uncle would summon him down to the lab for this sort of business, but sometimes he enjoys invading Charles’ rooms, an unsubtle reminder that Charles has no right to privacy.

Charles is long past the point of minding. He gives Uncle a cordial smile, impeccably polite. “Good evening, sir. And who might your guest be?”

Uncle grunts. “It’s your new doctor. Wants to give you a check-up tonight. No need to play stupid, he knows all about your mind tricks.”

“Ah.” Charles’ smile doesn’t flicker as he inclines his head at Shaw. “In that case, how do you do, Dr. Schmidt? Charles Xavier, at your service, but I think you knew that already.”

“Pleasure,” Shaw says, and the interest that lights up his mind is real. “I’ve read all of your work, Lord Xavier. You have some fascinating ideas that I would love to take further.”

His work – currently, a collection of review papers summarising the state of knowledge in genetics and related disciplines, with suggestions for future experiments carefully crafted to nudge the field in directions that are less inhumane. Charles supposes he should be grateful that Uncle permits him to publish under his own name and keep up correspondence with other scholars. The reception to his work has been positive, but Charles hadn’t expected Shaw, of all people, to mention it out of the blue. Although momentarily thrown by Shaw’s compliment, Charles recovers easily. “That’s very kind of you to say so. My position limits the type of work I can engage in, but I try to make the best of the resources available to me.”

Shaw makes an approving noise. “Someone must keep up with the vast body of knowledge at our disposal, separate the wheat from the chaff. You do good work.”

Behind Shaw, Uncle clears his throat impatiently. “You two done?”

“Yes, we should get on with things, hmm?” Shaw motions him closer, so Charles goes. Already, he’s starting to drift from his body again. In the kitchens, one of the cooks is gritting her teeth against the pain as she runs cold water over the angry red burn that covers her arm. Someone is out working late on the grounds, cursing the moonless sky. And further down the road, closer to the town–

“Strip,” Shaw says, so Charles does.

“Stand there,” Shaw says, so Charles moves where he directs, and Shaw takes measurements for his height and weight, for the circumference of his waist. Distantly, he can hear the rustle of sheets as Uncle settles down on his bed, watching his naked body with undisguised greed.

“Stay still,” Shaw says, so Charles stands there, arms straight and palms resting against his thighs. Shaw circles him, inspecting every inch of his skin: first with his eyes, then with his gloved hands, feeling at every minor blemish, every mole and freckle. For some moments Shaw lingers over the scars etched on his back from the time Uncle decided a live demonstration of The Whippingham Papers was necessary – You should feel right at home, what with that charming English public school upbringing of yours, Uncle had said, and the audience had laughed.

Charles closes his eyes. His head is empty and quiet.

“Open your mouth,” Shaw says, so Charles does, and Shaw checks his teeth and gums like he’s an animal for purchase. Not even ten minutes ago, this very same man had spoken to him like an equal. It seems so far away now.

“Spread your legs.”

It’s all you’re good for.

Impossible to tell where the thought had come from. Perhaps it’s from himself. Charles allows his telepathy to carry him further away.

Hands, gloved by impersonal latex, squeeze his testicles, checking for lumps and abnormalities. Charles allows the sensations to wash over him. Through him. He is not affected.

His body is not his own.

He does not care what happens to it.

A slick noise penetrates the air as Shaw lubricates his fingers. Uncle’s interest in the proceedings batter down on him in a red tide. Charles’ eyes fix on the window, the yew tree a constant reminder in the distance.

“Bend,” Shaw says, so Charles does, bending at the waist. Shaw braces one hand against his hip. One lubricated finger presses gently past his sphincter, calm and professional, and since Charles’ body doesn’t fight it the finger pushes deeper into his rectum. Shaw palpates the delicate internal tissues, feeling out the prostate gland from apex to base. It’s all over within a few minutes, and after that Charles silently dresses himself as Shaw and Uncle talk.

“I’ll run more tests later, for blood pressure and the like, but at this point in time it doesn’t seem like there’s anything physically wrong with him – aside from the migraines, he’s perfectly healthy. It’s going to be hard to find out what exactly is causing the migraines, since we can’t very well cut his head open and take a look inside… Could be the telepathy, could be something else, we’re starting to see some proof that some people just get migraines for no real reason…”

Charles is vaguely curious about their discussion, but it’s hard to focus when he’s so far away, curled up in the mind of one of the townswomen as she gives her husband a perfunctory kiss goodnight.

“…his extensive medical records, I’ll try him out on a new medication regime,” Shaw is saying. Charles struggles to pull himself back to the present, knowing it’s important, but he’s drifting off again when he hears–

Lord Xavier. Charles.

Charles blinks. That voice – it’s Shaw, a telepathic communication shining with the same brightness that glows in Shaw’s mind. It’s not the first time someone has communicated with him telepathically – it’s a regular part of Uncle’s tests – but never before had he heard a mental voice this clear.

He does not reply. It’s one of his self-imposed rules.

Shaw and Uncle continue their conversation, but Shaw’s voice continues to twine around his mind, intimate as a lover. Come meet me tonight, Charles. We have so much to discuss. Surely, you’ve noticed by now that my mind is different.

Superior.

I’m like you.

Tonight, Charles. By that tree at the edge of your property. Meet me there.

***

He does not trust Shaw.

He is fascinated by Shaw.

These are not mutually exclusive things.

Left to his own devices once more, Charles retreats to the study. Without hesitation, he reaches out, creeping on silent cat’s feet into Shaw’s mind.

Shaw is – complex. Mutant, as he had implied, and old, far older than he looks, a veritable treasure trove of experience, his mind humming with that beautiful energy that had drawn Charles to him in the first place. He shines bright with a fire and passion Charles had long ago lost.

But for all Shaw’s disdain of humans, the deeper layers of his mind are remarkably similar to Uncle’s. They have the same greed, the same drive to take things – people ­– apart in the name of scientific inquiry, the same potential for petty cruelties…

Charles would like nothing better than to never enter Shaw’s mind again, but he blocks out his discomfort, focusing on the task at hand. He needs more information.

It’s rare that he digs through memories, a light-fingered thief snatching at precious moments he has no right to. Most of the time, Charles is content to be a silent observer, drifting aimlessly in the present. But too often he loses himself entirely and reaches deeper than he means to.

He does it on purpose now, sinking into Shaw’s mind until he is Shaw, squinting through the darkness of the grounds as he walks to the yew tree for their rendezvous. His mind is a buzz of plans and low-grade irritation – Marko has ruined the Xavier boy what a waste of power waste of potential I should kill him for it – and Charles carefully wills Shaw’s thoughts to dwell on the subject of Uncle, spinning out into a web of associations and memories.

Years and years of partnership, he and Marko and Trask; after all, the humans are useful pawns and scapegoats and of course neither of them know he is a mutant and what he has planned for them eventually…

He is not a traitor to his own kind. He is never the one to hunt down and capture fellow mutants. But once they’ve fallen into human hands – well, he’s really no different from a parent who allows his children to stumble and fall, to make their own mistakes and grow. Besides, he always rescues them in the end, after they’ve had a chance to learn their lessons. So what if it takes a few years?

Anger, hate, fear – they are the best teachers. They are the source of power.

Charles shudders at that familiar philosophy, heard so many times before from Uncle’s mouth, from his books. The urge to flee almost overpowers him, but Charles stays put and continues to eavesdrop on Shaw’s growing ire – where is that damn boy, gonna be late for my meeting with Azazel, fucking nobles, he’s worse than Emma, Christ I need to make some time to go through things with Emma, we need to figure out how to deal with little Erik Lehnsherr…

Vitriol. Disappointment. Fatherly pride. Murderous intent, blood-red. Whoever Erik Lehnsherr is, he inspires a tangled web of emotion so deep and powerful that it sends Charles reeling.

Before Charles can stop himself, his power threads carefully through Shaw’s mind, plucking out more memories:

A tall, lean figure pacing in front of a small crowd of mutants, his movements as economical and graceful – deadly – as a shark on the hunt. “My brothers and sisters…” Erik says, and the memory is both blurred and vibrant, a multitude of similar scenes overlayed on top of each other. Shaw’s paternal fondness is an undercurrent through it all. My little firebrand, he thinks, proud. Possessive. Erik is his. His finest creation.

Shaw’s mind flicks to memories of Erik as he was, a sweet little boy. Not even three years spent under the scalpels of human scientists had fully snuffed out the innate sweetness and honesty in Erik’s nature. The first few months after his rescue Erik had been a persistent shadow, wary as a kicked dog and just as starved for attention. Oh, little Erik tried to put up a strong front, bristling and snapping at everything, but the slightest bit of praise had Erik hanging onto his every word. Shaw loves them the most at this age; young minds are so malleable, so easy to mould in the proper way. It’s no difficult task to feed Erik’s fear and hatred, shaping him into a weapon against the humans as easily as Erik shapes his metal.

His only regret is that he hadn’t taken a firmer hand with Erik. “Brothers and sisters,” Erik says once again, in another time, in another memory. Shaw had written the speech for Erik, but Erik’s next words come as a shock of cold water: “Today, we free our captive brothers and sisters! We’ll bring down the complex around the humans, we’ll unleash a devastation they’ll never forget!”

“That wasn’t what we had agreed on!” Shaw snarls, an indeterminable amount of time later, and this memory is blazing red with fury. How dare he; he had raised Erik like a son, he had made him into everything he is now, he had given him everything. “This was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission only!”

“We know they have mutants held captive there, how much more reconnaissance do we need?” Erik snarls back, and by God, Shaw’s hand itches. He wants to slap Erik. He wants to choke him, to hear the splintering of bone and the bloody rip of torn flesh.

“No,” Erik continues. The air around him hums, crackling with magnetic energy. “I won’t let the humans experiment on them one second longer.” His eyes narrow. “And I can’t believe you’re even thinking about leaving them there. What the fuck, Sebastian?”

If only he knew.

Shaw’s memories jump again, and these are worn with time and distance. A rumour, heard from a friend of a friend, about a child patient who brings horrendously bad luck. Needles bend and dull around him. Instruments, always the metal ones, suddenly warp. Pipes leak, wiring falls apart.

Shaw is not a traitor to his own kind. He would never hunt fellow mutants. But this is more like – like sending someone to be trained. A few words in the right ears, and little Erik Lehnsherr is suddenly an orphan, another missing child for human authorities to forget about. It’s all very laughably easy. The humans all think Shaw – the clever, ever-reliable Dr. Schmidt – is one of them, and Shaw reads all the reports they send him on little Erik Lehnsherr, charting the jumps in Erik’s power until he’s grown enough to be useful. Then it’s a simple matter of rescuing him, Erik’s own personal knight in shining armour. He kills little Erik’s tormentors right before the boy’s wide, terrified eyes, relishing the fear and betrayal on the faces of the human scientists even as he gathers Erik into his arms, shushing and soothing him. Mine.

Mine.

Unsettled, Charles pulls back from Shaw’s mind, but not far enough. All those memories of Erik he had roused had awakened something dark in Shaw; Shaw’s mind whirls round and round in furious circles – need to deal with him he’s too popular with the young recruits, how dare he how dare he, he’s going to ruin all my plans, he’s mine, he’s taking what’s mine…

Charles is no stranger to thoughts of violence, but Shaw’s fevered imaginings are more visceral than most. He’s murdered before. Erik Lehnsherr will only be another name in a long, long list.

God. Charles pulls back completely. He’s done it again, gone where he had no right to and fucked everything up in the process. Would Shaw be so homicidally angry if Charles hadn’t pulled up all those memories?

He needs to fix this. The thought of meeting Shaw, alone, fills Charles with apprehension, but he gets to his feet anyway. Shaw is no threat to him, Charles reminds himself. He’s already been dismissed as a weakling, and while Shaw’s mind may be a shifting mess of hypocrisy and double standards, Charles has the impression that Shaw is genuine in his desire to avoid harming other mutants – except, of course, when his power is threatened.

The grounds are chilly, and it’s colder still under the shadow of the yew tree. Shaw’s smile is a knife in the dark. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he drawls.

Charles smiles in return, perfectly serene, perfectly bland. “Did you need something from me?”

“I’m here to make you an offer.”

“Oh?”

For all his outward calm, inside, Charles is scrabbling for the right thing to say. Uncle’s friends are easy, but Shaw – Shaw is a fellow mutant. Kin. The textures of his mind are rich and vibrant, with an extra depth to his perception of the world that no human can hope to match.

And yet.

He’s seen into Shaw’s mind. He’s felt the clinical touch of his hands. The man in front of him is not – will never be – someone worthy of his trust.

“Let’s hear it,” Charles adds, covering his uncertainties with a layer of cultured calm.

Shaw’s eyes sweep over him, an examination Charles is intimately familiar with. “You know, Charles, when I first heard of you, I thought you’d be an empty-headed little boy. You’ve been alone all this time, haven’t you?” He crowds closer, into Charles’ space, reaching out to grasp his chin, but Charles firmly pushes his hand away. Shaw smiles. “See? I thought I knew your type. I thought you’d latched onto the first mutant you see. The first person to give you a kind word. The first person to treat you like…an adult.”

There’s no mistaking the heat in Shaw’s gaze, the desire sparking in his mind, and Charles feel his throat close and his chest go tight. He forcibly pushes it all back and meets Shaw’s eyes evenly. “Clearly you thought wrong.”

“Clearly I did. Marko’s already ruined you for everyone else. So!” Shaw rubs his hands together. “Like I said, I’ll cut you a deal instead. Do you know why I’m here?”

Charles could look, but he doesn’t have to. Shaw is all but shoving the answer at him. “You want many things, but primarily, you’re after my fortune.”

“That’s right. We both have something the other wants. You have your money, and I… Well. I have a key.”

“A key,” Charles echoes, sceptical.

“You want to get out of here, don’t you? Be with your own kind?” Shaw’s hand rests heavily on his shoulder, and this time, Charles doesn’t push it away. The night is still and silent save for the rustle of the yew’s branches. He’s so very tired. “Of course you do. I know all about you, you know. I know how Marko has been controlling you. Leashing you.” Fingers tap at Charles’ temple. “Let me set you free.”

Charles shakes his head minutely. “Uncle didn’t…” It was nothing Charles didn’t consent to. A mutual promise. A deal, just like the one Shaw is trying to make with him.

Shaw tuts. “He has you brainwashed. You sure you’re the telepath here?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well, think about it. I could help you be so much more. I lead a whole group of our kind, you’re more than welcome there. I’ve got a telepath with me. You want training? She’ll help you unlock your potential. You’re never going to get anywhere with a human like your uncle.” Shaw spits the last word like a curse, lips curling into a sneer.

Charles should want those things. He thinks he does want those things, in some deep and buried part of him, but it’s an abstract desire, a yearning for something impossible. Even now, the mansion looms on the periphery of his vision like an unavoidable shadow, and the branches of the yew overhead blot out the light of the moon.

He thinks about a rope of silk. A memory of desperation; choking.

He cannot go on like this.

“What do you want in exchange?” Charles finally asks. “Money?”

“Not even all your fortune,” Shaw says, indulgent. Triumph radiates from his mind. “I’m a fair man; we’ll split it. Run away with me, Charles. When the time is right. Do we have a deal?”

Uncle had said those same words to him a lifetime ago. Charles is no braver now than he is back then, but he likes to think he’s grown wiser. For all his seductive promises, Shaw is no true ally – just look at what he plans to do to that man, Erik Lehnsherr, his own faithful right hand.

“Yes,” Charles says quietly. His mind is racing with the beginnings of a plan. “But you must realize running away isn’t enough. Uncle will never stop hunting me.” His heartbeat pounds painfully against his chest. Charles licks his suddenly dry lips. “We need to…”

He falters, breaking off. The choking pressure against his ribcage is growing too much to bear. Get a hold of yourself – he doesn’t understand it, it makes no sense that the mere mention of Uncle should send him dizzy and shaking with fear and adrenaline…

Shaw watches him, pity in his eyes, sneering disgust in his mind. “You’re that afraid of Kurt Marko? He won’t get his hands on you, I promise.”

“You can’t,” Charles stops, swallows, tries again. “You can’t stop him.”

“Oh, I won’t be the one stopping him,” Shaw says. Smugness lights his mind again, and Charles picks up the image of a glittering vial. “I’d be a poor spouse if I don’t get you a wedding present, hmm? So, here’s my promise to you. I have in my possession a vial of opium, highly concentrated. Drink it all and you’ll go to sleep and never wake up again. Put it in your drink, put it in his, I don’t care. Either way, you’ll never end up in his hands again.”

Charles can tell from the tenor of his thoughts that this is all a game to Shaw. Shaw isn’t in the business of killing a fellow mutant unless he’s defied, but he’s not above games of petty manipulations. All along, he’s been expecting Charles to take the opium. To take the painless, peaceful way out, leaving Shaw with the entire fortune.

The worst part is – it’s tempting. It’s what he had wanted for all these years.

He still wants it.

No. Focus. He has a plan. He has a responsibility. Erik. He won’t let Shaw kill him. “Let’s hope it won’t come to that, shall we. I’d much rather never see Uncle again.”

“You’re the one who said he’ll never stop hunting you.”

“He won’t.” Again, his throat closes up, but this time Charles presses on grimly. “Unless he thinks I’m dead.”

That gets Shaw’s attention. “Oh?”

“After…” And it feels so strange to think of the future, to know that something may break up the grey haze of his days, “After the wedding, after you have a claim to the fortune, I want to fake my death. I need a body for that.”

It takes no prompting at all for Shaw’s thoughts to immediately flick to Erik Lehsnherr. “I can arrange that.”

Charles nods. “Find me a manservant,” he says. He needs some way to get close to Erik somehow, to warn him. “My current servants all report to my uncle. Find me someone honest. Someone straightforward. We’ll use him as my body double after the marriage. There’s no need to have more people involved than needed.”

It’s not the most solid plan. Already, Shaw has his doubts – he’s loathe to let Erik anywhere near Charles – but Charles wants this to work so badly that he’s reaching out before he can stop himself, bending his self-imposed rules. Let Erik stay here a few weeks, a few months, out of the way, he whispers into Shaw’s mind, using Shaw’s own voice. He picks out the threads of suspicion in Shaw’s psyche, smoothing them away into calm, nothing to worry about, the Xavier boy is too cowardly to do anything, Erik will never listen to someone he thinks is a weak, sickly human…

It’s been many years since Charles has allowed himself to want something so badly. He can’t do it in good conscience, not when he knows his thoughts are poison, a miasma seeping into the skulls of good, innocent people and altering them to suit his whims.

But Charles lets go now. Accept it. Accept it. Accept the plan.

After a second, an eternity, Shaw nods.

“You know,” Shaw says, “when I saw you in your room earlier, I thought Marko crushed the spirit out of you already. You were so cold, like a perfect little doll.”

“Is there a point to this?”

“Oh, just that you’re even colder than I expected.” Shaw chuckles. “Didn’t think you had it in you to plan a murder in cold blood. But I like it. I’ll be seeing you, Charles.”

Shaw walks away, leaving him alone. Charles looks at the mansion, then at the height and breadth of the yew tree, and he rests his hands against the bark. It’s cold and rough against his skin; dead. His chest feels unaccountably tight again.

He’s only ever wanted to do the right thing.

He just wishes he knows what the right thing is.

(next part)