#also made her paler since. i feel like that would be a cool side effect from the black magic

[kiwibongos]

dunno if anyone has done this but. did a little falin tweak! i feel like her upper half had way more potential to show the dragon bit

[jui-imouto-chan]

Hi again! Ok so I think I get the Miya twins aging and de-aging thing but I’d be really interested to hear about it more! (Possibly as a continuation with his and Kita’s relationship as well? Kitahina is criminally underrated)

And does Daishou ever come into the story? The au is really good and I honestly would love to hear anything new about it.

Part 11

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Ily thank you for the ask 🥺💕🧡 I did not watch any of the OVA but I will ten billion percent put Daishou in bc Season 4 had him and I’ve kinda really liked him.

(Snake boi,,,, 😳😳 this one got too long to put him in but if I get another request I will write him. He is,,, 👌🏾✌🏾🥺😍)

Tumblr deleted half of what I wrote even though I saved it so yeayyyyy rewriting time 😌🥲

•

“They’re a lot older than they were before! Do foxes usually age this quick?”

Kita held his tongue, observing Hinata ruffle Atsumu’s hair and swipe his thumb along Osamu’s cheek. The twins seemed very content with the contact, although every now and again they’d pass a look along that seemed laced with meaning.

“You guys are adorable though! I hope Natsu still looks this cute when she’s your age!” Hinata’s eyes closed as he grinned at them.

Osamu tracked Hinata’s finger as his face was rubbed, and after thinking for a moment, he glanced at Atsumu and bit Hinata’s thumb.

Everything was still for moment, everyone staring intently at the place where Osamu’s teeth were buried into Hinata’s skin.

“O-Ow!!”

Kita grabbed Osamu by the scruff, opening his mouth to tear into him (in a different way than how he just tore into Hinata’s goddamn thumb), but before he could do so, or even apologize to the redhead, Osamu’s weight increased drastically, his limbs lengthening and proportions adjusting.

Atsumu’s eyes gleamed, taking advantage of the panic to bite Hinata’s other hand, growing to assume the same age as his brother.

“His energy sure is something, huh, ‘Samu!”

Osamu smartly did not respond, Kita’s glare piercing Atsumu the instant he finished speaking. Atsumu gulped audibly, a bit more of the blood seeping into his system and aging him until he was about Kita’s age in appearance.

“Atsumu, you should have found a way to understand by now that your actions have consequences.”

“K-K-Ki-Kita-san???” Atsumu scrambled back and away, bumping into Hinata’s knees, as the ginger had crouched to hold his own arm with tears in his eyes and his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Hinata sniffled, Atsumu feeling a guilt like one would get from kicking a wounded puppy—which was not a good feeling to couple with the pure terror one gets from earning Kita’s ire.

“Osamu.”

Said twin froze and began sweating profusely. Despite the increase in size, Kita dangled him the way one would hold a particularly rowdy cat.

He desperately tried to minimize the shiver of his voice and be as formal and thereby responsible as he could, though even as he managed a, “Y-Yes?” he could feel his life start to come to an end.

“I don’t care about nor need your explanation—I know why you did this, but Hinata doesn’t. Explain to him clearly, and then apologize, before I cut out your tongues and take each of your teeth out one-by-one.”

Kita’s threats were rare, but very effective.

Once Kita released Osamu’s collar, the twins scooted close to one another on the ground, whispering back and forth with their skin significantly paler than it was before. Eventually, after some muttering and a very pointed glare from Kita, the two composed themselves, sitting on their heels. Osamu coughed, earning Hinata’s watery gaze and faltering slightly.

“Um. So. I’m Miya Osamu, that’s Atsumu.”

“Hinata Shoyo. Nice to meet you,” Hinata murmured, bowing his head, cheeks a bit puffed up. Kita approached him to place a hand on his head.

“We used to be guardians of a shrine nearby here, but it fell into ruin as people stopped coming by and taking care of it.” Atsumu began.

“People would only come by during celebrations. We’d perform during festivals, and we required everyone to be completely silent, or else the performance would be ruined. As we’d do our dances on opposite sides of the mountain where the shrines were, we’d be offering mana to the forest to keep it flourishing.”

“That’s so cool!” Hinata piped, although he quickly stifled his impressed exclamations as Kita pet his hair.

“Usually after the performance, we’d be low on mana, but we’d hide in the woods for a little bit until we were back to normal—”

“—But people got greedy. They knew we were already weaker without offerings being made to the shrine, and they were ready to take advantage of our decrease in mana.”

“Kita-san’s grandmother would give us offerings and come to every performance at the festivals. Kita-san joined her, of course, but one year, she brought along some girls in hopes to help him find a bride—”

“—even though he was like, twelve!”

Hinata gasped and looked up at the silverette, seemingly in awe. “Kita-san, you had game from a young age?!”

“I don’t know, do I have ‘game’ now?”

The redhead struggled to answer, especially with the amusement dancing in Kita’s eyes.

Atsumu cut in before Hinata could embarrass himself, “Those stupid girls decided to be annoying during my performance, and ended up distracting me. Usually with the dance, we can steadily feed the forest mana and influence how much leaves us. Since it was interrupted—”

“'Tsumu lost a lot of mana, and I had to try to compensate it. Kita-san’s grandma tried to help me, but 'Tsumu was grabbed by some adults before Kita-san could get to him. When they went into the forest, I got away from Kita-san’s grandma to find them.”

“They sealed most of our power, but Kita-san managed to interrupt the ritual before they could force us into a contract. Kita-san was so angry, it was like watching the beast from Naruto.”

“Oh, the Nine-Tails!” Osamu corrected.

“Didn’t it have a name? Kuroomi or something??”

“Ah, Kurama!” Hinata blurted.

“Yeah, that!” The twins affirmed, snapping and pointing—or were those finger guns?

“He totally looked like Kurama when he was beating the shit out of those dudes!”

“I think he only turned back when his grandma started calling for him.”

“So, let me get this straight—”

Osamu coughed, “—Good luck with that—”

“—Kita-san can turn into a super gigantic awesome fox monster and you two keep getting younger? Except for when you get mana?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Hinata practically had stars in his eyes.

“We know it’s selfish to ask this of you after we, uh, bit you...”

“But, Shoyo-kun....”

The twins bowed, foreheads touching the floor. “Please form a contract with us.”

“...Eh?”

•

•• Part 11 of (?) ••

• A lot of this is influenced by Natsume Yuujinchou to some extent and I am not sorry. Also ykno how I reblogged Kindaichi with his hair down? I did so while looking for some KinHina, and now I’m a little tempted to write smthn. Or maybe KuniHina. Or literally anyone with Hinata because when I say hinata harem I mean Hinata HAREM. •

•• Send Asks for more! Feel free to ask about characters and send Headcanons! Or if u wanna just talk Haikyuu/ships, I’m good with that too! :) and for other parts, search the “summoner au” tag on my blog and you’ll find em! ••

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[solalunar-eclipse]

Scars You Can’t See - Chapter 11

Chapter title: Improvements

Word count: about 3400 words

Author’s Note: Wow...the fact that this fic has only two chapters left is crazy to think about. It’s going to be finished within the next month or so...whoa.

First  | Previous | Next

...

Rouge cringed as bright sunlight stung her slowly opening eyes, dragging her forcefully out of what had honestly been a pretty great sleeping session. Suddenly, though, she shot upright, remembering-

Wait- G.U.N. had found them- Shadow and Omega--

Oh, right.

The bat rubbed at her eyes to try and get rid of the spots still dancing in them, before looking around and taking in the clearing surrounding her. She was truly safe now and on Angel Island.

Rouge just...needed a minute to remind herself of that.

She figured that she also owed Team Sonic at least a year’s worth of favors for busting them out of that awful situation. Chaos, she’d thought they were all done for at first, even with Omega’s best efforts. 

Speaking of that team, she suddenly felt a rush of wind at her side and turned to see Sonic himself kneeling next to her, looking worried. “You good there, Rouge?” he asked, resting a hand on her shoulder in concern.

“I’ll live.” she said warmly, grateful for his attention. “Doing better than yesterday, that’s for sure.” 

Sonic’s expression changed into a hopeful grin at that, his shoulders sinking slightly in relief. Rouge knew that he really tended to worry about the people he cared for when they weren’t doing well, so she was pleased to see some of the stress leave him now.

“How’s Shadow? And Omega?” the bat asked quickly, wanting to make sure her team was alright.

“Okay, well, Omega’s over there sucking the life out of Tails’s portable generator,” Sonic said, and Rouge followed his gaze to see exactly that. Her robot friend gave a thumbs up when he noticed her attention, before lifting the generator and walking over to greet her.

“This power is strong for such a small device. Much better than that pathetic excuse for voltage the rooms provided.” he said, by way of a greeting. Rouge grinned in response. Omega had never really seen the need for pleasantries with his friends when he could just get to the point instead. (They already knew that he cared about them anyway.)

“How do you feel?” he asked, sitting down and staring at her. The robot clearly wasn’t going to take an “I’m fine” for an answer, so she sighed. “Tired, mostly. Are we sure we’re totally safe out here?”

Omega looked like he was ready to smirk, if he could. “You missed the fun earlier when the blue hedgehog discovered that we are in the middle of the largest ocean on the planet. He was not happy about our isolation.”

Rouge had to restrain a cackle at that when she turned back to the (suddenly several shades paler) hero in question. “Water…” he groaned. “So much...water…”

“You’ll be okay, hon,” she said, a little bit of sympathy softening her tone. “There’s still plenty of room up here to go running around.”

Sonic’s eyes widened. “Oh right! I didn’t tell you about Shads!” His ears drooped slightly after that. “He’s...he’s still asleep near the Master Emerald.”

Omega cut in there. “His vital signs are completely stable. He is merely exhausted.”

Rouge sighed, frowning slightly. Was telling him to do that Chaos Control really-

“You made the best decision you could under the circumstances.” the robot said insistently. “Stop questioning yourself or I will have to make you comply with force.”

Rouge stuck out her tongue at him, before getting up to go walk over to the altar and see her other friend. She hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps, though, when she found that her head had begun to ache horribly- leftover effects from the stress, she knew. There was always a price to pay for missions. 

She was vaguely aware of Sonic darting to her side, but she straightened up, ignoring the pain for now. If there was one thing she had to do, it was to check on Shadow.

The hybrid was still on the altar, barely having moved from his original position. Someone had folded up a blanket and put it beneath his head, at least. Knuckles was pacing around and around the Master Emerald, clearly driving himself to distraction considering all the possible ways in which Angel Island could be threatened at this very moment.

Rouge sat down next to Shadow for a moment, checking to make sure he was alright before rubbing one of his ears slightly. The hybrid purred a little in his sleep, making Rouge smile and Sonic mask a squeal with his hand. “Awwwww…” he whispered, staring down at Shadow with wide eyes.

Meanwhile, Rouge got up and walked over to lean on the giant Emerald, smirking as Knuckles completed another circuit around the altar- only to bump right into her and look up, startled. “Rouge! You’re awake!” he exclaimed, before pulling her into a tight hug that squeezed all the air out of her lungs.

“Babe,” she wheezed, trying to adjust. “Honey, I missed you too, but I kind of need to breathe to live? So if you wouldn’t mind…”

“Oh- right- sorry,” he said, loosening up and clearly embarrassed. “I’m just so glad you’re alright.”

Sonic gave him a look from over the top of the giant gem. “Says the guy who didn’t want to head off to Central City at first.”

“Come on, man, give me a break! You know how much G.U.N. wants to get their hands on these artifacts!” Knuckles exclaimed, sounding irritated. He glanced back at Rouge nervously, though, clearly more than a little embarrassed about his hesitance.

She wasn’t going to hold it against him, though- he’d been trained since day one to practically worship the island and all that it held, and putting it in harm’s way must have taken a lot out of him. “It’s okay, just remember to try and keep from being uptight all the time, alright?” Rouge asked gently, wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning into him. 

Knuckles blushed as red as his spines. “Thanks, Rouge...I’ll try.” he said, pointedly ignoring his friend’s knowing grin.

“Awww, Knux, aren’t ya gonna kiss your giiiiirlfriend?” Sonic taunted, knowing just how to frustrate the echidna (and fluster him more).

“Shut up!” he bellowed. “It’s none of your business what we do or don’t--”

Rouge had kissed him on the cheek, and his voice immediately seemed to fail at that, breaking off into absolute silence. She snickered quietly. Knuckles’s shock whenever she did this never stopped being fun.

A low groan sounded behind them. “Urgh...Chaos, is this what I hafta wake up to? Move y’r PDA somewhere else, Rouge.” 

Shadow’s words were slurred with exhaustion, but nobody seemed to care. Rouge dashed over to his side faster than Sonic (not too surprisingly- the hedgehog seemed to have frozen the second Shadow started speaking).

“How do you feel, hon?” she asked him gently, all the while monitoring him for any sort of abnormalities. 

“Feels like I’ve been run over by a truck ‘n launched out of a catapult into the side of a mountain.” he grumbled. “Everything’s aching…I’m so tired. Let’s...let’s not take out any more military bases for a while, ‘kay?”

Rouge grinned at him. “Sounds good to me, hon.” She began to pull him up into a reclined position so that he could see better. The bat could also hear Omega’s steps in the background as he hurried over (which for most people was a speed-walking pace, but he was doing his best).

“Just relax for now, Shadow. You and Sonic brought us somewhere safe, so we can just rest, alright?” she added, and felt him do so almost immediately. 

Omega arrived and put a hand on Shadow’s shoulder, his giant metal fingers nearly engulfing half of the hybrid’s arm. “Hey, Omega.” he said wearily, smiling faintly up at the robot. 

“You are safe now. I will make sure that nothing bad happens to you or Rouge so long as we are here.” he said, sounding determined and just a little bit violent. 

“You did a pretty good job of that back in the field.” Shadow said, apparently far too tired to hold up his usual aloof attitude.

Omega stood up and assumed a slight power pose. “Of course I did. I am awesome.”

Sonic took the robot’s place quickly, taking Shadow’s hand in his own. “If anyone comes anywhere near this island, I’ll help Omega take them out. You’ve done more than enough, Shads.”

The hybrid tried to maintain a cool, calm expression, but it quickly softened into gratitude. He struggled with his words for a moment, clearly uncertain about how to react to Sonic’s determined kindness. Eventually, though, he settled for a simple “Thank you, Sonic.”

Rouge didn’t miss the way Sonic’s smile became wider and more genuine at that, nor how he squeezed Shadow’s hand briefly before releasing it. “Anytime, nerd. Anytime.”

Shadow mock-scowled at the hero before settling back against Omega, who had sat down behind him. Rouge noticed how he struggled to keep his eyes open, so she settled down next to him and made shooing motions with her hands. “Alright, alright, let the guy rest! You said yourself he doesn’t have to work anymore, Sonic.” 

The hedgehog in question walked off reluctantly with his friends to the first tier of the altar, looking back at Shadow once before giving the team some space.

Rouge sighed, settling back against Omega and trying to find a position that didn’t leave metal poking into her back. He could be comfortable if she sat right- especially since he was warm- but she had to work a little to find the right spot. Her own eyes closed a little, and she leaned against Shadow as the faint buzz of stress and her exhaustion battled it out inside her head.

She suspected that her instincts would give her trouble for a while, but it would probably be manageable now that they were safe. Things were looking up now for real, and that was great.

And then Sonic’s phone rang.

“Wha- huh- you have your phone on??” Shadow yelped, sitting upright immediately. “Why didn’t you turn it off?”

“I had to keep up with everything!” Sonic exclaimed, his eyes wide. He held the phone as far away from his body as he could, as though it might burst into flames at any moment.

“Alright, alright, everybody calm down!” Rouge shouted, directing all attention to herself and bringing complete silence to the clearing.

This role was what she was used to.

“Alright, first off. Sonic, do you recognize that number?” she asked, as everyone gathered back around.

He frowned, looking at the ‘missed calls’ screen now that the ringing had stopped. “N...no…..wait, actually, I think I do! But who…..”

The hero’s eyes widened. “Oh. Wait. What’s the president want with me now?”

“Wait, is it really her?” Tails gasped.

Omega glowered at the phone. “She probably wishes to know if we are with you.”

Everybody jumped again when the phone started ringing once more. 

“Well….I guess I’ll just answer and tell her I don’t know where you are?” Sonic asked, moving to tap the green button.

“No!” three separate people yelled at once, making him drop the phone in surprise. 

“Well, what should I do then? Just, like, ignore her?” the hero said, exasperated.

Tails shook his head patiently. “You remember that app I put on your phone, Sonic? The one that hides your signal location?”

“Ohhhhh,” Sonic said, clearly realizing why it would be a very good idea to use said app. “Right! Let me turn that on.”

“And don’t forget to use the super-scrambler I made for you!” Tails reminded him, sounding an awful lot like the real older brother of the two at the moment.

“Fine, yeah, I remember what you said,” Sonic muttered, sounding a little irritated. He cringed a moment later, though, looking up his friends. All three of them were clearly tense once again- not ideal when they were in the safest place they could possibly be. “Sorry, I know this is important and all. Sorry.”

“It’s alright, hon.” Rouge said soothingly. “You have it all up now?”

“Yeah, I-” Sonic was cut off yet again by his ringtone. 

He took one deep breath before pressing the button.

Everybody else remained absolutely silent. The wind rustled through the trees as his phone connected to the other end of the signal.

“Uh….hey there.” the hero said, his voice sounding far more wary now. “What’s up?”

Shadow facepalmed silently beside Rouge, who clamped a hand over her mouth to stop any potential laughter.

Sonic quickly switched the call to speakerphone so that everybody could hear the president talk.

“Hello, Sonic.” she said politely, her voice warmer and more friendly than any of them had expected. “Are...any of the members of Team Dark there? I’m not asking for G.U.N., I promise.” 

Rouge gave the phone a skeptical look. Not asking for G.U.N.? Doubtful.

“Nah, not here.” Sonic said easily. “Whatcha want with them?”

The bat could hear the faintest hint of harshness in his tone, hiding beneath the cool front he put up. Apparently the hero hadn’t quite gotten all of his frustration out just yet.

Clearly, the president could hear it too, because she sounded a little awkward when she next spoke. “Oh. I...I actually just wanted to tell them something important. Is there any way for me to get in touch with them?”

Sonic glowered at the phone. “I can tell them whatever it is you wanna say.” He was practically growling by this point, clearly working hard to keep his emotions under control.

Rouge cringed at that- now everyone would know that Sonic had a direct link to her team. Not good.

“Alright then...” Strangely enough, the woman on the call still sounded stressed. Shouldn’t she be pleased that she’d gotten some sort of a lead instead? That was what this was for, right?

“Can you tell them, then...just let them know that I’ve signed off on an order temporarily shutting down all of G.U.N.’s operations, okay? And that the commander has agreed to comply with it? Will they get to hear that?”

Rouge, Shadow and Omega all stared at one another.

What?

“Yeah- yeah, they’ll hear the news.” Sonic said, his eyes as wide as they could get. “Uhhh, why exactly did you do that?”

Now it was the president’s turn to sound irritated. “What do you mean, why? Not only are there protests and riots in the streets, but I’m horrified by what they’ve done, as I’m sure you are too! The leaders in both houses of government and I have completely agreed that G.U.N. needs to be closed down until we figure out what to do with it. 

“I’ll be putting my voice in for total reform, and a consideration of permanent closure, but there are those who’ll argue with me, of course. I’m still going to do what I can for Team Dark and for those who’ve been hurt by G.U.N., though.”

“Wow.” Sonic said softly, stunned. “That’s...that’s impressive.”

“No.” the president said decisively. “It’s the least I can do to make things right. And, if you see Shadow…”

“Yeah?”

“Can you tell him that I personally apologize for everything that happened on Space Colony ARK? I had no knowledge of it until that video was released...but still. I wish there was something I could do to let him know how horrified I am by what he was forced to endure.”

Shadow stared at Rouge, who honestly couldn’t do much more than stare back, her thoughts racing by at a pace to rival her friend’s speed. G.U.N. wasn’t chasing them anymore? They weren’t even allowed to hunt them down? It almost sounded too good, too easy to be true.

“I’ll tell him. I promise.” Sonic said, his voice just a little shaky.

“Thank you, Sonic. Take care.” she replied, before ending the call.

“...whoa.” he breathed.

“What just happened?” Shadow ran his hands through his quills, as though he hoped it would help him sort out the events that had just taken place.

“Is this even real?” Knuckles asked skeptically. “It could be a prank…” They all knew he’d been the target of too many falsehoods to trust most people by now.

“Voice patterns match previous speeches given by the current president.” Omega said, making everyone’s surprise grow even more.

“So what...they’re just shutting down?” Tails looked confused.

“Most of them, yes.” Rouge said, taking a deep breath and beginning to work through her own swirling thoughts. “There’ll be some agents who don’t agree with what’s going on, but that’s to be expected. The commander is a big fan of rules, so he won’t ignore an order directly from the government. G.U.N. should be shut down...so the question is how safe the United Federation is for us right now.”

“So? Is it safe?” Sonic asked, looking hopeful.

The three members of Team Dark locked eyes. Rouge sighed. “Not quite. G.U.N. hasn’t actually been fixed yet and there’s going to be plenty of agents who are less than happy about this development...especially when it comes to us escaping.”

“There’s still a chance they could use their various connections to order some sort of attack on us that couldn’t be traced back to them...it’s unlikely that the commander would go for it, but others might. None of us need any potential assassins sneaking into Club Rouge in the middle of the night.” Shadow muttered, staring down at the grass.

All three members of Team Sonic cringed at Shadow’s wording. But then, Sonic sat down next to him and put an arm about the hybrid’s shoulders gently, giving him the option to push it off if he needed. “Don’t worry, Shads, you can stay here as long as you like.”

Knuckles glared at him. “This is my island, Sonic! I get to decide who stays for how long!”

Rouge raised a brow at that. “And do we get to stay, then?”

“...yes.” the echidna grumbled defeatedly.

Sonic’s answering smirk got him chased all around the clearing and the surrounding woods as punishment...if you could call it punishment when he was laughing and dancing and skipping over boulders all the way.

Rouge looked over to see Shadow leaning back against Omega again, looking tired but surprisingly calm and...was that a smile she saw?

“Feeling good there, hon?” she asked gently, leaning on him (and purposefully making their height difference obvious).

He rolled his eyes but still leaned into her shoulder, bringing a smile to her face as well. “Better than the last time we did this, that’s for sure.”

Rouge felt Omega’s arms tighten around them and looked up to see his eyes dim slightly in thought. After a moment, though, they brightened again, and he spoke.

“Original objective: make Shadow feel better. Status update: partially completed. Notes: cortisol levels lowering but still above recommended levels. Remaining irregular behavior due to exhaustion. And...outcome regarding G.U.N appears to be positive so far. This mission appears to be an overall success.”

He pulled them both a little closer, clearly not planning on allowing the two to escape his hold any time soon.

“Awww…” Rouge said gently, but Shadow was already falling asleep.

“Ngh. Stop making fun ‘f me.” He nudged her shoulder with his head, completely failing to do anything other than make the bat's smile grow warmer.

Within moments, he was completely passed out, and Rouge and Omega shared a look. “Do you regret any of the difficulties that this mission has created?” the robot asked, seeming curious more than anything.

Rouge looked over at the sleeping hedgehog next to her, a small smile spread across his face as he rested safely with his closest friends and family. There wasn’t any pain waiting for him in his unconscious now, and while there might be in the future, it could be handled with care and time.

She grinned up at Omega then, her smile wide and genuine.

“I don’t regret it at all.”

[nxrthmizu]

Daminette December Day 11: ‘Snow’

@daminette-december2019

---

Winter had arrived, with the turn of the seasons having made their whole circle. The coldest time of the year had arrived, and if he was truly honest, Damian loved winter. It was cold and dark often, which... Somehow he related to his personality. His personality was cold and dark. Seemed like a fitting season for him. He’d always though that Grayson was the cool, cheery spring, Todd was summer, bothersome and awfully temperamental, Drake was autumn, windy and flighty- And he’d been winter. For obvious reasons. 

However, because of his... Roommate, winter had become a little more difficult. 

Somehow, his little angel had forgotten to mention that ladybugs were... Sensitive to cold. 

Actually, the word sensitive was a little light. 

Marinette had huddled in blankets, sweaters, and jumpers ever since the first hint of snow appeared. She’d practically have hibernated if it wasn't for him returning everyday with food and warm chocolate to heat her up. Honestly, he didn’t know how she would’ve survived without him. Both the dark-haired angel and her kwami had been completely housed in for the past three days. 

Damian let out a breathy, warm sigh as he approached their apartment, a bag of cookies and pastries in one hand and another bag filled with vegetables and groceries in another. He’d also picked up a few balls of yarn for his precious angel to pass the time with while she was housed in. 

“Angel? I’m home.” He called out, jiggling his keys in the doorknob to let her know he was back in case she didn’t hear his call. 

“Damian!” Her bright cheery smile and voice instantly conjured a warm feeling in his heart. He quickly dropped the bags by the side of the door, opening his arms to catch a flaying bundle of sweaters, jackets and blankets. 

“Hey, angel.” He whispered softly, nuzzling her soft blue hair gently. “How’re you holding up, hmm?” 

She whined a little, her large bluebell eyes staring into his emerald ones. “It’s cold.” She complained, not letting go of her grip around his neck. Damian sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to get off him, and he picked up the groceries with one hand, setting them down on the kitchen counter. 

“That’s what winter is like, love.” He pointed out with a little chuckle, trying to loosen her arms around his neck. “Angel, do you think you could let go long enough for me to take off my coat, hmm?” 

Marinate pouted, but obliged and let him set her down on the couch as he unravelled the grey scarf she made him, along with the black-fur-lined-coat she had handmade the day before. She smiled pleasantly at her handmade clothes on him, beaming even more when he revealed the Slytherin sweater she made underneath the other layers of clothing. He noticed her bright approval at his clothing, and he laughed softly, sinking onto the couch next to his angel, wrapping his arms around her as he kicked a fluffy blanket up to cover the both of them. 

They sat in silence for a little while, and then- 

“Can we make a snowman?” 

Damian was appalled. “Mari, love, you literally get so pale you’re practically white the moment I open the door. Are you sure you can walk out of the house?” 

She pouted. “But I want to build a snowman, and it never snows so much in Paris. Please?” 

Damian hesitated, looking down. Do not look at her puppy eyes, do not look at her puppy eyes, do not- 

“Dami- Please?” She gripped his arm, staring right into his eyes. 

Shit abort abort abort-!

Well, Damian would like to think that he was stubborn and refused for the wellbeing of his precious angel, but...

“It’s so white!” She gasped, looking all around the two of them. Her skin had begun to turn a pale blue, and he gave her a worried grunt, wrapping his arms around her waist to provide body heat. 

“Angel, are you sure-” He murmured softly, only to be cut off by an excited ladybug. 

“I’ll be fine, kitten.” Marinette chastised, giggling when a snowflake melted slowly on her palm. “It’s so beautiful.” 

He smiled fondly at the dark-haired girl in pure white snow. Her dark-blue hair flowed around her shoulders, tucked in by a long grey scarf that was protectively wrapped around her. A giant black-fur-lined coat was snuggled up against her skin, hopefully providing more warmth. 

But the serene moment was quickly interrupted. 

Marinette gasped softly, her pink lips turning even paler than possible. Before he could scream a warning or even catch her, she plummeted into the snow, her skin paling even more drastically.

“Angel!” 

---

He would never forgive himself. 

“Damian, love, it’s not your fault.” She tried to say as she looked guiltily at him under a mass of twenty blankets. 

“I shouldn’t have given in.” He scowled at himself. “Tsurugi is on her way. She’ll be way better being stubborn with you.” 

“Doubt so.” Luka remarked as he entered the apartment quietly. “No one, not even Kagami, can say no to Mari’s puppy eyes.” 

“Which is why the more of us there are, the more effective we can be.” Damian pointed out a little harshly, still mad at himself. “She’s not going out there again.” 

Luka glanced between Damian’s furious glare at himself in the mirror, and then at Mari, huddled under twenty blankets, watching everything guiltily. “Umm... Is it a bad time for me to here?” 

“No.” “Yes.” 

“DAMIAN FUCKING WAYNE YOU BETTER HAVE AN EXPLANATION FOR WHY YOU LET OUR ANGEL INTO THE SNOW OR I SWEAR TO EVERY GOD IN THIS- UTTERLY RIDICULOUS! LET ME GO, KAGAMI! LET ME MURDER HIM! UTTERLY- UTTERLY RIDICULOUS!” 

“Wayne, give me an explanation before I decide to let her go and chase you myself.” Kagami gave Damian a fierce look, to which Damian growled. 

“I was an idiot, okay? Kill me if you must. In fact, kill me.” Damian growled angrily. “I let her out. Yes, I was stupid. Kill me.” 

Luka stayed silent as the blonde and her girlfriend continued to screech and throw threats at the dark-haired twenty-two year old man, who angrily accepted every thing they threw at him. 

“Um, guys, shouldn’t we be worried about protecting Mari instead of, um.” Luka attempted to break up the shouting match (Chloe versus herself two seconds ago), but sadly, failed. 

“Chloe, please.” Marinette tried, looking half-amused and half-weary at the ongoing shouting match. 

“Um, I have an idea.” Luka voiced meekly over the still-flaming blonde. “Why not we bring in a little snow in and build a snowman here?” 

The room went absurdly silent at the idiotic suggestion. 

“It’s- It’s literally so stupid that it’s possible.” Kagami reacted first, a little grin lighting up on her face. 

“Utterly ridiculous, but.” Chloe tapped a finger on her lip. “We could try.” 

“No!” Damian protested. “No one’s going near any snow!” 

“Please? Dami?” Marinette pouted. “Just once.” 

---

Damian couldn't believe it. 

There was a pile of snow in his apartment. And by a pile of snow, he meant twenty tons of melting ice sitting on his tiled floor. 

“My name is Olaf, and I love hugs!” Marinette mimicked, wiggling the twig-arms of their tiny snowman. 

Chloe and Kagami let out a little giggle at Marinette’s remark, Luka letting out a little chuckle by the side. Even a scowling Damian managed a little smile at his angel smiling. 

Winter was a cold and dark season, sure, but within that coldness and darkness... There were friends and families who were there to provide warmth and light. 

[not-the-cleavers]

Target II - Chapter 3

As promised, chapter 3 - now the reason for posting them both on the same day should be clear, this one is from Fours POV and things get a little spicy Tags; @adrenaline-roulette​ and @amy-brooklyn99​ - if you would like to be tagged just let me know 

This is a second upload as the first freaked out and kept only the title

Pairing; Four x Eight (female reader) Fandom; 6 Underground Warnings; Swearing, little teeny hint of something smutty  Word count; 1.6k (total so far 4.5k)

Summary; The team has moved onto their next target after dealing with Rovach Alimov, a war criminal named John Dough. Eight has just joined the team and is dying to show how much she deserves to be there

Catch up; Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Five was hurriedly making her way across the lot, seemingly walking towards Eight’s trailer, looking like she was on a mission all her own muttering to herself under her breath. “Hey wait up” I called after her, jogging to catch up. “Look I can’t talk I’ve got a lot to do before One’s next brief” she huffed “most importantly I’ve got to check that Eight it healing ok, no one has seen her since the mission” “Do you want me to check on her? I’m not doing anything right now” I asked, but in reality I wanted to see her again, the last I saw she was unconscious and slowly bleeding out as Five worked on her “Oh that would be great! Come find me after you see her to let me know how she’s doing” she called out as she turned on her heel and darted off in the opposite direction. Dread filled my stomach when I reached the trailer door, she may not be ok in there and I wasn’t sure I was ready to witness that.

With a deep breath I knocked on the door and Eight’s quiet voice could be heard from inside. “Good to hear you’re alive” I called out as I walked up the two steps into her quarters. She was leaning up against the back wall sipping from a bottle of water, she was paler than usual which caused a beautiful contrast between her skin and her black bra and leggings. Shit, she’s not exactly dressed, am I staring? I feel like I’m staring. “Oh sorry, do you want me to come back in a moment?” I quickly blurted out hoping she didn’t notice the elongated pause. “Nah it’s alright, chuck me that shirt and I’ll cover myself up for you.” Right, shirt, I know what shirts look like. ‘Calm down man, you’ve seen naked women before, why are you acting like this?’ I asked myself as my fingers wrapped around a shirt, which she struggled to get over her head, I held myself back from helping her out, unsure that she would appreciate it. “So what’s up?” she asked, completely unfazed about the fact she was healing from a bullet wound. “I just wanted to check you’re ok, and apologise for not realising you had been shot, I was supposed to be covering you, and I fucked it up” I said, not daring to take my eyes off the floor, trying desperately to keep my voice from breaking. It was my job to get the team up through the skylight in one piece, and she ended up with a bullet in her side, and I had no idea. “Four, let me sit down and we’ll chat about this” she said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear her. She was desperately trying to lower herself into a worn brown chair next to where she was standing. I jumped to action and quickly ran to her side to help her down gently so to not cause her any pain. Once she was situated I stepped back and started to slowly pace in front of her “That’s better. Right, the easy answer, I’ll be fine. Now as for you thinking you need to apologise for this. I need you to know that this is not your fault. I got shot, it happens, but I’m alive. The only person to blame for this is the guy who pointed his gun at me, and he’s dead now, and I’ll get a cool new scar at the end of this.” How was she so nonchalant about this? She was fucking shot and she’s acting like its nothing. I turned to say something but she hissed and I noticed her eyes were shut tight. I quickly sat myself in front of her, worried she had hurt herself. “Did you just pull a stitch? Are you ok?” I asked frantically, searching her face for clues as to what had happened. She placed her hand on my cheek, lightly stroking her thumb across my skin, instantly calming me down. I instinctively leant into her palm, not wanting this feeling to end. “I’m fine, I swear. I’m just tender. I’ll be back to normal in a few days.” She spoke softly, and it was reassuring to hear her say that. “Four, I need you to know that what happened is not on you. Hell I didn’t even realise I had been shot, how were you supposed to know?”

I was about to go into the speech I had been practising in my head over the last few days, how it didn’t matter, how I was supposed to look after her and keep her safe, but the door to Eight’s trailer blew open and an extremely worried Five appeared. As soon as she spotted me her worry turned to anger. Fuck. Eight asked her a question but I didn’t hear her, I was too busy fearing for my life as Five was gearing up to tear me a new one. “Seriously! You volunteer to check to make sure she’s still alive and you don’t come back? I thought she might have been bleeding out and instead you’re doing….what exactly are you doing?” she was yelling and I knew I was dead, Five is terrifying, but I knew I had to own up to my mistake. I completely forgot to go tell her that Eight was fine. “Five it’s my fault I’m sorry, I didn’t know you wanted Four back right away and I kept him here” Eight piped up, covering for me and saving my ass and calming five right down. Now I really owe her. “That’s ok Eight, while I’m here I may as well check your wound” she said in her normal, happy voice and looked down at her gloved hands. “Right, I can’t dirty these gloves; Four help her out.” It took me a moment to realise that Five needed me to help get Eight to her feet, and in that moment Five started moving her hands as if to tell me to hurry up. I grabbed one of Eights hands and wrapped it around my shoulders, then slowly pulled her up. I took a step back so Five could get to work but Eight suddenly piped up. “Dude, I need you to help me with my shirt as well” her small hands grabbing mine and directing them towards her shirt. I completely froze. I had always imagined the first time taking her clothes off would be in a feverish rush of passion, and definitely not with someone else in the room watching us. I helped slip the oversized shirt off her body, trying not to stare at any one place too long, fighting the urge to place my hands on her soft curves and pull her close. A wolf whistle came from behind me where Five was standing, causing me to jump to the back of the room and try to take my mind off all the raunchy things that popped into my head.

Five was talking to Eight, but I wasn’t listening. Eight started to unravel the bandage that was tightly hugging her body and that’s when I started to see the real damage. A deep blue and purple bruise had made its way around her body, looking quite sore and swollen, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight under the medical gauze. Stitched up cuts had spread on her torso like as if she was cracked glass, jagged lines leading to the round bullet wound that looks like it had been burnt closed. Just as I was starting to get nauseated Five placed a fresh piece of gauze down and taped it to her body. “One wants us all in the hanger in 20 minutes. Don’t be late” I heard her say, like a mother talking to misbehaving children.

“Hey I desperately need to get changed, could you wait outside while I do that and we’ll walk together?” I heard Eight say softly. With my mind still reeling from everything that had just occurred all I could muster was a nod.

In the heat of the California sun my mind was a blur of Eight’s face, her body, me removing her clothes and then her wound, it was a strange mix of arousing and horrifying. I wanted to grab hold of her and make sure she wasn’t in pain, but also make her moan my name.

The sound of trailer door opening one last time brought me back to reality and we started to walk towards the hanger that One had decided would be our base of operations. It wasn’t long before Eight spoke again. “I mean now you owe me one because I just saved your ass, but regarding what we were talking about before, are we good?” I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and explain that I would never let anyone hurt her again, that I would protect her until the day I actually die, instead I just nodded, keeping my eyes glued ahead of us. “Talk to me man, what’s going through your head”

“I just hope I didn’t cross a line before” I muttered softly, waving my hand towards the trailer we were slowly walking away from. What I want, I can’t have and if for some unknown reason Eight wants the same thing, it would make us less effective out on missions. It would be best to ignore what I want and just focus on the job at hand.

“Don’t worry about that, and you don’t have to worry about doing that again.” Wait is she disappointed? Does she really want the same thing here? My mind was going a hundred miles an hour and I couldn’t focus on one thing. Without realising it, we had almost made it the rest of the way to the hanger in complete silence. I’ll have to continue this after the brief.

[rosegivy]

Chapter 2: The Black Knight

Valandi stood in the royal castle feeling slightly nostalgic. Before she became the Black Knight, she used to live in a place like this. Of course, the architecture was much different from that of the paler residents of the kingdom of Laurendia. She sighed sadly as she recounted the gold archways that led to the palace of her people. She wondered if it was still standing after it was conquered, abandoned by their royalty, by her. A bitter taste filled her mouth and she stopped reminiscing. Instead she surveyed the colourful flowers in the royal gardens she was forced to wait in, curious as to why no one came to greet her

She was here to hopefully help another people with their problems. So that she could solidify her status as a noble, male, knight. She may have cut her thick black hair and spent much more time in the sun to darken her skin from a chestnut brown to an almost midnight black, but she had to fake confidence as she felt one small mistake could ruin her guise.

She heard her attacker before she saw them. In one swift movement she unsheathed her yatagan, a short slightly curved sword. She used it to parry the strike. Surprised by her response her attacker, a knight it seemed, was not prepared for the kick to his gut. He doubled over in pain and Valandi used the back of her sword to send a blow to his skull knocking him unconscious. No sooner had she done that two more knights came from her sides. They were armed with a sword and shield each. Valandi rushed the attacker on her right. She feigned a strike to his left with her sword and pushed the palm of her hand to his neck, incapacitating him. She again parried the third man's assault and swept his feet out from under him. She pointed her sword to his throat letting him know she could kill him. Inwardly Valandi rolled her eyes. These people fought like blundering cattle, they had no technique, no knowledge of the body. They were simple army grunts.

A slow clap could be heard from the entrance to the garden. Valandi turned to see a large man in a decorated blue battle uniform. He sported a long beard speckled with gray that clashed with the neatness of his outfit. Despite this, Valandi could tell he was no army grunt.

"Gave them a workout I see." His voice was deep from his stomach.

Valandi sheathed her sword. She did not reply, waiting for the man to get to his point. Uncomfortable with the lack of discourse the general coughed to break the silence.

"Not very chatty, that's fine. I am sure you are curious as to why we summoned you here. The great Black Knight. Black in more than demeanor I suppose." Valandi did not respond. She was used to these kinds of remarks but was getting impatient. She only nodded.

He introduced himself as Sir Graeme, the head general of Laurendia's army. And proceeded to explain the situation. Valandi listened intently. She took the updated map of the region he handed her after he had finished. Rescue a princess, slay a dragon, save a kingdom. Simple. Although she felt her heart skip a beat at the mention of the dragon. She had not fought one since...

"What exactly is the princess' curse?" Valandi asked, purposely interrupting her flow of thought.

"We aren't quite sure." Sir Graeme responded. "Whatever it is you need not worry about it. Just bring her here in seven days and you will be greatly awarded."

Valandi waived away his offer. "The only compensation I can hope to ask for is that you mention my deed to the court of Camelot and back my good name."

Sir Graeme was not surprised. The mysterious Black Knight was known to not take reward from the people he has helped. "Or course. But if you do not mind me asking, why Camelot? You clearly are not from there." He gestures to her complexion.

"A magic free land should be for all people. I wish to become a knight of the round table, so I can fight among those who also wish to fight for the good of common people." Valandi stated simply.

Sir Graeme bowed slightly in respect. "I pray that you accomplish this goal. Surely there is none as noble as you at the round table."

"I wouldn't give myself that much credit." Valandi replied curtly looking at the map he handed her again. She put her fists at her side and bowed slightly before she turned to leave.

"Godspeed sir-?"

"The Black Knight is fine." Valandi responded as she left the courtyard.

-═══════ι▬▬

Valandi rode East deeper into the heart of Laurendia. The princess was kept in a fortress on the border in a more desolate mountain area (most of the border was a mountain range). Her hand clutched the reins as she leaned into Ziba, her horse, urging him to go faster. In the distance she could see the the mountain where the princess' dungeon should be. It was at least a two day journey but she would make it one and a half. Her determination and stubbornness are what has kept her alive, even when everyone she had ever loved wasn't. As she rode, she allowed her mind to wander and after some meandering it went where it always did. To that day.

She was barely a teenager. Her and her family were on their way to Camelot to meet King Uther. They were going to make history. It was the first time people from their kingdom would have a partnership with the new continent that didn't involve slavery. Her family would join the nobility of Camelot, swearing allegiance to each other. And when her younger brother Raja was of age, he would become a knight to honour the agreement. It was part of efforts to have the two very different peoples seen as equals.

They hadn't even made it to the sea that separated the continents before disaster struck. A dragon. A small one, but enough to be deadly. Valandi squeezed tighter at the reins, willing the memory to fade, but the pain stayed. She had to get the scene out of her head and focus. While she continued riding, she went over sword forms mentally. An effective way to get her mind off subjects she didn't want to think about.

She slept overnight in a valley before reaching a gaping chasm, where a thin bridge was constructed as the only means to cross it. Below her she could only see darkness. If there was a river below this bridge Valandi couldn't see it. On the other side of the bridge was a small castle, still magnificent in its own right. However, it appeared to have undergone several ruthless attacks. Most of the turrets where completely destroyed and scorch marks covered large portions of the castle walls. Still Valandi could see no sign that the dragon was present.

She decided to dismount Ziba and continue the rest of the journey on her own. She was afraid that he would run away frightened by the dragon or cause them both to fall on the bridge. Valandi took a deep breath, unsheathed her sword and began to traverse the bridge. With every step it swayed beneath her. Her stomach churned when she glanced down. Keep your cool Val. She chided herself. Just one foot in front of the other. Then she will save the princess and be on her way to Camelot.

Finally, she crossed the bridge and ran into the castle. Now where would the princess be held? She realized that despite the small size of the castle she still had a lot of ground to cover. As she searched, she noticed the failed attempts of her predecessors. Skeletons in armour was all that was left of most of them. Some more recent victims where blacker even in their bones, seemingly burned alive. Valandi shuddered, the image of her brother's charred arm as he tried to protect her moments before his death flashed in her mind. Focus. She chided herself.

Eventually she reached a less damaged part of the castle. Stairs led to the top of a tower. Of course. Valandi climbed them quickly, without losing a breath. At the top of the tower was a door to what seemed to be a bed chamber. She knocked on it and immediately scolded herself. She was rescuing the princess, there was no need to knock.

Nonetheless a sing song voice answered, "Come in!" Valandi opened the door which led to a bedroom like she had guessed. A large, pink, four poster bed was against one wall, beside it a window which overlooked the bridge from where she came. Meaning the princess probably already knew she was coming. At the opposite wall was a mirror and a table filled with cosmetics. In front of the mirror was the most fascinating woman Valandi had ever seen. She had bright orange hair, almost like fire Valandi thought. And her skin was as pale as milk, with freckles dotting her face. Her eyes shone a deep emerald green, matching her silky, green gown. Her striking features were unlike any Valandi had ever seen before. She looked so much different than the people from her land, yet still beautiful.

"Are you here to save me knight or are you going to keep staring?" She mused with one eyebrow raised.

Valandi bowed quickly and cleared her throat. "Save you your highness." She said deepening her voice slightly.

The princess approached her and reached out her hand. Valandi paused before she took it and kissed it, almost forgetting this land's customs. "Then get on it with it. Sir-?"

"You can call me the Black Knight." Valandi replied.

The princess raised her nose. "Hmm that's a strange name for a knight. Mysterious." She curtsies. "I am Princess Christan."

"Yes, excuse me your highness, but there is supposed to be a dragon guarding you, where is it?" Valandi was perplexed.

The princess shrugged. "It must have left to go terrorize a village. We must hurry before it gets back." With that the princess hiked her skirts and hurried down the stairs. Valandi followed. She helped the princess cross the bridge and soon they are on the other side.

Princess Christan sank to the floor, allowing her hands to feel the earth. "I can't believe it." She laughs her smile revealing pearly white teeth.

Valandi allows herself to smile slightly. "How long have you been locked up there?"

"Since I was a young girl." She stands up dusting herself off. "An abandoned castle is no place to grow up, but it had to be done." She said as she pet the horse. Ziba seemed to like her. He nuzzled his nose against her hands and she smiled wider.

"Why were you put there? Seems a bit cruel for parents to lock up their own child."

"I was cursed at birth."

"How so?"

The princess hesitated. "That's not important. What matters is that I was saved." Suddenly she looked at Valandi closely, a realization coming to her. "That means you're my true love." She said, holding Valandi's hands and coming close to her. "I must reward you with a kiss, true love's kiss."

The Princess closed her eyes and leaned into Valandi. Valandi moved out of the way of her lips. "No, I am not." The Princess opened her eyes.

"What do you mean? You saved me."

"Yes, but for someone else. Prince Astor is your true love."

The princess crossed her arms. "Then why didn't he save me?"

"He is no shape to; I must take you to him."

Christan started marching towards the bridge, heading back to her prison. Valandi couldn't believe it. "No! You're doing it wrong. The curse will not be broken unless I am saved by true love. I will be waiting in the castle for this Prince Astor to prove his love for me."

Valandi sighed in frustration. "Sorry princess that's not happening." She grabbed the princess by her waist and threw her over her shoulder.

Christan hit and pulled at Valandi. "Put me down you, you lug!" Valandi ignored her and placed her on her horse roughly.

"Listen here your highness." Valandi scolded her. "Your kingdom is about to destroy another if your marriage does not stop it before that happens. I need to do everything in my power to get you there by next week, or else thousands will die. Do you want that all so you can find love, your highness?"

The princess' eyes widened and she shook her head. Valandi continued, "You will follow me back to Prince Astor's castle, they will cure you, you will be wed and you will live happily ever after. Deal?"

The princess nodded and said quietly, "deal."

"Good. Now let us hurry before the dragon returns."

-═══════ι▬▬

Valandi and Christan traveled for the most part in silence. Valandi walking alongside Christan on horseback.

"Are you not tired?" Christan asked.

"No." She replied curtly.

She was amazed that the knight could be so... knightly. Not once did he complain about walking, while she rode on his horse. Even though they went up and down hills and through mud. He stood stoic without falter. Guiding her towards her happy ending. Something she had been waiting for for most of her life. Finally she would be free of, of it. She hoped that the prince was handsome, but she couldn't help but notice the man that called himself the black knight. His skin was darker than any she had seen before and his hair was blacker than ash. But that's not what caught her attention the most. His eyes were a dark brown, almost black but changed to golden discs in sunlight. She had never seen anything like it.

"What?" Now he was looking at her inquisitively.

"Sorry?" She replied.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Princess Christan blushed. "It's nothing. You're just so... mysterious."

"Hmm." Was all he replied.

What Valandi was actually thinking was the date. As far as she knew she was supposed to start menstruating before she began the journey. She even wore protection just in case, but upon inspection that morning there was nothing. So she decided to go without it for the day (for the stuffing of wood up ones arse is very uncomfortable especially on horseback). But as she felt the princess stare at her, she also felt the familiar feeling of flow between her legs.

"We must set up camp now." The knight said suddenly.

Christan smiled. "Ah so you are tired." Then her smile faltered. She smelt it. The metallic smell of blood distinct to a woman's monthly cycle and it wasn't from her.

"What is it princess?" The knight asked.

Chistan knew she couldn't call him, no her, out on it. It would seem absurd for a regular woman to be able to smell such a thing. So instead of acting on it Christan shrugged and looked towards the oncoming sunset. "Nothing. I agree, I grow tired." Christan saw the almost unmistakable look of relief on the knight's features as she nodded.

"We can set up right here. There is a stream not too far away from here for bathing." They were traversing the mountain range. In front of them was a grassy valley. Just as was mentioned there was a stream that flowed behind a green hill. It's tip resembling that of the mountains that surrounded it.

"I didn't know men bathed often." Christan said curiously.

"It's for you princess, but now that you mentioned it I am in need of a bath." The black knight made a show of smelling her armpits. Christan huffed as she was led to where their camp would be. That was a smooth save, she thought to herself. But Christan was going to find the proof she needed. Soon they stopped in front of the hill near a hollow that resembled a grassy cave.

Courteously, the knight asked, "would you like to bathe first, princess?" Wow, she was taking the chivalry thing very far, Christan thought. However, if she was going to prove she knew she was a woman she was going to need her to be occupied.

"That's alright, I think I'll help set up camp." Christan said removing what appeared to be the knight's camping bag from the horse.

"Thank you, princess." The black knight left Christan with the horse as she made her way to the stream.

Christan pretended to be busy unpacking the knight's things. She didn't pack much other than the bare essentials. Water skin, dried food, some cloth, etc. A small dark brown pouch caught her attention. It was made from a leather she had never seen before. Christan's curiosity was piqued, but something told her not to touch it. Besides, she realized that time was passing quickly and she may miss her window. Reluctantly, she replaced the mystery pouch in the travel duffel.

[idhrenniel]

Engorgio! | Sirius Black

➴ Summary: Sirius is one of the most talented wizards she’s ever met, he’s also the dumbest teenager she’s ever met.

➴ Pairing: Sirius Black / fem!reader (3rd POV).

➴ Warnings: Sexual implications at the end, nothing specific. Language.

➴ Wordcount: 1.4K

➴ Tagged: @charmedevans @angelaiswriting

➴ Author Note: I’m moving all stories to this new blog, hope you still enjoy them.

“Listen, it seemed like a good idea. I mean, it’s a charm made to make things bigger. No one could have known it would go so wrong,” Sirius defended himself.

To her disappointment, Remus caught her before she could smack him. “Someone with half a brain would’ve known. A shrimp would’ve known, dumbass!”

As Sirius whined, she turned around with an exasperated huff. A part of her was so mad that she wanted to punch something -or them, if possible, but the other side was worried sick and hoped that Professor Flitwick would arrive soon.

The engorgio charm was designated to make inanimate objects or even food bigger than their actual size; it was a cool trick to use during a feast or get more butterbeer for less gold. It was a safe, non-harming charm. But all magic had risks if used wrong, and using it on their dicks was, without one single doubt, a wrong use of it.

So, three idiots friends and a too responsible during exams one later, The Marauders were at the hospital wing, with their dicks growing and in pain. If she hadn’t loved Sirius so much, she would have laughed her ass off. Perhaps she would still, once the situation was fixed.

“(Y/N)”, Sirius called. She ignored him, but he kept calling her name in a soft voice and she couldn’t help but oblige and turn around, approaching him. “Don’t be worried, please. I know it was a stupid thing to do, but it is done. It won’t ever happen again, I promise.”

She touched his cheek. “You don’t believe a single word of that, Black. And I know it.”

He smiled and she was thankful that Remus wasn’t able to catch her before she smacked his head that time. Although Sirius whined, she knew it was impossible he had felt the hit. One, because she didn’t use the force she wanted to and two because the situation that was going on between his legs was too painful for his brain to function.

“What in Merlin’s name happened here?” Professor Flitwick spoke as the doors opened and he, alongside Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore walked in.

James and Sirius looked at each other, their faces even paler than before. McGonagall was going to give them the worst punishment she could think of because of this one.

“Two assholes,” she said, pointing to James and Sirius, “had the idea of using the enlarging charm on their dicks, and the third asshole,” this time she pointed to Peter, “followed them.”

Flitwick turned to Remus. “And Mr. Lupin?”

“Mr. Lupin let them do it because it’s exams period and he has better things to do than to go around making sure these idiots don’t waste their shared braincell.”

Remus nodded at her answer, while Sirius, James and Peter complained.

Professor McGonagall tried to hold her laugh, but when Professor Flitwick started laughing, it was impossible to hold back. Even she let out a soft, long laugh. In the distance, she heard Sirius call her out on it, but she didn’t care at all if he was offended. Not in that moment. He had done something stupid and she had worried about it since she found out, it was good to let out for a moment and see the comical side of the situation. She did hope his dick wouldn’t explode, though. It would be a greater loss for her than for him.

Sighing, she wiped off a tear and straightened her back, walked up to Sirius and sat besides him. He was in such pain he couldn’t focus, his hand tried to reach her but it missed. She, so he wouldn’t feel alone, grabbed it with all the strength she could muster.

Idiot, she thought. He was going to end up hurt for real if he continued down that path. Sirius and James didn’t think things through when doing a prank. It still escaped her how the two of them could be so intelligent and so stupid at the same time.

Professor Flitwick took a breath and moved over where Peter was. It seemed he was in more pain than the rest, but in her opinion he was just scared. Sirius and James, although it had to be painful for them too, knew nothing was going to happen. But Peter was ever the soft spoken, scared little kid. Helping him first seemed obvious. Also, it had been Padfoot and Prong’s idea. Torturing them a little longer wouldn’t hurt, right?

“Finite Incantatem!”

Professor Flitwick moved from Peter to James, and then to Sirius. She guessed it was done, but all three of them were still in pain and it seemed their penises weren’t going down.

“It’s going to take a few hours for it to go down. I have stopped the spell to stop the growing. Drink this potion,” Flitwick motioned to them as Madam Pomfrey handled them a cup. “It has a sour taste, I must warn. But drink all of it to recover. It’s better to spend the night here, just in case something happens.”

Professor McGonagall thanked Professor Flitwick for his help and he left.

She had to help Sirius drink the potion. For the look on their faces, it tasted like hell, and hell was what all three of them deserved. Behind her, Remus was chuckling.

“Ten points from Gryffindor.” McGonagall spoke.

Remus turned around to complain, but she was quick to shut him up. “Your friends could’ve of died, Mr. Lupin. I believed them smarter than this. And as comical as the situation might be for them, or for the rest of us, it was a misuse of magic in non-academic hours. I should take more than ten points, but given their state, that it punishment enough. Rest now.”

She and Remus watched McGonagall leave, upset for the points but knowing it wouldn’t be too difficult for them to earn them back.

Headmaster Dumbledore let out a soft sigh and spoke at last: “Mr.Lupin, there isn’t much to do here. Return to the Common Room and keep studying.”

Remus looked at her and she nodded, then he said goodbye to his friends and left. Soon after, Dumbledore left as well. She didn’t, though. Had decided to spend the night with them.

And when night came, and James and Peter were deep asleep, she smacked Sirius in the chest. Not harsh, though. Just enough so that he’d know she was still upset.

“I apologized. What more can I do?”

“You can not be an idiot.” She sighed, looked up to him. “I don’t understand. You are one of the smartest wizards I know, talent aside. Yet at the same time, you’re the dumbest person I have ever known. How’s that possible?”

Sirius chuckled. “Thanks for the compliment, I guess?” She heard him sigh. “Just because I am a smart wizard doesn’t mind I don’t get to be a stupid teenager. I make mistakes, I have fun because of them. Yes, I fucked up on this one, but it was bound to happen some time.”

“Yes, should’ve see it coming, huh?” She laughed with him. “Just be careful next time, I don’t want that dick to explode without having impregnated me first. I’d be devastated.”

“Well, we can start working on it now. James and Peter are asleep…”

“Don’t even think about it, Mr. Black.” Madam Pomfrey interrupted. Where she had come from she didn’t know, but she almost had a heart attack. “The potion should’ve made effect by morning, but it’s going to be at least two months until you can… normally. Any intercouse before that could cause severe damaging and pain. Now, go to sleep. This is a public place.”

Sirius swallowed the knot on his throat as he watched her leave. “Two months?”

“No,” she scolded. “At least, two months. You do something stupid near that dick again, and I swear on Merlin this pain would be nothing compared to what I will do. Understood?” He just nodded, scared. “Stupid. Enlarging his dick, as if he needs it.”

Outside the hospital’s door, Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall shared a laugh.

“I thought you were going to give him detention for a year.” Madam Pomfrey confessed.

“Oh, I was going to,” McGonagall nodded. “But I thought this would be a greater punishment. At least to Sirius. The other two, I’ll come up with something. Goodnight, Poppy.”

“Goodnight, Professor McGonagall.”

[my-name-is-alice-ayers]

Chaos Theory pt1

Updates also on Wattpad @chlochlo92

Plot: Erik Lehnsherr x reader

Reader (Cross between marvels Enchantress and Scarlett Witch) Chloe is one of the students of Charles and Erik’s, this is told during days of future past. Erik and Charles rescued her from a mental institution that experimented on her in order to control her powers. Now after the events of First Class (will post this out of order) she is back with Charles nursing a broken heart. When a stranger from the future shows up everyone will have to set aside their differences and work together to change their fate.

“Are you still haven’t nightmares?” Hank asked as he entered the foyer bringing you a cup of tea. The sun was shining through the tall glass windows of Charles London Hime as you had planted yourself on the stairs. You knew you looked exhausted. The dark circles under your eyes stood out against you’re pale skin as you ran your fingers through your hair. You were still in one of your silk night gowns, not bothering to cover up in a robe or care that you were skimpily dressed. Hank smiled at you sheepishly, sensing your heart break, you weren’t the only one effected by Erik and Ravens decisions.

“How can you tell?””you asked blowing on the tea to cool it off.

“I could hear you and I could see the light in your windows from your powers,” he replied softly sipping his coffee.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, I’m just worried. With the Professor....in this state..I just want to help you anyway I can,” he leaned on the table reflecting sadly on the situation they were in.

“I don’t want the serum,” your voice cracked as you felt tears sliding down your cheeks. “I don’t want to hide this anymore or feel like a prisoner, I just want to feel more in control and since everything with Erik...I can’t get a grasp on it..”

“I know, it seems to be he’s part of what’s doing this, if Charles was more himself we could get to the source of it...free your mind from him, because he’s a trigger,” Hank began but a loud knock on the front door startled the both of you.

Hank looked at you confused, “Who could that be this early?”

Hank set his coffee down opening the door slowly, you could barely see who was standing there. The voices were muffled, before Hank turned around, “Uh, he’s asking about the school?”

“Is he a parent?” You stood now walking over to the door to see if it was a reporter or worse someone from the CIA. You could barely see a tall man in a leather jacket with dark hair and a beard. He looked oddly familiar to you, your powers giving you a sense of deja vu. The man scoffed at your remark.

“I sure hope not,” he remarked. “Who are you?” He gestured at Hank only seeing your blonde hair from where he was standing.

“I’m Hank, Hank McCoy I look after the house. Sorry, the schools been closed for years.”

“Enchantress..” he blurted out when you finally came into his sight line. Logan knew your powers slowed your aging so you were easier for him to recognize. Your hair was a little different he’d seen it a variety of colors over the years as you hid identities. Yet it was nice to see you like this, your naturally long blonde waves practically reaching to your waist. You looked skinner and paler than usual, he assumed you this was when you were nursing a broken heart from Erik.

“Sorry, have we met?” You eyes widened, no one had referred to you by that name in a long time. Honestly every time you heard it you cringed remembering Erik gifting it to you.

“And you’re Beast?” He pointed at Hank now, chuckling as he ignored your questions, “I guess you were a late bloomer.”

You noticed Hanks hand gripping the door harder, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Hank tried to shut the door, but the man pushed back.

“Wait, Hank..” you felt something again, a sense of familiarity as your powers made chill spread across your skin, something about this stranger triggering them. It reminded you of the feeling you’d gotten when you recognized your father in the train station with Erik. You knew this guy, but you didn’t know how.

“So where’s the Professor?” The guy growled pushing back again on the door as you stepped back.

Hank only growled in response hiding his face, trying to mask how much he was about to lose control.

“You’re pretty strong for a scrawny kid, you sure there’s not a little Beast in there?” The man remarked struggling now to keep the door ajar, you could see blue veins popping out of Hanks hands as they both grunted trying to match strength.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hank strained to keep the door closed.

“Hey, he’s not here,” you spoke now trying to force the mans attention to you. “Can you just stop it already with the games?”

“Come on Beast,” he taunted pushing back with more force,” Come on Beastie...”

Hank was losing control of himself, trying to fight the animal inside, “No-“ he yelled.

With one final push the man finally burst through the door, a smirk of victory on his face as Hank was pushed back flying against the table in the foyer.

“Hey,” you shouted at the man, you could feel light coming from your finger tips as you tried to hide your hands behind your back as your anger made you lose control of your powers slightly, “the school is closed and you need to leave.” You planted yourself in front of Hank.

“It’s nice to know nothing has really changed with you and that fiery personality sweetheart ...Not until I see the Professor,” he shook his head placing his hands on his hips as he squared off with you which only enraged you more.

The man watched a burst of red light flash over your icy blue eyes as you waved you hands slowly stepping towards him as little balls of red energy came off you like smoke. Before he could react he felt himself lifting in the air as the ribbons of energy spin around him holding his hands back, “YOU...don’t give...US... orders,” you growled now moving your hands like a vice, manipulating the energy to stretch his body, he growled in pain as he struggled to get free.

“Look kid, the blue guy and I are going to be good friends he just doesn’t know it yet,” he spoke struggling to breath, “and you and I..well we’re going to be a thing for a few years..” he grinned

“Really? When exactly does this occur because you’re not really my type..” you growled in anger. (Yes he was attractive but after Erik you were done dating bad boys you were sure of it)

“Why because I’m not Erik? Sugar you’d be real surprised...we had some very hot nights, how else would I know about that little scar on your inner thigh,” he laughed which only made you tighten your grip on him till he was almost choking, you could feel your face getting hot the more he grinned. “You’re blushing...it’s cute.”

That broke your concentration for a moment, your grip loosening as the man’s feet hit the ground and he rushed at you, but Hank had transformed while you two were arguing and pounced his legs before he could reach you.

“Professor? Professor?”the guy yelled wiggling from his grasp, desperate to find him as he struggled with Hank. You could tell this guy was trying not to hurt him which only confused you more.

“God who are you?” You shrieked, you were so confused watching the struggle ensue between the two men.

“Chlo? Hank? What is going on here?” Charles waltzed down the stairs in his bathrobe with a whiskey in his hand. You could hear the ice clinking in the glass as he brushed his long hair from his eyes to see what all the fuss had been about.

The man had managed to knock Hank down as he charged up the stairs, “Professor?” His voice was desperate and you sat back now intrigued.

“Ugh don’t call me that” he grimaced pinching at his nose.

“Do you know this bloke?” You replied pointing in his direction.

“He looks..slightly familiar..” Charles squinted his eyes trying to focus on everyone. The alcohol and serum made everything a bit hazy,” and get off the bloody chandelier Hank,” Charles rolled his eyes. Even in his robe he was still posh and somewhat well mannered.

Beast flipped off the chandelier still ready to attack, “You can walk?” the stranger pointed to his legs.

“You’re a perceptive one,” he staggered down the steps a lazy grin on his face.

“But I thought Erik..” he began but noticed his question turned the room somber as you and Charles met each other’s eyes. This guy knew way too much for comfort.

“You perception makes it slightly perplexing that you missed our sign on the way in. This is private property, my friend. I'm gonna have to ask her to ask him to ask you to leave,” Charles planted himself on the steps taking a long drink.

That uneasy feeling returned as you fed off the energy from this stranger. You closed your eyes seeing flashes of images as if they were memories of your own, you groaned leaning to grip the railing of the stairs, “He’s doing something, Charles...”

Charles looked at you concerned wishing for a moment he had his powers. Hank rushed to your side as the man put his hands up slowly walking towards the both you.

“I’m afraid I can’t leave...because I was sent here for you, Charles.” His voice was smooth and easy as he inched closer.

“Well, tell whoever it was who sent you I’m busy,” Charles stood now crossing his arms defiantly.

The man laughed, “Well that’s going to be a little tricky, because that person who sent me...was you.”

Charles and you looked at each other, “Beg your pardon?” Charles wasn’t sure if he had drank too much or was dreaming.

“Yes about 50 Years from now,” he continued.

“Like in the future 50 years from now, Charles you can’t believe that, it’s absurd...” you practically growled at him another piercing headache coming stopping you mid sentence.

“Yeah, honey, it’s true.”

“I sent you from the future?” Charles laughed pointing at himself, but you noticed the way his jaw tightened in flat out irritation at this.

“Yeah,” The stranger replied confidently.

“Piss off,” Charles growled challenging the man in his anger.

"If you had powers, you'd know I was telling the truth,” he snapped back and you and Hank were in awe. No one could have known that.

Charles stopped in his tracks, pursing his lips,"How do you know I don't have pow—Who are you?"

"I told you."

"Are you C.I.A?"

"No."

"You've been watching me?" Charles tried to piece this together into something that made more sense.

"I know you, Charles. We've been friends for years. I know your powers came when you were 9. I know you thought you were going crazy when it started... all the voices in your head. And it wasn't until you were 12... that you realized all the voices were in everyone else's head. And You,” he pointed at Chloe,” your powers came when you were 13, when your twin brother died, you burned down most of your parents lavish estate. They couldn’t explain it so they locked you up in an institution until Charles and Erik set you free. You’re telekinetic, but you read emotions when you touch people, especially if you’re close to them and you can manipulate energy ...The closer you are to someone the more enhanced your powers are, that’s why Erik breaking your heart caused you to lose control of them again. Do you want me to go on?"

Tears were slowly pouring down your face as you closed your eyes feeling memories of Erik, he was the only one other than Charles that knew that how your powers started, “Shut him up.” You pleaded with Charles, wishing he’d had the power to.

Charles looked at you with shock. "I never told anyone any of that..not about myself and not about you, only Erik knew that darling."

"Not yet. But you will." The man crossed his arms.

"All right, you've piqued my interest. What do you want?" Charles leaned against the stair-rail, a hand resting on your shoulder to try and calm you. He had an eyebrow raised unenthusiastically.

“We have to stop Raven. I need your help. We need your help.” He signaled towards you two as if you were all friends all of a sudden.

The mention of Raven made your anger boil back up, jealousy rising in the pit of your stomach, “What does SHE have to do with it?”

Charles sighed, "I think I'd like to wake up now,” Charles got just as emotional at the mention of them.

You watched him walk towards the study (mainly for the open bar that resides in there) seemingly abandoning you two with this problem. Hank took a deep breath, slowly turning into his human form, "What is your name?" He asked grabbing the guys arm.

“Wolverine, but for now call me Logan.”

————————————

[trojantoast]

“The Love, The Dark, The Light, The Flame” (pt. 2) - Zutara Week 2019

Day Two “Speaked” - part two of seven

“What if the world dies with the sunrise? 

Baby it’s all right we’ll be up all night

 What if we’re unmade when the stars fade? 

Keep me going till the night turns into the day.”

- “Until the Night Turns” Lord Huron

@zutaraweek

_________________________

Sometimes Katara wished she wasn't a night person. 

She could feel the moon fall below the horizon as she fluffed her pillow again. Her wide windows were open, letting the night time breeze flow in between the mesh of the mosquito net. The fabric flowed gently like sails, barely seen in the darkness. Sleep had not come easy, more so the opposite, for the entire night the waterbender had laid awake. 

Usually, she used this time to get things done, let that be paperwork, research, or relieving the healers at the hospital in Ba Sing Se. Then she’d catch naps wherever she could during the heat of the day. But, she was on vacation, and had purposefully not brought any work with her. 

Katara wrapped herself in the cool silk sheets, and snuggled deeper into the feather pillows. This was the most comfortable bed she had inhabited in recent memory. There was no denying that. The ocean whispering outside and the sound of night animals provided a comforting atmosphere. Yet, sleep escaped her. She blamed the almost full moon. Though the real culprit, though she would never admit it herself, was the man sleeping in the room just a thin wall away from her.

 If she was quiet enough she could hear his breathing. If she stayed still she could reach out and feel the blood pumping through his veins. The habit was one she picked up from healing him after Sozin’s comet. She would be so attuned to his heartbeat those lonely, scary, days and nights that the simplest shift would wake her from slumber. 

So it was second nature to sink into his strong, though uneven, breaths. Her mind wandered far away, and also sat empty. Though awake, she was at peace. 

Was it creepy that she was using her bending to spy on him? Probably. But, knowing his heart was steady, when at one time it barely beat at all, made waves of comfort wash over and smooth out the edges of the day. So Katara listened, and watched the sky outside lighten slowly. 

Hours before dawn, she was stirred from her trance when he abruptly rolled to the side of his bed and stood walking quietly to his door. She followed his footsteps until they faded away.

The sun had always woken Zuko the minute it rose above the horizon, but it couldn't wake him up if he never fell asleep in the first place. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion and he longed for nothing more than to sink into his dreams and wake up in the morning refreshed. But his mind had other plans. Like fall leaves in the wind, moments and images flew through his head. Everything from what he wanted to eat tomorrow, to budgeting meetings, to the bed he laid in. His thoughts ran together like water droplets on metal. He craved chicken so he thought about the food budget for the palace, which led to his budget compared to that of various restaurants, which lead to an inn he had stayed at once, which led to a conversation a few months ago with the palace tailor that then made him think of the sheets. His sheets sent him down a spiral about trade with the earth kingdom which made him think about the colonies, soon he was considering politics and alliances. 

He could really use some of his uncles tea. These night time thoughts where common back in the capitol, and he would usually sneak down to the kitchen and follow the recipe Iroh had left him. He had gotten better at brewing it over the years, but he still couldn't do it right without the directions. Then bringing the pot back up to his room he usually pen his letters to Katara. 

But he had stupidly left the recipe at the palace, and Katara was asleep not a foot away from his own headboard. He needed another option. 

His mind decided to wonder to his correspondence with the woman just on the other side of the wall. Zuko wrote Katara the most out of the group, and the letters were often very long. He asked her council on a lot of decisions, and was known to send entire transcripts of meetings so she could be completely informed, she gave advice that always work. In turn, Katara would rant to him about a particularly challenging patient, or earth kingdom noble who ticked her off, and Zuko would do his best to be helpful, suggesting new ideas, or consulting the palaces extensive medicine scrolls. The letters where she was particularly puzzled with a medical case where some of his favorite to read. Sometimes the letter cataloged her entire thought process from hypothesis to conclusion. Some letters were deeper than others. During the harder parts of Azula’s rehabilitation Zuko had been so immersed in the darker parts of his mind he watched himself speak in spiraling language about that happier parts of his childhood, as well as the more violent moments. The ink in those was often smudged with tear drops.  

There was a bond there, an intimacy, Zuko couldn't quite explain.

He laid in his bed for a while longer, until his chi stirred with the nearing dawn. Since sleep had escaped him, Zuko decided on a walk. 

The dock faced the north, with a panoramic view of the open ocean, setting the stage for both the sunrise in the east and its setting in the west. It was blocked by a barrier of rocks that  broke the waves, creating a calm lagoon. If you were feeling more adventurous, on the other side of the slick stones was a beach, with large waves that crashed on the grey volcanic sand. It was the best piece of real estate on the island, with acres of empty forrest for privacy. Only the best for the Fire Lord and his guests.

Strips of clouds crossed the sky, revealing the fading stars through their thin bodies. The sky paled with the promised sunrise. Zuko let his feet be gently batted around by the incoming tide. His fingers wrapped around the edge of the dock, worn wood cool under his touch. The night air chilled his bare shoulders, and made his loose hair tickle his nose. The young Fire Lord’s mind was at peace, unlike in his bed, but he was alone. So he welcomed the soft footsteps that approached him from behind. 

“I brought tea.” 

Zuko couldn't deny the warmth that filled his chest when she sat next to him and set the cup into his hands.

He glanced over at her, but in the gathering dawn he could only make out the white of her bindings peeking out from under a loosely tied tunic, and her wild hair eclipsing the sky behind her. 

“Surprised to see you up this early.” His eyes lingered on her gently.

“Oh I'm usually getting ready for bed around now, actually.”

“You’re joking.” 

“Nope.” a giggled escaped her lips, “I get my best work done under the cover of darkness.” She wiggled her fingers for effect, “after all wasn’t it you who said, ‘you rise with the moon, I-”

“-rise with the sun, yeah, yeah.” Zuko leaned back on his hands and stared at the clouds above, “but, Katara, really? It’s almost sunrise.” 

She shrugged, sipping her tea. “So you couldn’t sleep?” she changed the subject with ease.

“Not really, I couldn't shut my mind off.” 

“What were you thinking about?” she prompted. The sky had grown paler and her features slowly illuminated. 

“What do you think of my robes?” Zuko remembered a particular strand of thought that had itched his brain.

Katara tucked one leg under the other, turning to face him completely, her expression was open and her tea cup rested in her hands, “The formal ones? Or your every day ones?” 

“The formal ones.” Zuko clarified, “The other day I was being fitted for new ones, and the tailor asked me if I had any suggestions, but nothing came to me.” 

“Well…” she considered it for a while, “they’re alright, a little stuffy for my taste. Oh, and you could definitely lose the shoulder spikes.” she added as an afterthought.

“I would have to agree.” 

“They’re a little… intense.” 

He laughed at that. The conversation then followed a sort of lazy, meandering, pattern. The pair rambled on about robes, as well as a myriad of other things. Zuko only halfway listened. He took part in the conversation. It was so easy to talk to her, even if every glance sent his heart fluttering. 

He was more focused on the blue of her eyes and how they crinkled up when they laughed and how her hair kept falling in her face and how she ran her fingers along the edge of her now empty cup as she talked and how her gaze kept drifting back to the sea. And he relished in the moments when he would stop watching her for a moment and realize she was watching him too.

They had to have been sitting there for hours. Their tea cups abandoned beside them, they laid on their backs admiring the now vibrant pink clouds.

Katara was pointing out interesting shapes with childlike enthusiasm. Zuko’s arms rested behind his head and he followed her tan hands as they gestured to the wide sky. 

She had settled her head on his chest, right below his beating heart. Warmth radiated from where her cheek met his bare skin, just inches away from his blossom of marred flesh. He longed to never move from this position. Zuko didn't quite understand what he felt towards her, but seeing her dark hair curl around his lightning mark, a wound he would receive a thousand times over, just to see her safe. He knew that whatever he did feel, it was deep, and complicated, and made his heart leap and ache and open wider than it ever had before. 

“Hey, Zuko?” Her voice was quieter, and her hands now rested on her stomach.

“Yeah?” he whispered, sleep tugging at his eyelids. He felt her shift, and her hand ghosted over the pendant at her neck he couldn't see, but knew was there. 

“Do you ever dream about your mom?” an edge of exhaustion crept into her words.

He thought hard about her question, though he was just as tired as Katara’s voice betrayed her to be.

“Yes, all the time.”

There was silence on her end, then the quietest words of all, barely heard, 

“If you could change things would you?”

It was his turn to reach up, touching the ruined skin below his eye, he traveled down to his chest, his fingers intertwining in her soft hair. He felt a shadow of the pain of his sister’s strike, the ache of his mother disappearing in the night, the feeling of not being able to look his father in the eye after returning home, the feeling of her in his arms, the first time they had stood on this dock, so many years ago. 

“No.” 

He closed his eyes, feeling the calming presence of sleep wash over him. He felt her breath even out as well and he slipped into his dreams, bare back pressed against cool wood, and the sun rising triumphantly over the sea. Gentle words tickled at the edge of his consciousness, like the opening line of a sweet dream.

“I love you.”

________________________

inspired by this beautiful piece of fan art

[oldidhrenniel]

Engorgio! // Sirius Black

➴ Summary: Sirius Black may be a smart, talented wizard, but he is also a stupid, reckless teenager.

➴ Pairing: Sirius Black / Reader (3rd Pov).

➴ Warnings: Mentions of sex, bad language.

➴ Wordcount: 1408.

➴ Tagging: @angelaiswriting @charmedevans

“Listen, it seemed like a good idea. I mean, it’s a charm made to make things bigger. No one could have known it would go so wrong,” Sirius defended himself.

To her disappointment, Remus caught her before she could smack him. “Someone with half a brain would’ve known. A shrimp would’ve known, dumbass!”

As Sirius whined, she turned around with an exasperated huff. A part of her was so mad that she wanted to punch something -or them, if possible, but the other side was worried sick and hoped that Professor Flitwick would arrive soon.

The engorgio charm was designated to make inanimate objects or even food bigger than their actual size; it was a cool trick to use during a feast or get more butterbeer for less gold. It was a safe, non-harming charm. But all magic had risks if used wrong, and using it on their dicks was, without one single doubt, a wrong use of it.

So, three idiots friends and a too responsible during exams one later, The Marauders were at the hospital wing, with their dicks growing and in pain. If she hadn’t loved Sirius so much, she would have laughed her ass off. Perhaps she would still, once the situation was fixed.

“(Y/N)”, Sirius called. She ignored him, but he kept calling her name in a soft voice and she couldn’t help but oblige and turn around, approaching him. “Don’t be worried, please. I know it was a stupid thing to do, but it is done. It won’t ever happen again, I promise.”

She touched his cheek. “You don’t believe a single word of that, Black. And I know it.”

He smiled and she was thankful that Remus wasn’t able to catch her before she smacked his head that time. Although Sirius whined, she knew it was impossible he had felt the hit. One, because she didn’t use the force she wanted to and two because the situation that was going on between his legs was too painful for his brain to function.

“What in Merlin’s name happened here?” Professor Flitwick spoke as the doors opened and he, alongside Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore walked in.

James and Sirius looked at each other, their faces even paler than before. McGonagall was going to give them the worst punishment she could think of because of this one.

“Two assholes,” she said, pointing to James and Sirius, “had the idea of using the enlarging charm on their dicks, and the third asshole,” this time she pointed to Peter, “followed them.”

Flitwick turned to Remus. “And Mr. Lupin?”

“Mr. Lupin let them do it because it’s exams period and he has better things to do than to go around making sure these idiots don’t waste their shared braincell.”

Remus nodded at her answer, while Sirius, James and Peter complained.

Professor McGonagall tried to hold her laugh, but when Professor Flitwick started laughing, it was impossible to hold back. Even she let out a soft, long laugh. In the distance, she heard Sirius call her out on it, but she didn't care at all if he was offended. Not in that moment. He had done something stupid and she had worried about it since she found out, it was good to let out for a moment and see the comical side of the situation. She did hope his dick wouldn't explode, though. It would be a greater loss for her than for him.

Sighing, she wiped off a tear and straightened her back, walked up to Sirius and sat besides him. He was in such pain he couldn’t focus, his hand tried to reach her but it missed. She, so he wouldn’t feel alone, grabbed it with all the strength she could muster.

Idiot, she thought. He was going to end up hurt for real if he continued down that path. Sirius and James didn’t think things through when doing a prank. It still escaped her how the two of them could be so intelligent and so stupid at the same time.

Professor Flitwick took a breath and moved over where Peter was. It seemed he was in more pain than the rest, but in her opinion he was just scared. Sirius and James, although it had to be painful for them too, knew nothing was going to happen. But Peter was ever the soft spoken, scared little kid. Helping him first seemed obvious. Also, it had been Padfoot and Prong’s idea. Torturing them a little longer wouldn’t hurt, right?

“Finite Incantatem!”

Professor Flitwick moved from Peter to James, and then to Sirius. She guessed it was done, but all three of them were still in pain and it seemed their penises weren’t going down.

“It’s going to take a few hours for it to go down. I have stopped the spell to stop the growing. Drink this potion,” Flitwick motioned to them as Madam Pomfrey handled them a cup. “It has a sour taste, I must warn. But drink all of it to recover. It’s better to spend the night here, just in case something happens.”

Professor McGonagall thanked Professor Flitwick for his help and he left.

She had to help Sirius drink the potion. For the look on their faces, it tasted like hell, and hell was what all three of them deserved. Behind her, Remus was chuckling.

“Ten points from Gryffindor.” McGonagall spoke.

Remus turned around to complain, but she was quick to shut him up. “Your friends could’ve of died, Mr. Lupin. I believed them smarter than this. And as comical as the situation might be for them, or for the rest of us, it was a misuse of magic in non-academic hours. I should take more than ten points, but given their state, that it punishment enough. Rest now.”

She and Remus watched McGonagall leave, upset for the points but knowing it wouldn’t be too difficult for them to earn them back.

Headmaster Dumbledore let out a soft sigh and spoke at last: “Mr.Lupin, there isn’t much to do here. Return to the Common Room and keep studying.”

Remus looked at her and she nodded, then he said goodbye to his friends and left. Soon after, Dumbledore left as well. She didn’t, though. Had decided to spend the night with them.

And when night came, and James and Peter were deep asleep, she smacked Sirius in the chest. Not harsh, though. Just enough so that he’d know she was still upset.

“I apologized. What more can I do?”

“You can not be an idiot.” She sighed, looked up to him. “I don’t understand. You are one of the smartest wizards I know, talent aside. Yet at the same time, you’re the dumbest person I have ever known. How’s that possible?”

Sirius chuckled. “Thanks for the compliment, I guess?” She heard him sigh. “Just because I am a smart wizard doesn’t mind I don’t get to be a stupid teenager. I make mistakes, I have fun because of them. Yes, I fucked up on this one, but it was bound to happen some time.”

“Yes, should’ve see it coming, huh?” She laughed with him. “Just be careful next time, I don’t want that dick to explode without having impregnated me first. I’d be devastated.”

“Well, we can start working on it now. James and Peter are asleep…”

“Don’t even think about it, Mr. Black.” Madam Pomfrey interrupted. Where she had come from she didn’t know, but she almost had a heart attack. “The potion should’ve made effect by morning, but it’s going to be at least two months until you can… normally. Any intercouse before that could cause severe damaging and pain. Now, go to sleep. This is a public place.”

Sirius swallowed the knot on his throat as he watched her leave. “Two months?”

“No,” she scolded. “At least, two months. You do something stupid near that dick again, and I swear on Merlin this pain would be nothing compared to what I will do. Understood?” He just nodded, scared. “Stupid. Enlarging his dick, as if he needs it.”

Outside the hospital’s door, Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall shared a laugh.

“I thought you were going to give him detention for a year.” Madam Pomfrey confessed.

“Oh, I was going to,” McGonagall nodded. “But I thought this would be a greater punishment. At least to Sirius. The other two, I’ll come up with something. Goodnight, Poppy.”

“Goodnight, Professor McGonagall.”

[evilrubberducke]

The Sky’s the Limit

Another week, another IzuMina short for you all. I tried dipping my hand a little bit in the angst pot. Hopefully you still enjoy it.

Summary:  In the aftermath of the I-Island incident, most of class 1A are glad to be returning home. However, for Mina the trip home may be just as terrifying as the Villain attack

Read it on AO3!

Izuku sighed as he eased himself into the cramped plane seating. It was a relief to finally be getting something done, after hours sitting around waiting for the plane to be ready to board. He understood why their flight had been delayed so much, of course, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

I-Island had been thrown into a tizzy in the wake of the villain attack. The administrators had ordered a full inspection of nearly every system to make sure that nothing like that attack could ever happen again.

No one begrudged them the worry over the systems being compromised, but the check had lead to delays in almost every part of life on I-Island, which had put the locals in a bit of a bad mood.

It had also left the members of class 1A feeling rather homesick. They had been kept on the island after the incident for three days, being debriefed on their actions. All Might had done as much as he could to take the heat off of them, but in the end they were the primary responders, and they were learning the consequences that came with that position.

Finally, they had been given the green light to return home. All Might was remaining on I-Island while Mr. Shield recovered, which meant that Izuku was returning with the rest of his class. He didn’t mind though. He had traded Jirou his assigned window seat in exchange for her seat next to Mina.

Despite being on the island together for several days, the couple had spent almost no time together. The island administrators had given the students accomodations in the nicest hotel available as thanks for their efforts in combating Wolfram and his cronies. It had been extremely nice, with a jacuzzi, free room service, and a truly massive television and every game system you could ask for. The problem was that they had been essentially confined there while the security team finished their debriefing. Between shared rooms and some very nosey friends, Mina and Izuku hadn’t gotten more than a few moments to themselves.

A long plane ride wasn’t exactly a romantic getaway, but at this point Izuku would take what he could get. At least the people seated near them wouldn’t create a series of memes that they constantly bombarded him with just because he had slipped up and used her private nickname in front of everyone.

A loud thump from the overhead compartment startled Izuku from his thoughts. He looked up, and saw Mina smiling down at him as she closed the door. Something about the smile seemed off though. He’d never been very good at reading people’s body language, a side effect of spending so much of his childhood isolated, but after being close with Mina for months, he’d gotten better at it.

“Is everything ok?”

“Yeah!” She replied, a little too quickly.

Before Izuku could continue the conversation, Mina angled herself to the side, ducking down slightly so she wouldn’t hit her head on the overhead compartment, and began to sidle past him to get to her seat. As she did, Izuku whipped his head to the side, trying very hard not to stare at her backside passing directly in front of him.

As she dropped into her seat, the smirk on her face made it very clear she knew exactly what she had been doing. Izuku wasn’t the only one who was tired of being cooped up. In Mina’s case, it had actually been much more difficult. Her energetic nature did not take kindly to being stuck indoors for so long.

She wasted no time in checking the seat over, even going so far as to pull the safety manual out and leaf through it. It was very cute to watch, like a puppy exploring a new house.

“Having fun?” He asked.

She jumped a bit, then looked sheepish. “I- just making sure everything’s in order.”

Now he was sure that something was up. Mina had picked up a few habits of his since they had started dating, one of which was stuttering when she became truly nervous.

“Are you sure you’re feeling ok Mina?”

For a moment, she looked as if she wanted to say something, but in the end she pulled out her phone and began to fiddle absently with it. “I’m fine. Just excited to be going home.”

He didn’t pry further. After all, he knew very well that sometimes you just needed space when something was bothering you.

---

Thankfully, the plane finished boarding rather quickly due to everyone being very eager to be on their way after all the delays. Surprisingly, the last seat in their row was left empty, a fact that Izuku was very grateful for. He hated sitting next to strangers. It gave him the willies, for reasons he wasn’t quite sure of.

The crew ran through their obligatory safety check in record time, and Izuku tuned them out. He’d been on a few plane trips in the past. When he was much younger, his father had bought his mother and him tickets to come see him in America. There had only been a handful of trips though. As he grew older, no more tickets had come in the mail, and Izuku had despaired of ever seeing his father again.

As the plane began to taxi onto the runway, Izuku unwrapped a stick of gum he had bought ahead of time. He’d never had any trouble with pressure changes before, but his paranoid nature always insisted he be prepared for everything. Bakugou’s warnings long ago about his head popping open like a grapefruit hadn’t helped either. He knew they had just been mocking jokes, but they had still gone through his mind as he had walked through the airport.

“Want some?” He offered, turning to Mina. He stopped when he saw her face.

Her skin was as pale as he’d ever seen it, the vibrant pink faded almost grey in some places. She was sweating too, and her breath was coming faster than usual.

“Mina, you’re-”

He was cut off, as the plane finished it’s final turn, and began to rapidly accelerate. As it did, Mina’s hand snaked out and wrapped around his own in a vice-like grip. She even gave Todoroki a run for his money in terms of grip strength.

With that, everything clicked into place for Izuku. The odd, nervous behavior, the pale skin, the attempts to deflect. Mina was afraid of flying. Very afraid, unless he missed his guess.

Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and she was shivering slightly. In response, Izuku pulled his hand away, and wrapped her in a side armed hug. It wasn’t very comfortable, but it was the best he could manage, given the seating arrangement.

Her shivering calmed a bit, but she didn’t pull away until the plane had been level for several minutes. When she did pull back she at least looked a little better. Her skin was still paler than he’d like, and her eyes looked a little unfocused, but she didn’t seem to be panicking quite as much.

“S-sorry.” She muttered dejectedly.

“Nothing to be sorry for. I was scared too, especially the first time I flew.”

She nodded. “My family all live pretty close to home, and we never had time to go for long vacations, so I never did planes." She squeezed his hand again. "I'm...not a fan."

He returned the squeeze. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll be here with you the whole time.”

“I know. Easier said than done though.” She risked a glance out the window, but quickly turned back looking even paler than before.

“You should try to get some sleep.” Izuku said. “That way, we’ll be home before you know it.”

She nodded, and laid her head on his shoulder. The armrest between them made the position slightly awkward, but neither one cared very much. They were thinking about someone much more important.

-----

He didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep, but the next thing he knew, Izuku was being jolted awake as his seat seemed to drop out from under him. The plane had hit a spot of turbulence, and was shuddering rather alarmingly. He could see the passengers near them all looking around fearfully.

His view was obscured a moment later when Mina slammed into him. She had practically vaulted over the armrest, and was now wrapping herself bodily around him. Unlike her usual hugs, she wasn't careful with her horns, and one of them grazed his forehead painfully. Her cheek was pressed close to his, and he could feel hot tears running down her face. Her breath came in heaving gasps, and a stream of incoherent words were flowing out of her mouth.

He racked his brain desperately for something that would make her feel better. He wasn't used to being the one people turned to for comfort, and it showed. So, Izuku did the only thing he could think of, and emulated his mother. He wrapped his arms tightly around Mina, running his fingers through her hair. Then, he leaned in slightly, and began to speak in what he hoped was a low, soothing voice.  He started telling her about all the cool support equipment Melissa had shown him at the expo, and all the foreign Heroes he had seen in passing. She almost always fell asleep when he got into talking about Heroes, so he hoped it would work in this case as well.

As he spoke, he could feel her heart rate begin to slow, which filled him with relief.

It took several minutes, but no more turbulence occurred, and finally Mina lifted her head from his neck, and placed her forehead against his.

“Thanks.” Her voice was low, and a bit gravely, but strong.

“Of course. I’m always here for you, whatever you need.”

A small smile graced her lips. “I know.” The smile grew wider, and a touch of her usual color returned to her cheeks. “Though, I think you’re the only guy in the world who would try to comfort his girlfriend by talking about spending time with another woman.”

Too late, Izuku realized how his rambling thoughts had sounded, and he felt his temperature rise suddenly. He hadn’t really discussed the time he had spent with Melissa with her at all, not that they had done anything untoward, or even thought about doing something like that, he was taken after all, and he definitely wasn’t the kind of person to cheat and-

“You’re mumbling again.” Mina said, pressing a finger to his lips to silence him.

He blushed. He’d been working hard to curb his habit, but progress had been glacial to say the least. HIs brain just moved too fast for him to keep track of.

“Sorry” he said sheepishly.

“Don’t be. It’s a part of you. And I like every part of you.” With that, she planted a firm kiss on his lips.

Before Izuku could properly react to the kiss, a cough interrupted them. They turned their heads to see an extremely scandalized mother covering her child’s eyes and shooting them a glare so potent Izuku could swear she possessed some sort of ocular Quirk.

It was at that point that Izuku realized his girlfriend was sitting on his lap in the middle of a very public plane filled with irritated travelers. His face went full nuclear as he hurried to push Mina back into her seat, trying to look as apologetic as he possibly could while internally freaking out.

Mina, thankfully, went quietly back to her seat, which was unusual. Normally, she would have been laughing at the situation or teasing Izuku relentlessly about getting flustered over something as simple as a kiss in public. Instead, she was as purple as a plum and sitting meekly with her hands in her lap.

The only reason Izuku could think of for the difference in behavior was the context. Mina didn’t mind showing affection in public, but intimacy was a very different beast. She was a romantic at heart, and a little shy about showing it where other people could see. It was one of the few ways Izuku could actually get her to blush. Teasing her was impossible, but a few soft words could melt her into a puddle when used just right.

As he looked at her, a soft glow caught his eye. He leaned past Mina, and lifted the window screen.

At the edge of the horizon, a hint of golden light was blossoming as the sun began to rize. As Izuku and Mina watched, its rays danced across the clouds and the myriad waves far below. It was a truly magical sight.

“It’s so pretty” Mina said softly

“Yeah” Izuku agreed. “Does it make up for the scare?”

“Not in the slightest.” She leaned back slightly, and Izuku wrapped his arms around her once more. Enjoying each others warmth, the two watched as the sun rose to greet the world once more, and for a brief time, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

[jflashandclash]

Traitors of Olympus IV: Fall of the Sun

Thirty-Nine: Kalypso

I Argue with an Inanimate Object

             Kally almost slapped the Cloven Terror helm in surprise, but realized exactly how dumb that would look since she was wearing it. “You can talk?” she said out loud. “Um, to me? You’re alive?”

           She glanced towards the battle and felt a horrific sense of vertigo. As her gaze went to the peripheral of her vision, it expanded, showing everything on either side of her: the way Percy screamed on his throne, the two giants battling near them. Maybe near? Her depth perception failed.

           Disoriented, Kally returned her gaze to Alabaster, where his pale face stared back, patiently letting her get adjusted. Her vision returned to normal.

           Not all of us. We reflect the monsters they want to be. Ajax thinks silence is terror; Axel, the calculated insertion of an intelligent beast; Alabaster…

           There was a wry laugh.

           Besides, I was the first. I needed to come with an instruction manual.  

         Everything hummed. Kally could feel energy surge through her body. Green sparks erupted from the broken corner of the helm.

           Alabaster reached a hand out, pressing one of his rune pouches into her palm. He weakly gestured towards her Argonaut statue in her other hand.

           We made something for you, but, with my master in his current state, you must cast the spell. We had no time to test it.

           Kally wanted to inform the talking helmet that this was epic and cool, but they picked the wrong person. She wondered, if she had known this was how things would turn out, would she have followed Axel and Pax out of her school a few months ago?

           Without hesitation, she knew the answer was yes.

           “I can’t use magic,” she said.

           All creatures possess the ability to use magic. It’s whether you have the aptitude to excel. Now, cast with me.

           The words raced through her mind. Later, she would need to demand when Alabaster had the time for prepping this spell and exactly why he hadn’t done it before. She took Alabaster’s hand and the spell pouch, and pressed it against the Argonaut statue. If she had to guess, that statue was giving her the most skeptical look possible. When her mouth moved, she couldn’t tell if it was the voice of the helm or her own.

           “Incantara: revertetur,” Kally said, the helm’s darker tone whispering in harmony with hers.

           The statue glowed green as the rune pouch melded into the metal. Kally wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen. She didn’t feel any different, though Alabaster now looked paler. Knowing her luck, she just used all of Alabaster’s magic reserves to make her weapon cuss in squirrel instead of anything useful.[1]

           His quivering hand pointed behind her. His eyebrows furrowed, but that could have been from the pain. The ambrosia didn’t seem to have much effect on his broken jaw, though she guessed he would need a bit more than a godly pain killer for that.

           She didn’t like the idea of leaving Alabaster by himself, barely conscious, and unguarded. As though he could read her mind—maybe he could with the helm on—he withdrew his pistol and set it on his lap.

           “Okay,” Kally said, her voice cracking, “Okay. I’m going to go help the others. But, uh, I need you to protect this.” She took off her messenger bag and set it beside him. “Make sure no one else reads my journal,” she said lamely, since she couldn’t get herself to say, Yea, don’t die while I’m not looking. Or while I’m looking. Just don’t die.

           Alabaster rolled his eyes. Then, looked like he might throw up from the motion.

           As gently as she could, Kally kissed his forehead.[2]

           Then, she stood up and turned to face the battle. Preparing for the nausea and disorientation this time, she glanced to the edge of her peripheral, feeling her vision expand like a panorama photo.

           There was another monster on the field she hadn’t seen before. She didn’t remember anything in Greek mythology like this; it was huge, towering over the Roman’s field lights, matching the size of Eris. At first, her stomach clenched to think they’d have to fight another god, but it slammed into the goddess of Chaos with a, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers.”

           “Pax?” Kally said stupidly.

           The creature was humanoid, but it looked nothing like her not-really-ex-boyfriend. Talons busted through the back of both the monster’s combat boots. Its fingers were twice the length of a normal human’s or demigods, with black more talons further extending the digits. His forearms and thighs seemed twice as thick as usual.  

           Poking through the Silver-Tongued Snake’s helm, which had also grown, the face under was narrowed and pointed, not squishy.

           When he struck Eris, Kally couldn’t follow the speed of his movements, like seeing a snake or bird wind up for an attack, then only seeing the aftereffects.

           Ah, a feathered serpent. How utterly appropriate, the Cloven Terror muttered.

           With each slash of Pax’s talons, Eris giggled hysterically, regardless of whether she successfully blocked or not. Ichor splattered her clothing; Kally couldn’t tell if it was from Eris or Pax. Each time Pax drew close, she’d lash haphazardly out with a jagged knife coated in some black liquid and a smattering of his glittery blood.

           Every time they stepped, the ground shook.

           If Kally were looking at them with her normal eyesight, Pax would appear to be gaining the upper hand: Eris was rapidly losing ground. With the expanded vision, Kally could see Eris backing them towards the strawberry fields, where one misstep from their knife-talon family squabble could squish a stray camper or ghoul.

           Eris wouldn’t mind some flattened comrades. Kally suspected creepy eagle-snake Pax might be a bit traumatized if he had to pick demigod skeletons out of his boots.

           Behind them, the camp was in mayhem. Clarisse La Rue, several other Ares campers, and one or two Apollo children tried to corner Python. The massive drakon snapped around, swallowing one camper in a single strike.[3]

           The Romans were fighting their way through hoards of ghosts and ghouls to form a single rank and protect their sides. There were so many undead, several ranks were isolated and couldn’t make it to the conglomeration around the barracks or strawberry field.

           Some of the Greeks rushing out to help collapsed onto the ground, unconscious. Certain ones would stagger back to their feet, then turn on their allies.

           In the distance, by the cabins, Phobetor tried to keep piping on his flute for his sleep-hypnosis, but Hazel Levesque and Lou Ellen prevented him from gathering a sleep army. Each time one of the magic-users blasted or slashed him, he lost one of his sleep walkers.

           Although Greeks and Romans had been unprepared and several were dead, Kally felt like they were doing pretty well without the main heroes helping.

           In her counting of the gods that had been present at the Pax Tree Growing Party, she realized she was missing one: Atë.

           A puff of smoke whirled into existence by Clarisse La Rue’s legs. Kally didn’t see Atë fully materialize, just her tire iron smashing into the daughter of Ares’ calf.

           Clarisse crumbled to the ground.

           Kally clenched her Argonaut statue, focusing her vision on the smoke, allowing the panorama to narrow to her normal vision. Somehow, someone needed to stop Pax’s half-sister. How was she supposed to predict Atë’s movements to hit her? The goddess of Ruin and Mischief only seemed to appear at the least convenient place possible. (Something to add to the list of uncannily similarities between Eris’ children.) Otherwise, her victims were randomized.

           Don’t take aim. Just throw instinctively. Don’t even look, the Cloven Terror helm instructed.

           Yea, throw blindly into the middle of an active battlefield. What could possibly go wrong? Kally thought, disliking the helm’s ill-timed sense of humor. Knowing my luck it’ll miss, fly several hours away and clock Jason Grace in the head so the others can’t save Hemera.

           You are a child of prophecy. You predict the rash and unpredictable ruin of others, it responded, seriously. And, on the Jason Grace comment, I’m not seeing a downside.    

           Lou Ellen must have told Hazel to help the Roman ranks. The child of Pluto had turned to race towards where the Romans were about to be overwhelmed by a troop of undead, despite a friendly rhino’s attempts to mow the enemy down. As animal choices go, Kally winced at what Frank had picked with his recent concussion.

           As Lou Ellen moved her mouth to prepare a spell, something to deflect Phobetor’s oncoming hatchet attack, smoke vortexed near her.

           Kally took a step backwards to prepare a throw with her discus.

           You’re too late to save the daughter of Hecate. Accept that you cannot save everyone, then blind throw. Being the Cloven Terror, you must embrace that the end will justify the means.

           But if there’s a chance—

           She wanted to argue, but a surreal sense of disassociation stunned her mind. Kally felt like her thoughts had detached from the battlefield, from knowing Lou Ellen as Alabaster’s quirky half-sister, from caring that a demigod could die if she didn’t help them.

           A tugging sensation pulled at her stomach as her eyes fluttered shut. While Kally stepped forward into a full rotation, building up the power of her throw, she pictured Atë’s terrifying red eyes.

           Power surged from her body’s swing, from her step forward, up her spine, through her arm as she arched it, and finally, releasing through her fingertips.

           A hissing sound left her hand.

           Kally opened her eyes, searching for Lou Ellen.

           Her discus steamed and glinted gold in the field lights, but it wasn’t going anywhere near Lou Ellen.

           It hissed straight towards the rhino smashing through enemy ghouls.

           Oh gods, I’m going to hit Frank and give him another concussion, Kally thought.

           When the helm said she needed to accept she couldn’t save anyone, she didn’t think it meant she’d be murdering a Canadian.

           In a split second, she glanced over to Lou Ellen, across the battlefield. The child of Hecate lay on the ground, unmoving.

           Rage filled Kally. “Why did you make me do that?!” she shouted, wondering who was wearing whom.[4] She went to tear the helm from her head in a panic.

           A black wisp of smoke puffed out ahead of the rhino.

           As Atë went to strike Frank’s skull with her tire iron, Kally’s discus smashed into Atë’s arm. The tire iron flipped harmlessly into a ghoul’s head.

           Atë vanished again.

           The rhino stopped short, looking very confused, or Kally imaged that’s how a confused rhino would look.

           The discus—instead of slamming into the ground—did something very odd. The hissing golden metal sizzled green. It slingshot back towards them.

           Kally froze as the helm laughed darkly. If I wanted you to kill the praetor, I would have made you do far worse. Hecate’s Helms are more powerful when we work in harmony with our masters. Why do you think the Leonis Caput has weakened so? Now, I suggest you either duck or catch.

           The discus was closing in, fast. All the times Kally had hit people with it, she never thought about how much it would hurt to be on the other end. Maybe Alabaster’s spell was the most extreme of rejection letters, Uh, sorry, it isn’t going to work out. I’m too awkward to say that, so I decided it would be easier to kill you with your own weapon. It’s me though, not you.

           Kally sidestepped and extended her hand. As the discus passed her, she grabbed it, spinning with the momentum to decelerate the metal without ripping off her arm. In a weird, reverse spin, she stumbled to a stop.

           Kally’s breath felt ragged. She tentatively touched the helm. Yea, it had been right about Atë, but she did not like that moment of forced battle apathy.

           We’re not done here. Now, fight in the same manner you threw.

           “I say when we’re done. I’m wearing you, not the other way around!” Kally said, though her mind was focused on, In the same manner I—?

           Confusion gave way to a horrific sense of dread.

           Reflexively, Kally lifted her discus to be level with her throat.

           As she did, nails made a screeching sound against it. Something struck her discus, hard.

           At least it was that instead of her neck.

           Kally stumbled backwards, alarmed to see black smoke swirling on either side of her and unprepared to fight a goddess.

  Sorry I’m running so late! My brother and my new sister had their Nikah yesterday, so we were celebrating that alongside Easter and it has been a crazy busy month. Hope everyone had/is having a great Easter/Passover/return of Persephone!

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed :D I feel like Kally needs to find a partner with better communication skills….

[1] Magnus might say this is very useful.

[2] Mel’s betanote, “AWWWWWWWWWWWW HOW GENTLY DOMESTIC!” Jack, “Alabaster would resent that comment.”

[3] Mel’s betacomment was just a picture of Meg from Disney’s Hercules from the moment he was eaten by the hydra <3

[4] Bought to you by the accidental alliteration association.

[horse-and-writer97-sideblog]

Silver Spark: Chapter 5: Meet the Sister

Chapter 5: Meet the Sister

Word Count: 3542

Warnings: Language

Description: While Harlow is sick, Peter finally gets to meet the legendary sister: Graylynn.

...

Being sick really fucking sucked. Harlow had been stuck in bed for days and it was getting to her. Somehow she had gotten sick, probably by one guy she sat in front of in one of her classes that just would not stop coughing and didn’t have the decency to cover his mouth and instead coughed into her hair. That’s most likely how she got to vomiting for 15 hours straight two days ago and why she now had almost completely lost her voice and any energy she could muster up. Even her lightning was disappointingly small and weak.

But it did have a few perks, Harlow got to do the one thing she loved oh so much, sleeping all day. The blankets on her large bed were comfortably wrapped around her like a cocoon and all her pillows bunched closely around her to make her feel like she was being hugged from all sides. Beside her on the nightstand were several gatorade bottles, one almost completely full due to her still being unable to drink all of it quickly from her nausea. The other side of a large body pillow there was a small bucket in case she needed to puke again as well as tissues and a small bowl of crackers.

She didn’t hear the soft knocking on the door to her and her sister’s apartment so she startled slightly when there was a knock on her own door. “Come in,” Harlow rasped as she set down the book she was reading.

“You’ve got a visitor croaky,” the familiar voice of Graylynn popped up just before her curly brown hair poked just inside, “you decent?”

Instead of a response Harlow quickly flicked the button to change her eyes and merely held up a very specific finger followed by her sister’s short laugh, “Don’t let her take advantage of you.” She watched as Gray pushed in who she last spoke to, Peter Parker.

“Ah bonjour motherfucker,” Harlow’s attempted laugh caused a small coughing fit causing the boy to hurry to her side, worry across his whole face. Simply pointing she got Peter to hand her the drink to end the annoying tickle in her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh,” Peter jolted, “I uh brought you your homework and... stuff.” She noticed the light shade of pink flushing his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he scrambled through his bag pulling out a textbook and multiple packets of paper. “And in Spanish we have a presentation to do with partners that we need to work on. I hope you uh- I hope you don’t mind that I had us partnered up.”

A small smile spread across her face as she watched the boy scramble over himself. Soon after she met him the way he scrambled to catch up when startled by a question or when he felt embarrassed had become endearing and almost comforting to her. As he pulled more and more things from his backpack Harlow saw he was running out of room to put it all, “Here, Mary Poppins.” She pushed herself into a sitting position and Peter waited for her to fix her blankets before plopping the stacks on the foot of her bed.

“Hey,” Gray popped her head into view once more, “I gotta go pick up the delinquents medicine.” The older girl laughed at Harlow’s annoyed expression, “You keep an eye on her. She’s gotta drink at least half of that bottle before I get back, and don’t let her talk. I’ll know if she does.”

Harlow’s mouth opened slightly before Gray pointed at her, quieting her at once. When her sister’s head turned to leave she grabbed Peter’s sleeve, pointing in the girls’ direction. “Graylynn?” He questioned, getting a nod before speaking more confidently, “Hey Graylynn?”

“Yeah?” Gray turned back into the room. Her quizzical look turned on her younger sister, giving Harlow the chance to flip her off once more and mouth ‘fuck you’ all followed by a cheesy grin. “You’re lucky you’re sick.”

“Bring us smoothies,” she tried to call after her but only half of her words came out completely, the other half just the small sound of her trying to force it. In response all she heard this time was the front door closing.

Fixing her attention on Peter she once again opened her mouth to speak but got shut down, “Hey, no talking.” Harlow let herself show a fake insulted look before he could speak again. “So the project is the first thing we should work on, all your teachers said the rest could wait for a little while.”

…

Peter had explained the project before they started working on it and a half an hour in she sat with her legs crossed under the blankets, her laptop on her lap while he sat on the end of her bed. Over the screen she could just barely see the top of his head while listening to him speak, switching back and forth between English and Spanish while she translated as she typed.

“Shit,” Harlow mumbled to herself. Between her missing voice and the fact she barely said anything she was surprised when Peter’s head lifted to look at her. “Can you turn around? I don’t have any pants on.” He didn’t need to say anything when his face was clearly speaking for him. There it was again, his cheeks and even the tips of his ears turned the familiar, ridiculous shade of pink before he promptly turned around.

Sliding out of bed wasn’t nearly as graceful as usual and picking up the shorts she left on the ground from when she grew too hot the night before nearly caused her to fall over. After not eating and barely getting out of bed affected Harlow more than she thought it would but she refused to say anything.

“Do you need help?” Peter was still turned around when he spoke.

“I’ve got it,” she smirked at the awkwardness in his voice. “You can turn back around. I’m fine.” Once again the look on his face spoke for him. He, of course, didn’t believe her. Harlow could hardly blame him, her whole body was nearly translucent it was so pale and she couldn’t stop herself from swaying slightly.

“Where are you going?” Peter’s brows tucked together in concern causing a small dent in his skin.

Harlow choked out the words from her suddenly tight throat, “Gotta pee.” More concern, “I’m a big girl. I can walk by myself.”

A small laugh forced its way out of his throat before he could stop it, turning his face back to serious. “You wanna walk by yourself? Ok, let’s see you do that.” His small smirk made Harlow give him the dirtiest look she could muster.

Taking a deep breath Harlow took a small step forward, her hand hovering just over the bed like there was an invisible rail just underneath her hand. She was making slow progress, ignoring Peter almost completely as she tried to strategize how to make it across the seemingly vast empty space between her and her door. Just thinking about the daunting task made her head spin and her leg just about give out from under her.

“Damn,” she muttered to herself. “I need some help.”

“What was that?” Harlow didn’t need to look up, she could hear the smile and laughter in his voice.

“I need you, idiot.” Her voice was more like a groan mixed with a croak. She already knew she’d never hear the end of this.

Peter started towards her, “Here, put your arm around my shoul- or just collapse on me. That’s cool too.” She could feel his chest vibrate with his laugh. Blinking rapidly Harlow tried to clear her blurry vision so she could see where the hell she was going but the artificial color in front of her eyes just made the spinning worse.

“Pete,” she struggled against his tight hold. They were nearly there, the walk felt more like miles instead of feet. Even though Harlow knew she was practically walking sideways she hated feeling helpless. “I- I can walk by myself. I’m f- f- fine.” The word wouldn’t fit out over her mouth.

“Harlow, there’s two things I’m gonna say about that. One: stop wasting the little that’s left of your voice complaining about this.” They had gotten to the door and Peter propped Harlow so she was at least mostly vertical. “And two: I’m gonna quote a very wise person for this one, ‘Bull. Shit.’.” There was a small proud smirk on his face, his eyes trying to catch hers as he spoke.

“Oh, I know her. You know, she also said another inspiring thing that everyone should live by. It’s ‘Fuck. You.’.” One side of her lips turned up to match his own expression.

“Harlow,” there was the concern again. She felt Peter’s hand touch hers, getting her to look at him. “Harlow you’re paler than a ghost.”

Her eyes couldn’t focus on him for long, she could feel as if her eyes were buzzing inside her skull. She realized the familiar tingle of energy pulsing softly under her skin and sweat appearing on her forehead. “I’m always this pale,” she stuttered.

“Harl-” she didn’t hear the end of the sentence. She turned quickly, ducking into the bathroom and…

The sound of an electrical surge, the lights throughout the apartment went out. It was almost a flicker of light just slower. As Harlow’s body crumpled over the toilet the lights surged with her retching. This wasn’t abnormal for her, whenever her or Graylynn got sick it was bad. The two had assumed it was because of both girls’ weak immune systems before the crash that gave them their powers and since then their powers and sickness were both affected. With Harlow this came out as power surges, the size of them paired with however ill she was. At times it caused the electricity in her body to pulsate out from her, never strong enough to kill or even severely hurt someone thankfully.

Graylynn’s was much less obvious, technology just fritzing out: screens turning to static or turning on and off with her sneezes, phones minorly shocking whoever was holding it, even wifi ebbing and flowing seemingly on their own. With her powers not necessarily as strong as her younger sibling the effect it had on her wasn’t as strong.

All of this Peter did not know while Harlow sat praying he wouldn’t find out. Not that there was much reason for him to suspect, she kept it to herself. She was currently most worried about the fact that he was there basically watching her puke her guts out. While she sat dry heaving on the floor she hadn’t heard Peter walk up behind her until his gentle hands tucked her hair up and away from her face. His hands seemed to be almost shaking but Harlow had only chalked that up to the energy buzzing inside her like an angry beehive.

“Hey,” his gentle voice was barely above a whisper, “you alright for a second?” Harlow lifted her trembling hands up to wipe her face, getting all the small baby hairs away from her sweaty face and nodding slightly. As he stood she could barely register the hand lingering on her back for an extra second.

It wasn’t long until Peter was back in the dark bathroom with a small glass of water and a wet cloth. Silently offering the two to her he waited on the floor with her, not saying anything. Harlow was almost surprised once more at how comforting and familiar his presence but she couldn’t pay much attention to it.

After ten minutes Harlow was finally able to get led back to her bed, chills and weakness finally passing. And 20 minutes after that Graylynn came in to find the teenagers quietly working, this time Peter up on her bed, legs folded underneath him and a textbook in his lap.

“Hey croaky,” Gray quietly knocked on the open door. “Guess what I got?” Harlow looked up to see her before grabbing a nearby notebook, writing on the first blank page. “‘A sense of purpose?’ Very funny Harl, guess you don’t get this smoothie I got you.”

Still staying silent both Peter and Graylynn laughed as Harlow’s eyes widened and reached out her hands like a toddler that could only be described as a ‘gimmie’ motion.

“Here, you child.” Harlow took the drink greedily from her sister, tucking her legs to her chest and holding the drink close as if someone was going to steal it from her. “Here Peter,” Graylynn turned to the boy, “I hope that flavor’s alright. I think Harlow said something about you liking it.”

“Thank you,” Peter took a small sip then turning to Harlow. “How’d you know that’s my favorite?” Still, thankfully, silent she merely made the motion of zipping her mouth shut and throwing away an invisible key.

“So,” Graylynn pulled up Harlow’s desk chair to the side of the bed, crossing her legs beneath her and sipping her own drink. “Tell me about yourself Peter Parker. I want to know everything.” The smug little grin was definitely pointed at Harlow, Gray’s mismatched eyes meeting hers for a second to blatantly ignore the glare.

Harlow indignantly sat back against the mountain of pillows behind her as Peter started talking. He was nervous at first but she could tell Gray’s relaxed and teasing behavior calmed him. She saw his face get more expressive and his shoulders relaxing with his gestures growing slowly in both size and quantity. As her sister and friend spoke Harlow was finally feeling better, the cool smooth drink calmed her burning throat temporarily and she was able to breath better.

Moments later when her drink was gone she didn’t see the pair slowly turn their eyes to her, finally seeing her sleep. Without a word they moved slowly, Peter sliding off the bed carefully to not disturb her and grabbing the laptop and textbooks to set them on her desk. Graylynn walked to her sister who seemed to have melted into the dozens and dozens of pillows. Pulling up her blanket and removing the glasses Harlow had put on after the dreaded bathroom experience, not trusting her powers to knock out the tech in her ear making her eyes appear normal. Harlow’s mildly conscious mind heard her door closing and Gray’s soft goodbyes to Peter before she drifted into a deep sleep.

…

About a week later Harlow was finally feeling better. She wasn’t 100% or anything but at least she had her voice back, all it was was a cough and the lingering nausea. The lightning in her was also mostly back, occasionally it would fizzle out or the buzzing in her arms or the back of her eyes to mess with the tech causing her to have to wear her glasses.

Sitting on the couch Harlow could hear Graylynn going off about something or other that she wasn’t paying attention to, nodding along when it seemed appropriate. The knocking on the door sprung her into action and away from whatever the older girl was saying. Interrupting in the middle of a sentence Harlow called as loud as she possibly could, “I’ll get it!” Purely to be annoying.

Stumbling over her own legs crossed under her Harlow leapt to open the door, nearly headbutting Peter in the nose. “Woah,” Peter’s hands were on her shoulders faster than she saw, steadying her as she nearly fell face first into the hallway.

Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks up to her ears Harlow looked down, letting her hair cover her flushed face as she turned to let him in. “Come on, let’s finish this project already,” she murmured.

“Harlow,” Gray chirped from over the half wall separating the living room from their tiny dining room.

Swinging her head up dramatically Harlow looked at her sister, glaring for her to stay silent about the color of her face. “What?”

“Okay,” Graylynn drug out the word, “be civil to your sister.”

Once again Harlow looked to Peter and back again with as much drama she could put into a head turn, “I am being perfectly. Fucking. Civil.” A wide, crazy grin split across her face as she stepped up to stand on the couch, step over the back and squish her sister in her arms as tight as possible. She knew she had successfully put her long hair all across the shorter girls’ face when faint spluttering blew a few thin strands away momentarily. Releasing the older girl Harlow turned to Peter once again, laughter in her voice, “C’mon Peter.” She beconned him after her as they went to her room.

“So,” Peter started, “I see you’re feeling better.” Quickly darting her eyes to him Harlow saw the small, timid smile on his face. Feeling her cheeks heat up again she quickly turned away, fighting her own matching smile while rummaging through the piles of papers on her desk for her laptop. Peter had been coming over almost daily while she had been sick, he brought her all the work she was missing as well as working on the project for spanish class.

“Yeah,” almost on cue a cough slipped out, “clearly not 100% though. Hey, how’s Carter been doing?” Changing the subject calmed her face enough to look at him again. The same thing didn’t work for him though as she watched the confusion form.

“Uh, I-I don’t know.” The lilt in his voice was obvious, “Hasn’t he come to visit you?”

“Um,” her mind scrambled for the right way to put it, “he’s really not good around sick people. And I didn’t want to get him sick anyway.”

The boy must’ve seen and heard the reluctance she had about that subject when he gave her a small smile and said, “I see how it is then.”

It worked! Harlow laughed lightly at the easy joke, “Ok asshole. Can we please just finish this, I’m so sick of Spanish.”

…

Once finished Harlow and Peter stood, stretching their limbs from the hours of sitting in the same spots. An inhuman noise came from her as she stretched her arms over her head, her fingers buzzing and nearly sparking the light on her ceiling. Looking over she saw Peter near one of her bookshelves, his raised arms bring the hem of his shirt up so she could see some of his lower back.

“Hey,” he got her attention, “is this you?” Coming closer Harlow saw the photo he was pointing at. It was her out in the middle of nowhere standing on top of a horses back, boots in the saddle where she should be sitting. Her arms were spread out the the sides causing her hair to billow out under the hat she was wearing and the glasses on her face thankfully disguising the fact her natural white was showing.

“Yep, that’s me and Zeus.” Harlow smiled at the memory from the day the photo was taken. Soon laughing as she told him how that day had went. Her and Graylynn had gone out for a ride on a trail nearby their grandparents home and farm.The two had practically galloped the whole way up the side of the hill until they reached a plateau where they finally stopped. It was the first time Harlow had ever stood on Zeus’ back, Graylynn trying to stop her from doing it in the first place since her mustang was still young and only lightly trained. But the second she stood he stood as still and strong as a rock. “I swear to god Gray was going to murder me.”

She couldn’t see his smile as Peter listened to her, Harlow’s eyes trained on the photo. “So he’s your horse?” She simply nodded in response, “Where’s he at?”

“Still back with my grandparents in Utah, Gray’s got a mare there too, Epona. They’ve got a farm and a ton of land that we’d ride around on. Well, we still kinda do, we’ll go out during the summer or long weekends sometimes.” She turned to look at him finally, “Maybe you can come out sometime.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. Harlow then walked him out, both her and Graylynn saying bye at the door before he left. Spinning around on her heel Harlow fell back against the door then pushing herself off to flop onto the couch.

“So,” Graylynn startled her as she plopped down next to her younger sister, “Peter’s been here a lot lately.” Lifting the arm she had over her eyes Harlow glared at the girl. “C’mon,” her legs were shaken roughly, Gray clearly not satisfied with that answer. “Spill. I know you have more to say than that.”

Groaning Harlow reluctantly sat up, trying to maintain the annoyed look on her face. Damn it, she failed, a smile growing more and more. “Gray he’s such a nerd. Such a nerd. But it’s so… ah!” She fell back once more, unable to articulate the remarkable being named Peter Parker. If only she knew he could still hear her.

...

[horse-and-writer97]

Silver Spark: Chapter 5: Meet the Sister

Guys. It’s FINALLY here! Chapter 5, enjoy.

Word count: 3547

Description: Peter finally meets the legendary sister, Graylynn.

Chapter 5: Meet the Sister

Being sick really fucking sucked. Harlow had been stuck in bed for days and it was getting to her. Somehow she had gotten sick, probably by one guy she sat in front of in one of her classes that just would not stop coughing and didn’t have the decency to cover his mouth and instead coughed into her hair. That’s most likely how she got to vomiting for 15 hours straight two days ago and why she now had almost completely lost her voice and any energy she could muster up. Even her lightning was disappointingly small and weak.

But it did have a few perks, Harlow got to do the one thing she loved oh so much, sleeping all day. The blankets on her large bed were comfortably wrapped around her like a cocoon and all her pillows bunched closely around her to make her feel like she was being hugged from all sides. Beside her on the nightstand were several gatorade bottles, one almost completely full due to her still being unable to drink all of it quickly from her nausea. The other side of a large body pillow there was a small bucket in case she needed to puke again as well as tissues and a small bowl of crackers.

She didn’t hear the soft knocking on the door to her and her sister’s apartment so she startled slightly when there was a knock on her own door. “Come in,” Harlow rasped as she set down the book she was reading.

“You’ve got a visitor croaky,” the familiar voice of Graylynn popped up just before her curly brown hair poked just inside, “you decent?”

Instead of a response Harlow quickly flicked the button to change her eyes and merely held up a very specific finger followed by her sister’s short laugh, “Don’t let her take advantage of you.” She watched as Gray pushed in who she last spoke to, Peter Parker.

“Ah bonjour motherfucker,” Harlow’s attempted laugh caused a small coughing fit causing the boy to hurry to her side, worry across his whole face. Simply pointing she got Peter to hand her the drink to end the annoying tickle in her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh,” Peter jolted, “I uh brought you your homework and... stuff.” She noticed the light shade of pink flushing his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he scrambled through his bag pulling out a textbook and multiple packets of paper. “And in Spanish we have a presentation to do with partners that we need to work on. I hope you uh- I hope you don’t mind that I had us partnered up.”

A small smile spread across her face as she watched the boy scramble over himself. Soon after she met him the way he scrambled to catch up when startled by a question or when he felt embarrassed had become endearing and almost comforting to her. As he pulled more and more things from his backpack Harlow saw he was running out of room to put it all, “Here, Mary Poppins.” She pushed herself into a sitting position and Peter waited for her to fix her blankets before plopping the stacks on the foot of her bed.

“Hey,” Gray popped her head into view once more, “I gotta go pick up the delinquents medicine.” The older girl laughed at Harlow’s annoyed expression, “You keep an eye on her. She’s gotta drink at least half of that bottle before I get back, and don’t let her talk. I’ll know if she does.”

Harlow’s mouth opened slightly before Gray pointed at her, quieting her at once. When her sister’s head turned to leave she grabbed Peter’s sleeve, pointing in the girls’ direction. “Graylynn?” He questioned, getting a nod before speaking more confidently, “Hey Graylynn?”

“Yeah?” Gray turned back into the room. Her quizzical look turned on her younger sister, giving Harlow the chance to flip her off once more and mouth ‘fuck you’ all followed by a cheesy grin. “You’re lucky you’re sick.”

“Bring us smoothies,” she tried to call after her but only half of her words came out completely, the other half just the small sound of her trying to force it. In response all she heard this time was the front door closing.

Fixing her attention on Peter she once again opened her mouth to speak but got shut down, “Hey, no talking.” Harlow let herself show a fake insulted look before he could speak again. “So the project is the first thing we should work on, all your teachers said the rest could wait for a little while.”

…

Peter had explained the project before they started working on it and a half an hour in she sat with her legs crossed under the blankets, her laptop on her lap while he sat on the end of her bed. Over the screen she could just barely see the top of his head while listening to him speak, switching back and forth between English and Spanish while she translated as she typed.

“Shit,” Harlow mumbled to herself. Between her missing voice and the fact she barely said anything she was surprised when Peter’s head lifted to look at her. “Can you turn around? I don’t have any pants on.” He didn’t need to say anything when his face was clearly speaking for him. There it was again, his cheeks and even the tips of his ears turned the familiar, ridiculous shade of pink before he promptly turned around.

Sliding out of bed wasn’t nearly as graceful as usual and picking up the shorts she left on the ground from when she grew too hot the night before nearly caused her to fall over. After not eating and barely getting out of bed affected Harlow more than she thought it would but she refused to say anything.

“Do you need help?” Peter was still turned around when he spoke.

“I’ve got it,” she smirked at the awkwardness in his voice. “You can turn back around. I’m fine.” Once again the look on his face spoke for him. He, of course, didn’t believe her. Harlow could hardly blame him, her whole body was nearly translucent it was so pale and she couldn’t stop herself from swaying slightly.

“Where are you going?” Peter’s brows tucked together in concern causing a small dent in his skin.

Harlow choked out the words from her suddenly tight throat, “Gotta pee.” More concern, “I’m a big girl. I can walk by myself.”

A small laugh forced its way out of his throat before he could stop it, turning his face back to serious. “You wanna walk by yourself? Ok, let’s see you do that.” His small smirk made Harlow give him the dirtiest look she could muster.

Taking a deep breath Harlow took a small step forward, her hand hovering just over the bed like there was an invisible rail just underneath her hand. She was making slow progress, ignoring Peter almost completely as she tried to strategize how to make it across the seemingly vast empty space between her and her door. Just thinking about the daunting task made her head spin and her leg just about give out from under her.

“Damn,” she muttered to herself. “I need some help.”

“What was that?” Harlow didn’t need to look up, she could hear the smile and laughter in his voice.

“I need you, idiot.” Her voice was more like a groan mixed with a croak. She already knew she’d never hear the end of this.

Peter started towards her, “Here, put your arm around my shoul- or just collapse on me. That’s cool too.” She could feel his chest vibrate with his laugh. Blinking rapidly Harlow tried to clear her blurry vision so she could see where the hell she was going but the artificial color in front of her eyes just made the spinning worse.

“Pete,” she struggled against his tight hold. They were nearly there, the walk felt more like miles instead of feet. Even though Harlow knew she was practically walking sideways she hated feeling helpless. “I- I can walk by myself. I’m f- f- fine.” The word wouldn’t fit out over her mouth.

“Harlow, there’s two things I’m gonna say about that. One: stop wasting the little that’s left of your voice complaining about this.” They had gotten to the door and Peter propped Harlow so she was at least mostly vertical. “And two: I’m gonna quote a very wise person for this one, ‘Bull. Shit.’.” There was a small proud smirk on his face, his eyes trying to catch hers as he spoke.

“Oh, I know her. You know, she also said another inspiring thing that everyone should live by. It’s ‘Fuck. You.’.” One side of her lips turned up to match his own expression.

“Harlow,” there was the concern again. She felt Peter’s hand touch hers, getting her to look at him. “Harlow you’re paler than a ghost.”

Her eyes couldn’t focus on him for long, she could feel as if her eyes were buzzing inside her skull. She realized the familiar tingle of energy pulsing softly under her skin and sweat appearing on her forehead. “I’m always this pale,” she stuttered.

“Harl-” she didn’t hear the end of the sentence. She turned quickly, ducking into the bathroom and…

The sound of an electrical surge, the lights throughout the apartment went out. It was almost a flicker of light just slower. As Harlow’s body crumpled over the toilet the lights surged with her retching. This wasn’t abnormal for her, whenever her or Graylynn got sick it was bad. The two had assumed it was because of both girls’ weak immune systems before the crash that gave them their powers and since then their powers and sickness were both affected. With Harlow this came out as power surges, the size of them paired with however ill she was. At times it caused the electricity in her body to pulsate out from her, never strong enough to kill or even severely hurt someone thankfully.

Graylynn’s was much less obvious, technology just fritzing out: screens turning to static or turning on and off with her sneezes, phones minorly shocking whoever was holding it, even wifi ebbing and flowing seemingly on their own. With her powers not necessarily as strong as her younger sibling the effect it had on her wasn’t as strong.

All of this Peter did not know while Harlow sat praying he wouldn’t find out. Not that there was much reason for him to suspect, she kept it to herself. She was currently most worried about the fact that he was there basically watching her puke her guts out. While she sat dry heaving on the floor she hadn’t heard Peter walk up behind her until his gentle hands tucked her hair up and away from her face. His hands seemed to be almost shaking but Harlow had only chalked that up to the energy buzzing inside her like an angry beehive.

“Hey,” his gentle voice was barely above a whisper, “you alright for a second?” Harlow lifted her trembling hands up to wipe her face, getting all the small baby hairs away from her sweaty face and nodding slightly. As he stood she could barely register the hand lingering on her back for an extra second.

It wasn’t long until Peter was back in the dark bathroom with a small glass of water and a wet cloth. Silently offering the two to her he waited on the floor with her, not saying anything. Harlow was almost surprised once more at how comforting and familiar his presence but she couldn’t pay much attention to it.

After ten minutes Harlow was finally able to get led back to her bed, chills and weakness finally passing. And 20 minutes after that Graylynn came in to find the teenagers quietly working, this time Peter up on her bed, legs folded underneath him and a textbook in his lap.

“Hey croaky,” Gray quietly knocked on the open door. “Guess what I got?” Harlow looked up to see her before grabbing a nearby notebook, writing on the first blank page. “‘A sense of purpose?’ Very funny Harl, guess you don’t get this smoothie I got you.”

Still staying silent both Peter and Graylynn laughed as Harlow’s eyes widened and reached out her hands like a toddler that could only be described as a ‘gimmie’ motion.

“Here, you child.” Harlow took the drink greedily from her sister, tucking her legs to her chest and holding the drink close as if someone was going to steal it from her. “Here Peter,” Graylynn turned to the boy, “I hope that flavor’s alright. I think Harlow said something about you liking it.”

“Thank you,” Peter took a small sip then turning to Harlow. “How’d you know that’s my favorite?” Still, thankfully, silent she merely made the motion of zipping her mouth shut and throwing away an invisible key.

“So,” Graylynn pulled up Harlow’s desk chair to the side of the bed, crossing her legs beneath her and sipping her own drink. “Tell me about yourself Peter Parker. I want to know everything.” The smug little grin was definitely pointed at Harlow, Gray’s mismatched eyes meeting hers for a second to blatantly ignore the glare.

Harlow indignantly sat back against the mountain of pillows behind her as Peter started talking. He was nervous at first but she could tell Gray’s relaxed and teasing behavior calmed him. She saw his face get more expressive and his shoulders relaxing with his gestures growing slowly in both size and quantity. As her sister and friend spoke Harlow was finally feeling better, the cool smooth drink calmed her burning throat temporarily and she was able to breath better.

Moments later when her drink was gone she didn’t see the pair slowly turn their eyes to her, finally seeing her sleep. Without a word they moved slowly, Peter sliding off the bed carefully to not disturb her and grabbing the laptop and textbooks to set them on her desk. Graylynn walked to her sister who seemed to have melted into the dozens and dozens of pillows. Pulling up her blanket and removing the glasses Harlow had put on after the dreaded bathroom experience, not trusting her powers to knock out the tech in her ear making her eyes appear normal. Harlow’s mildly conscious mind heard her door closing and Gray’s soft goodbyes to Peter before she drifted into a deep sleep.

…

About a week later Harlow was finally feeling better. She wasn’t 100% or anything but at least she had her voice back, all it was was a cough and the lingering nausea. The lightning in her was also mostly back, occasionally it would fizzle out or the buzzing in her arms or the back of her eyes to mess with the tech causing her to have to wear her glasses.

Sitting on the couch Harlow could hear Graylynn going off about something or other that she wasn’t paying attention to, nodding along when it seemed appropriate. The knocking on the door sprung her into action and away from whatever the older girl was saying. Interrupting in the middle of a sentence Harlow called as loud as she possibly could, “I’ll get it!” Purely to be annoying.

Stumbling over her own legs crossed under her Harlow leapt to open the door, nearly headbutting Peter in the nose. “Woah,” Peter’s hands were on her shoulders faster than she saw, steadying her as she nearly fell face first into the hallway.

Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks up to her ears Harlow looked down, letting her hair cover her flushed face as she turned to let him in. “Come on, let’s finish this project already,” she murmured.

“Harlow,” Gray chirped from over the half wall separating the living room from their tiny dining room.

Swinging her head up dramatically Harlow looked at her sister, glaring for her to stay silent about the color of her face. “What?”

“Okay,” Graylynn drug out the word, “be civil to your sister.”

Once again Harlow looked to Peter and back again with as much drama she could put into a head turn, “I am being perfectly. Fucking. Civil.” A wide, crazy grin split across her face as she stepped up to stand on the couch, step over the back and squish her sister in her arms as tight as possible. She knew she had successfully put her long hair all across the shorter girls’ face when faint spluttering blew a few thin strands away momentarily. Releasing the older girl Harlow turned to Peter once again, laughter in her voice, “C’mon Peter.” She beconned him after her as they went to her room.

“So,” Peter started, “I see you’re feeling better.” Quickly darting her eyes to him Harlow saw the small, timid smile on his face. Feeling her cheeks heat up again she quickly turned away, fighting her own matching smile while rummaging through the piles of papers on her desk for her laptop. Peter had been coming over almost daily while she had been sick, he brought her all the work she was missing as well as working on the project for spanish class.

“Yeah,” almost on cue a cough slipped out, “clearly not 100% though. Hey, how’s Carter been doing?” Changing the subject calmed her face enough to look at him again. The same thing didn’t work for him though as she watched the confusion form.

“Uh, I-I don’t know.” The lilt in his voice was obvious, “Hasn’t he come to visit you?”

“Um,” her mind scrambled for the right way to put it, “he’s really not good around sick people. And I didn’t want to get him sick anyway.”

The boy must’ve seen and heard the reluctance she had about that subject when he gave her a small smile and said, “I see how it is then.”

It worked! Harlow laughed lightly at the easy joke, “Ok asshole. Can we please just finish this, I’m so sick of Spanish.”

…

Once finished Harlow and Peter stood, stretching their limbs from the hours of sitting in the same spots. An inhuman noise came from her as she stretched her arms over her head, her fingers buzzing and nearly sparking the light on her ceiling. Looking over she saw Peter near one of her bookshelves, his raised arms bring the hem of his shirt up so she could see some of his lower back.

“Hey,” he got her attention, “is this you?” Coming closer Harlow saw the photo he was pointing at. It was her out in the middle of nowhere standing on top of a horses back, boots in the saddle where she should be sitting. Her arms were spread out the the sides causing her hair to billow out under the hat she was wearing and the glasses on her face thankfully disguising the fact her natural white was showing.

“Yep, that’s me and Zeus.” Harlow smiled at the memory from the day the photo was taken. Soon laughing as she told him how that day had went. Her and Graylynn had gone out for a ride on a trail nearby their grandparents home and farm.The two had practically galloped the whole way up the side of the hill until they reached a plateau where they finally stopped. It was the first time Harlow had ever stood on Zeus’ back, Graylynn trying to stop her from doing it in the first place since her mustang was still young and only lightly trained. But the second she stood he stood as still and strong as a rock. “I swear to god Gray was going to murder me.”

She couldn’t see his smile as Peter listened to her, Harlow’s eyes trained on the photo. “So he’s your horse?” She simply nodded in response, “Where’s he at?”

“Still back with my grandparents in Utah, Gray’s got a mare there too, Epona. They’ve got a farm and a ton of land that we’d ride around on. Well, we still kinda do, we’ll go out during the summer or long weekends sometimes.” She turned to look at him finally, “Maybe you can come out sometime.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. Harlow then walked him out, both her and Graylynn saying bye at the door before he left. Spinning around on her heel Harlow fell back against the door then pushing herself off to flop onto the couch.

“So,” Graylynn startled her as she plopped down next to her younger sister, “Peter’s been here a lot lately.” Lifting the arm she had over her eyes Harlow glared at the girl. “C’mon,” her legs were shaken roughly, Gray clearly not satisfied with that answer. “Spill. I know you have more to say than that.”

Groaning Harlow reluctantly sat up, trying to maintain the annoyed look on her face. Damn it, she failed, a smile growing more and more. “Gray he’s such a nerd. Such a nerd. But it’s so… ah!” She fell back once more, unable to articulate the remarkable being named Peter Parker. If only she knew he could still hear her.

...

[realhiddenlives-blog]

Maya

Maya was unusually tall for a British Pakistani girl. She was 5 foot 9 inches, but slender, weighing only 54 kg. She worked out a lot and kept her a thing frame with model measurements of 34-24-34. She was certainly pretty enough to be a model. Her pale olive complexion added to her allure.

She had been raised in a conservative Asian household. Her parents maintained strong Islamic values, but tolerated integration on a piecemeal basis. In fact, their encouragement of her to do her university education and then her PhD was considered part of their religious faith. As a fist class student, her parents were confident in Maya’s dedication to Islam in both education and practice. Despite their superficial integration into Western society, Maya had been taught clearly that life was made up of the righteous (Muslims) and the kuffar, or disbelievers who were to be tolerated at best at an arm’s length. In particular, as with most Muslim girls, Maya had been taught the strict rules around sex and marriage, in particular the way in which white non-Muslim men were ‘dirty’ due to their bad hygiene and were generally over-sexed and ‘beastly’ as her after school male Islamic teacher had taught her and a group of a teenage girls undergoing puberty from a curtain. He had made clear while there was a guarded toleration, deep inside their hearts they had to maintain a ‘hatred’ lest they be tempted to stray.

What had been surprising among their community though was letting Maya move away from their London home to the south coast where she was doing her PhD studies. They felt they had raised her right, and to a great degree they had were right. She had never even touched let alone kissed a boy, not a Muslim one or a white kaafir one. To let her go on her PhD, they had extracted a promise from Maya that one year into her studies she would agree to marry someone of their choice. Being a good girl, with little to complain about in her middle class lifestyle, which had included a fully paid credit card, a Mercedes, and multiple holidays with her girlfriends to Europe, she had agreed.

She was 25 now and her parents had informed her of the marriage proposal. He was the perfect match, a couple of years older and working in finance or something. She hadn’t paid attention, knowing her parents had made the right choice. She’d expected her parents had chosen someone who could give her the same comfortable lifestyle her parents had. Arranged marriages had their material advantages which she never understood why her white counterparts at her age never understood, with their multiple boyfriends and multiple heart-breaks.

So it would shocked her parents, especially her fiance, to know Maya was currently stripped naked in a strange, white Englishman’s living room. She was lying on the floor, on her side. The strange man and her were in a kamasutra bind, but what was happening was far from sensual as would be expected from people experimenting with kamasutra positions. His right arm was wrapped around her throat, and his left had a firm grip of the fringe of her hair, so hard it felt like her hair was about to rip out. Tears rolled down Maya’s eyes, her tongue hanging out as she drooled. Her cheeks were puffy from what looked like a series of firm slaps across her face, her nose had a thin trickle of blood, now coagulated at her top lip.

The white man’s cock was inside her vagina, rigorously thrusting in and out, her leg raised and up in the air as he had instructed her to do 15 minutes ago at the force of pain which had involved punches to her midriff. The vagina had been unfilled until two hours earlier.

The white man continued to pound mercilessly, as Maya let out gasps of air, the arm choke on her neck enough to let breathe but not enough to let her breath keep pace with the man’s violent thrusts. She could feel the cold sweat on his fat belly rubbing up against her slim warm back, having a strange cooling sensation which added to the wild electrical impulses that were running around her brain, making her even more moist between her legs. Her dark nipples stood erect out of her paler olive B cup breasts, signalling her body was aching what was happening to her.

The white man had put a mirror in front of them so Maya was forced to see his cock pounding her hole. The visual contrast between his pale skin, with its translucent quality and patchy pock-marks and red patches, against her almost perfect and homogeneous pale olive skin increased the electrical impulses between her eyes, brain and vagina, which continued to secrete fluids to moisten the passage of the penis and clearly indicate the body’s desire for what Maya was enduring.

But it was his insults that really made her two brains as the white man had called it, the one in her head and her real brain between her legs, become like goo, weakening her knees when he had first said it to her back in the office. The severe taboo nature of desiring what Maya had been taught to hate the most.

“You fu-ck-in Paki bi-tch,” the man would burst out as he thrusted. “You fu-uc-king ungrateful Paki wh-ore,” he followed up with this time. “Paki bitch”, “Paki dog”, “Paki whore”, “Paki cunt”. “Curry coon”, “curry whore”, “curry cunt”. “Muslim dog”, “Muslim bitch”, “Muslim cunt”. The names changed but had the same effect.

Maya gasped for air as the tears continued to roll down her cheeks. Her mind was emptied of all her aloof arrogance now, filled only with the pain and pleasure the white man’s overly thick cock was bringing between her legs, his insults and violence like a cherry on thick gooey fucking cake made of the white man’s cum.

The man, who would have appeared strange to her fiance, was not so strange to Maya: it was her colleague from work, Bob.

Bob was a middle-aged white Englishman, with typical nondescript middle-aged, white man features. He was in his late 40s, divorced and with no children, having lived out a loveless marriage for the last 15 years. He currently lived alone. He was only 5 foot 5 and a bit inches but weighed over 180 lbs, giving him a big portly belly which was typical of most white men of his age. He was also heavily balding, and it would be fair to say he was conventionally “ugly”; something he knew too well, having been repeatedly turned down for dates on dozens of dating apps.

Bob’s job was mundane and menial, but had a nice salary and a pleasant enough office work environment which allowed him to put his meticulous nature to use. Like most white men of his generation, Bob has distinctly non-politically correct views, even so far as going to say he had very “un” politically-correct views. But also like most men of his generation, he had learned to keep these views to himself. Instead, like most 40-something men, railing against the liberal orthodoxy of his day and age was limited to anonymous screeds against Islam, blacks, gays, immigrants and do-gooder left-wingers. Bob was not always wrong about his views, but he felt expressing these views was unpalatable these days and not without good evidence.

Bob had a distinct dislike verging on hatred of Islam. He had correctly diagnosed many of its ills based on his extensive reading. While he over-egged his anonymous screeds with views of his country and the West on the verge of a takeover, he rightly recognized the demeaning of white men in society in particular, and the strange defense of a religion that demeaned anyone who wasn’t a male, Muslim, and usually Arab.

Bob had maintained these views until he had met Maya on her first day at her temporary job which she wanted to add to her resume before resuming and closing in on her PhD. Something had stirred inside him. Having never felt it before, or having forgotten how he had felt all those years ago, he wasn’t sure if it was love. She had walked in to the office in a sort of fusion Western and what he recognized as Asian clothes, although he noticed she did not wear the hijab. She had been introduced to him as “Maya” and he instantly figured she was Muslim, by her attire, name and then refusal to extend her hand to shake his. However, as she had walked away from his desk at that first meeting, she had returned to say “Sorry, I forgot to say hello to you,” shaking Bob’s hand.

Bob was smitten since that day, and his temper against Muslims expressed as username AWhiteManResistsPC lessened, at least turning into more traditional liberal patriarchy that the West should help Islamic women. Women like Maya.

For the next 6 months Bob tried to befriend Maya. He would meet her in the pantry for coffee, and try and make conversation. But while she was polite, she would remain aloof and distant. It would anger him to see her laughing with other more conventionally good-looking men. She would even break her Islamic protocol she maintained usually, and touch their arms, something she would never to do him. He wondered if she had mistakenly shook his hand all those weeks ago.

He’d even brought her an expensive present when the office had a birthday party for her within one month of her starting at the company. Sadly for Bob, she had failed to acknowledge his present and ended up assuming the whole office had clubbed together and brought him the present.

These repeated failures to make even the most basic connection had angered Bob, and AWhiteManResistsPC’s screeds return, becoming more vexed and even violent against Muslims, with his concern now about Muslim women being stealth Islamists and breeding too many potential extremists.

These vexations usually lessened after an evening or weekend of pornography, especially any of the fake Arab or Muslim-themed paid porn sites. He would also go on chat websites to talk ‘dirty’, and end up masturbating, usually to thoughts of Maya and her slim, slender, tall body.

It was on one of these porn/chat binge weekends Bob’s life would change for the better. One Sunday night, he had been interacting with an Asian Muslim woman on a chat site, a little older than Maya, but of a similar profile. She was also academically-minded but from an even more conservative background. More importantly for Bob, the chat had delved straight into sexuality and desire, and in particular what Asian Muslim women like the chatter felt about white men like Bob.

The discussion revealed to Bob what he had always felt, but had never been able to express: Muslim women, Asian ones in particular, had a deep-seated attraction of white Anglo-Saxon men, and even more so for white men who were over-confident, arrogant and comfortable with upholding “traditional” patriarchal roles of men and women. The discussion with the chatter moved around topics he enjoyed, such as history, science, genetics and psychology, all of which combined to explain the deep-seated submissive attitude of Islamic women with white men, and the simultaneous resistant they offered to them, which according to the woman chatter was superficial. She had summed it as akin to the politicians and pastors in the US who would vote and rail against homosexuality, but revealed to be gay. The ‘resistance’, whether active as in the case of the mouthy Muslim women who promoted ideas like #killallwhitemen on social media, or as the arrogant aloofness displayed by Maya, was a mere signal to their deep-seated and underlying desire for outright domination by white patriarchy:  a ‘bat signal’ for a confident, arrogant white man to take charge of their bodies.

The discussion had astounded Bob, but at the same time allowed him to indulge in those subconscious thoughts he had put out of his mind. His rational brain had told him Muslim women would never desire white men, and definitely not in the way the female chatter had explained. But his so-called lizard brain, the one which controlled desire had felt it all along.

The Asian woman chatter had asked Bob if he knew any Asian or Muslim women, and he had opened up about Maya and her behaviour. She had told him while none of what she had said could ever be 100% certain, he could do some little tests to check Maya’s desire and suitability for sexual enslavement by Bob. She told Bob that in the mornings he should greet her in front of the office by extending his hand. If she extended her hand back with an open face, head titled back somewhat, there was a clear signal for desire. Another test was for him to walk to her desk and snappily call her name. If she immediately looked up, and then stood up as he approached, that was her subconscious craving domination. The last test, which doubled as a recommendation on ensnaring Maya, was to isolate her during a coffee break and start the conversation about her sex-life. Something innocuous like whether she was married or not, which would then slowly be upped to questions about her sexual experience. If, as the chatter had guessed correctly, Maya was a virgin, she would mumble, embarrassed at a topic considered taboo for Muslim women to discuss especially with non-Muslim men, and that too white men. The chatter advised that at this point Bob was to mention the pain involved in sex and be open about racial differences between the penis length and thickness of Caucasian men and men of Maya’s background. The chatter had told Bob any sign of submissiveness,  such as reddening of the cheeks or lowering of the eyes and head, was a clear signal of her complete willingness to be dominated and taken. At the point, Bob should feel comfortable to talk more openly about what he wanted from Maya, even use less politically correct language if needed, and touch her on her arm, knee, small of her back, maybe even her behind in a suggestive if formal manner.

Bob masturbated six times that Sunday evening to the thoughts that had been racing in his mind since he had spoken to the Asian Muslim woman chatter. He went for a 7th time half-way through the early morning at 4am, he was so excited and agitated. In preparation of his prospective discussion with Maya, he had measured the length and girth of his penis and had been surprised to discover that while his length was nothing too special, a healthy 7 and a half inches, his girth was unusually oversized even for a Caucasian, measuring at 6 inches.

Butterflies fluttered in Bob’s stomach as he saw Maya approaching the next day at work. Maya and Bob had always started working early, around 730am. Maya was wearing a green-themed shalwar kameez, the dress of choice favored by Pakistanis. She walked up to the office, and before Bob emerged from behind the door, startling her somewhat. He extended his hand and Bob’s heart raced... she passed the first test, her head tilting back significantly to show her neck. Inside, the butterflies fluttered a lot more. He made small talk as he walked her up the stairs, tempted to touch her behind as he led her through the door. But he held off for now and let her walk to her desk.

Bob couldn’t work with his usual meticulous clarity. Too many thoughts were in his head. Was the first test really passed or was he just imagining it? Was she really showing her neck to him? Would the next tests work or not? He watched the clock from 730am to 9am when he had decided to walk to her desk and demand something work-related from Maya in a snappy voice.

He marched over with serious intent to her desk calling her name with a firm crisp voice, which sounded much like a headmaster at school. As predicted by the anonymous woman chatter over the weekend, Maya looked up and immediately stood up, almost standing to attention. She tried smiling, but Bob gave her a firm order, refused to smile, and once he noticed her eyes lowered at his firm order, he marched off.

Bob marched straight into the toilet as his heart was pounding. He couldn’t believe what was happening, his thick penis now a semi-firm chubby which causing an embarrassing bulge and making him difficult to walk. He calmed himself down, washed his face and walked out. 

While sitting at his desk and waiting for 1030 coffee break, he decided to see if the snappy stern voice would work again.

He did it three times, each time she stood up immediately and upon staring at his stern gaze she lowered her eyes and nodded submissively to perform whatever menial task he had asked of her. One time it merely involved photocopying some pointless papers, which when she brought them over, Bob had looked and then thrown into the bin anyway, muttering “useless”. Maya had stood there ashamed at failing at her job, head down and nodded a pliant sorry look and walked back to her desk.

Each time Bob did this, his cock became more chubby, but he became more in control, realizing the new over-confident arrogant Bob was slowly molding Maya.

1030 came quickly. Quicker than Bob had imagined. He knew Maya would always have her coffee at 1045, letting the 1030 rush die down. Bob was there at 1030 and made a minor commotion to ward off people, directing some of his irate colleagues to the other pantry. By 1045 the pantry was empty.

Maya was walking over unaware of what was happening.

Bob took a deep breathe and pretended to be busy making coffee.

“Hi Maya, would you like some coffee?” Bob asked. Luckily for Bob, he knew just what she wanted. “Errrm, it’s ok, I’ll make my own...,” Maya said, before Bob said “Strong, black, half a spoon of brown sugar...,” smiling and interrupting Maya. She seemed pleasantly surprised and nodded a yes, smiling back to Bob.

She sat down on the couch, exhausted with her morning. Bob looked at her sitting there and grinned... he snapped “Maya” and she immediately stood up, respecting his authority. He asked if she had completed a menial task he had not asked her to do but gave the impression he had. She went red faced at the embarrassment as he chided her. “Worthless,” Bob muttered and she remained quiet head down. “Well, sit down then, finish your coffee,” Bob snapped. He sat down on the couch perpendicular to her, in the seat closest to the side she was on. He was in arm’s length of her.

“So, Maya, you have been here 6 months, tell me more about you...,” Bob trailed off. “Well, I am doing this job for a year, and continuing my studies in my spare time...” She carried out with the minutia of her life. Before she got to the end of whatever mundane activity she was describing, Bob yawned and then interrupted, “Are you married, Maya?”

She sighed. “No, but my parents have chosen someone. He’s works in the City in London for a major investment bank...” Once again, Bob interrupted her rudely, “I see... so you have never had sex?” he asked her, grinning at her. Maya went red faced, clearly embarrassed at the question. She was quiet for 30 seconds, before Bob asked again in his snappy voice “Well, Maya, have you ever had sex?” She nodded a no slowly. Her pale olive cheeks now bright red.

“You know sex will be very painful? Women’s vaginas are tiny, and have to be forced open by the man. Sex is an inherently violent act, if you think about it. The man has to violate you repeatedly so he can enjoy himself.” Bob was being crude but the crudeness made Maya hang her head out of shame. “What’s more, Caucasian or white men tend to have larger and especially thicker penises. They tend to be extremely painful for Asian virgins, who naturally have shallow and small vaginas. Since you’re a virgin and Asian, this includes you, Maya.”

She sat quiet, ashamed, embarrassed, red faced. But she sat there.

Bob leaned forward, touching her knees. “Maya, do you know how small your hole is?” She would have blushed red if her face was not already bright red. She nodded a slow no. “Maya, I want you to imagine something 6 inches in girth going inside your small vagina. I think it would extremely painful for an Asian woman like you, especially a virgin Muslim one. Do you think it would be extremely painful?” She shrugged, and when promoted by him again in that stern voice said “Y-y-y-yes, B-b-b-ob.” He then got angry and squeezed her thigh. “Have some respect, you ungrateful bitch,” Bob said sternly but quietly, his face close to hers as she looked down. Maya’s eyes widened and she whispered, “Y-y-y-es, s-s-s-sir.” He grinned.

“Now put the coffee mug back in the sink, Maya,” Bob instructed. Maya stood up and Bob walked with her. He put his left hand on her behind and lifted the kameez Maya was wearing, so his hand was on her buttocks but over her clothes. He then put his hand up to her waist and touched her soft, warm skin. Maya bit her lower lip at the touch of his cold sweaty hand. No man had touched her there before, and now a white non-Muslim disbeliever male, with an uncircumcised penis, unclean asshole, and dirty smell was touching her there. Bob being shorter than Maya by nearly 4 inches looked up at her face, with a wicked, evil grin. Maya was red faced, head down, biting her lower lip, looking confused and scared at the same time. As they got to the kitchen, he ordered to clean her cup. She did so and as as she did, he slipped his hand inside the waist band of her shalwar onto the top of her ass. He squeezed one of her buttocks. “I see you work out regularly, Maya. This is good, you will be able to last for a long time.” He kept grinning, his cock swelling into a well defined chubby as he toyed with Maya.

Maya finished washing up while being fondled by Bob. Keeping his hands inside her shalwar and on squeezed on her right ass cheek, he then pulled her head down using he fringe of her hair so he could whisper in her ear.

“Listen to me you fucking Paki bitch. The hole between your legs needs to be stretched out and made to bleed. You’re going to go to your desk, and tell them you’re not feeling well. Then you will drive me in your car to my apartment. Later we will visit your apartment. We need to show make sure your Islamic hole is properly christened, you Muslim bitch.”

Bob let go of her hair, and started to lead her out of the pantry. For a split second Maya hesitated, and pleaded. “Please,” she begged Bob. Holding her by her left arm, Bob slammed Maya against the wall and gripped her neck with his left hand. With his right hand he slowly started to lift her kameez and then make his way inside her elastic banded shalwar. Maya grabbed his right hand and begged again. “Please, sir, please... I am Muslim... I cannot...” she had tears welling in her eyes.

Bob grinned and slapped her across her face. “I know you’re Muslim, you Paki pig,” he grunted. “That’s why when I reach inside here and find your hole is wet, you will do as I say. But if it’s dry, I will let you go. Fair?” He grinned and her eyes rolled back as she knew the inevitable.

His fingers reached inside a very moist vagina. The vagina itself was bald, as the practice among Muslim women to remove all their pubic hair. He pushed two fingers inside and she gasped for air, almost letting out a moan that sounded like begging. Bob forced his left hand over her mouth. “Shhhh, you will have plenty of time to moan like the Paki whore you are.” He grinned. “And I win the bet,”

He pulled out of her hole and stepped away from Maya. For a tiny fraction of a second Maya and Bob’s eyes met. They both knew she could run into the main office and scream rape. But she lowered her eyes, knowing Bob was right. She walked to her desk and told her line manager she was very ill. Her manager told her not to worry and take as much time as she needed.

The drive in the car had mostly been a monologue from Bob. AWhiteManResistsPC no longer had to hide behind an online name. He spent the journey explaining the backwards and barbaric nature of Islam, the inherent genetic predisposition of Asian cultures to barbarism, and the fact that white men were the most highly valued on dating apps and by non-white cultures where misogyny had been beaten back. He explained white misogyny was acceptable as it usually involved correcting wrongs such as burning widows, stoning women, cutting women’s clitorises, and so on. That a side effect was to free the non-white women to the extent they would happily strip naked for white men and satisfy their bases needs was to the white man’s benefit, a natural talent thanks to evolution.

Bob lived in a nice apartment, which was clean and minimal, but had signs of his above average salary. Maya noticed the expensive electronic goods, before Bob’s stern voice snapped her back to reality.

“Get your fucking clothes off, you Paki bitch. Naked, now!” Bob barked. Bob also started removing his clothes as Maya pulled her kameez and shalwar off to reveal her slim frame. She was wearing plain silk black panties and a bra.

“I said naked, you fucking stupid Paki pig!” Sheepishly, Maya started to unbuckle her bra and then let down her panties. For a brief split second, Bob, who was now always naked, his belly fat hanging over his waist, admired Maya’s 34-24-34 frame, her small but perky B cup breasts, with the nipples already firm and pointy indicating her body was aroused.

Maya stood head down, so ashamed but unable to say no to Bob. For some reason, it felt natural to be talked down and shouted at by a man like Bob. She stared between his legs at something which look like a thick slab of met, a pinky white rod which was semi-chubby.

Bob walked up to a subdued and nervous Maya, and launched a crude haymaker into her midriff. Maya was winded, and doubled over Bob’s right fist. He lifted her head by her hair and then forced her to stand up straight. “That’s right, you Paki nigger. You think you could get away with being an arrogant Islamic pig?” He then launched the same crude haymaker with his other fist causing her to double over again, even more severely winded than before.

Bob landed a dozen haymakers in Maya’s slender midriff and torso area. The violence drove the dopamine levels in both Bob and Maya through the normal roof. The punching caused Bob’s cock to grow itself, while Maya’s bald vagina lips glistened. Bob rubbed two fingers and a thumb over Maya’s vagina and then forced her to smell her own vaginal fluids by sticking the two fingers up her nose. “You smell this, you Paki pig? This is what you live for.”

Bob then summarily slapped Maya across her face. His right open hand landing right across Maya’s face. “You fucking Muslim cunt.” He let out a backhand with the same hand across Maya’s other cheek. He then pulled Maya down by her hair forcing her head down by 5 inches and started to slap her across her right cheek, repeatedly. “You ungrateful, ugly, stupid Paki pig.” The names rained down as fast as the blows. First the right cheek. Then the left cheek.

By the time Bob was finished, Maya’s hole was moist. Her knees were like jelly. Her mind blank, except for the painful pleasure she receiving, her entire body was quivering.

He pulled up Maya after her slapping and instructed her in his stern snappy voice, “You will got to your university and join a rock climbing and extreme sports society. This will allow you to explain injuries like this...” he emphasised the last word in the sentence only to slap Maya hard again across her cheek causing her nose to bleed a little, the blood trickling down.

It was two hours later that Maya was now in her kamasutra bind, with Bob thrusting his thick cock in and out of her hole, Maya’s mind lost in an endless and repeating orgasm, her brain responding like a coke addict: dazed, confused and unable to process anything other than the an even bigger hit.

[bluraaven]

We are the Flame

5. Dismas

"Lux, tueri animas nostras!"

When Dismas turns around, Junia has one hand curled on her chest, and her pallor is almost indistinguishable in colour from the white of her nun's headdress.

Mallory has stopped mid-stride, her lips parted in a gasp that never makes it past them, and Paschal –

Paschal's eyes are wide as a child's as she takes in the unnatural spectacle happening outside of the window.  "Wow!  Have you ever seen anything like this?" the doctor exclaims in wonder, peeling her nose from the glass to look from one person to another.  She appears to be completely oblivious to the fact that none of them are as excited about a giant magical hole in the sky as she is. 

Whatever she's taking, Dismas wants some for himself, if only to help him sleep at night.

But it seems rude to outright ask for a drug recommendation, and since he's all about becoming a better man, Dismas instead chooses to observe the last member of their group.

Reynauld is as straight-backed and tight-lipped as ever, and his face betrays neither fear nor disbelief.   The knight has the infinite blackness of the Void reflected in his eyes, and Dismas wonders what kind of man it takes to gaze into the Abyss and not flinch back from what he sees there.

Dismas looks away again.

He might not speak the Heaven's language, but he doesn't have to in order to understand the Sister's prayer – he's heard its like often enough.

 Light, save our souls.  

But why would the Light choose him for salvation?  Him, a man already damned on account of his sins?

He is all too aware that in this company, he is the odd one out, standing beside a doctor, a noble, a Sister Vestal, and... Reynauld.  So here they are; a warrior of Light – someone who would claim communion with the Divines – and a back-alley cutthroat, sharing a purpose and a room upstairs.  It's madness.

And it is all around them, invisible but just as deadly as toxic gas in a mine shaft.  It has poisoned this place and already he can feel its sharp teeth gnawing at his mind, his sanity.

Dismas rubs both palms over his face, hard enough for it to border on painful.  He can feel several days' worth of stubble as well as the bony ridges of his face, sculpted by too many hunger days and nights spent sleeping in roadside ditches.  It brings back a sense of who he is, and where.  It also banishes these unbidden thoughts, for now.  'Tis good enough, at least until Dismas can get his hands on some alcohol.

Thankfully, he knows just the place where he can get some.  Grandfather Dumont liked to have his booze close at hand – and now Dismas understands why, if this kind of shit happened regularly around here.

He isn't looking forward to the prospect of descending the stairs to the cellar, but the only other alternative is the bar, and he wants to track all the way there even less than he wants to face the darkness of the mansion's underbelly.  

Only Reynauld notices him exiting the room, and the knight doesn't comment on it.

Dismas carefully searches the doorway for any signs of magic, even gives it a few pokes with the hilt of his dagger to make sure there is absolutely nothing supernatural about it.  But this time there is only wood and stone, ordinary as can be.  He leaves the door wide open nonetheless and whistles a tune as he hurries down.

The circular room looks the same as the first time they descended down here and Dismas tries hard not to focus on the walls, how they seem to be closing in, eager to trap him as they have their group earlier.  Only this time he is alone, and the thought is enough to make him shiver and break out in a cold sweat.

Fighting the urge to turn and flee back upstairs, Dismas instead busies himself with inspecting the shelves.  They are full of bottles cocooned in a thick layer of dust that sticks to the dull glass.  The labels are yellow and wavy from humidity and the ink has run, making most of the writing indecipherable.  Not that it would do him any good if it hadn't.  Dismas knows his numbers well enough; his mother had made sure of that, but letters are something reserved for the upper classes.

In the end, he just grabs the nearest three bottles – better to take one extra than have to go back for some more later – and returns upstairs, taking the steps three at a time.  When he kicks the door shut behind him, it feels like muzzling a feral beast.  The danger is still here and to be wary of, but for the time being it is contained.

Just as the highwayman returns to the living room, the gloom is lit up by a net of lightning racing over the sky.  A storm of thunder and magic rolls over the countryside, and then disperses, wisps of swirling blue and purple lazily drifting through the sky, becoming paler and paler until they fade into nothingness.

"Thank the Light," the Vestal breathes, her relief audible.  

"What do you think this was?" Mallory finds the courage to ask after a few more seconds of shocked silence.

"Nuthin' good, that's fer sure," Dismas says to announce his presence.  All heads turn to him, even that of the crusader.  Dismas lifts the bottles.  The heiress sure doesn't look like she disapproves.

"Court'sy o' yer gramp."

Mortimer Dumont is watching them from his spot on the staircase, eyes black as a pit adder scales glimmering with malicious amusement.

"He shot himself to close the wards until someone of his bloodline reopened them."  Mallory speaks slowly, and her voice gains sureness with every word.

"Stab 'im in the dick!"  The suggestion comes out in a low growl as Dismas struggles to get the cork out of the first of the bottles.  He stops short in surprise when Mallory passes by him and actually does just that.

Under different circumstances, the highwayman may have winced in sympathy as several inches of spear are thrust into the portrayed old man's crotch and the wall behind him.   This time though he feels it is wholly deserved.

"Do you know what would have happened if I had ventured down there alone!?"  Mallory whips around, two angry red spots blooming on her cheeks.  She wipes at her sweaty brow to get a few strands of wild hair unstuck from it.  The spear, white-tipped from scratching the stone but none the worse for wear, is still in her other hand.

Dismas makes a mental note to never piss her off.  He is rather attached to his balls and he prefers they stay attached to him.

"Aye, lass."  Dismas replies and takes one of the silver cups that Paschal has found in a nearby cabinet.  "But ya didn't, so best not dwell on that."

"What have you got there?"  The heiress picks up a bottle, and turns it so she can read the label.  "152 Reserve."  Her eyebrows lift in surprise.  "This is a pleasant vintage."

Dismas wipes the inside of the cup clean of dust and pours Mallory a generous amount of the dark red liquid.  "Boss first," he announces, because already Paschal is thrusting another cup at him, and even Junia is lining up for a little pick-me-up.

Mallory knocks back her drink without waiting for the others.  Half a heartbeat later, her face scrounges up and Dismas can jump out of the way just in time before she spits it back out.

"Wine's gone bad?" the highwayman asks, his heart sinking.  Seems this is to be one of these times.

"This isn't wine," Mallory croaks, and hurries to the kitchens to wash out her mouth.

"What is it then?" Junia asks, reaching for a bottle to see for herself.

Dismas sniffs the dregs.  Immediately, a cloying coppery and sweet smell assaults his nose, and Dismas has to admire Malory's iron self-control. He would have just hurled right on the carpet.

Junia puts her cup away again, the expression on her round face as weary as Dismas is feeling all of a sudden.  Meanwhile, Paschal is eying Mallory's abandoned cup and its contents with interest.  "Huh."

Dismas can hear her mutter, "How did they keep it from congealing?  I wonder... ," before he catches the doctor dipping her pinkie finger into the leftover liquid and holding it to her tongue with an expression of intense concentration.  "This is most curious."

"Fuck this," Dismas mutters and just like that he is done with this day.  "Sorry folks, I'm off ta bed."

Junia tears away her eyes from the doctor and picks up her mace.  "It seems best we rest and pray to the Light for guidance," the Vestal agrees in a tired voice.

"Ya do that," Dismas tells her.  "I'll go ahead an' do the restin' part."  Turning, he almost collides with Reynauld – Reynauld who appears to have completely deserted his corporeal body and is just standing there, with his helmet tucked under one arm and an empty gaze.

Dismas raps one knuckle against his breast plate to get the knight's attention.  "You comin'?"

Reynauld startles like a person woken from sleep and looks around the room as if lost.  "Are we dismissed?" he asks no one in particular.

"I believe we are, brother," Junia replies before Dismas can.  "I'm sure the lady Mallory knows where to find thee if there are matters thou needst to discuss."

Reynauld hesitates before he slowly nods in answer.  Dismas observes that he has the mannerism of someone high on drugs, but the knight lacks the physical aspects of an addict.  Maybe holy water and incense have negative side-effects too.  Maybe Paschal's smoke bombs do.

"C'mon, Armour," Dismas says, not unkindly, tugging on the crusader's elbow to get him moving.  "If ya crash on tha floor, I ain't draggin' ya upstairs."

The words are running together in his mouth, but he is too tired to care, to pretend he is someone he is not.  Reynauld moves of his own accord, thankfully, although he seems to be favouring his left leg.

It isn't until the door falls shut behind them and the cool of the room begins to seep through his clothes that Dismas realizes he is missing something.

"Shite!" He doesn't know what to make of Reynauld flinching at the profanity.   He ain't in the mood for a lecture, but the crusader doesn't give him one, so Dismas simply adds, "Fergot me coat."

He doesn't have much to his name other than a nice bounty and a ban on the premises of several establishments, and he likes to keep what few possessions are his close.  Just in case.

Junia is gone and the fire in the chimney has almost burned out, given how no one had added any more wood since Reynauld had lit it right after their return, but there are voices coming from one of the adjacent rooms.

"I am sure you wish for reimbursement?" Dismas can hear Mallory ask when he sneaks into the living room, keeping to the deep shadows cast by ancient furniture.  Old habits and all that.  He sure ain't spying on the two women when he risks a peek.

Paschal, however, waves Mallory off, and takes the bottles of blood as payment.  Dismas prefers not to think about what she plans on doing with them.  He is beginning to feel a twinge of sympathy for Lenn.  Lenn, who now owes him a month's worth of supply with booze, he remembers, feeling marginally better.

Tomorrow he'll make the barman regret agreeing to the deal.

Dismas snatches up his coat and returns to his shared bedroom.  The pulling sensation in his side has steadily increased, but it is only now that he truly becomes aware of how his entire chest is aching, every breath putting strain on the newly scarred skin that has yet to stretch.

He is not the only one in pain.

A man in his profession knows to find and exploit the small weaknesses that most people like to hide, and so it doesn't take Dismas long to notice how the corners of Reynauld's mouth are down, his lips pressed into a firm line.  The knight uses his left in place of his right, his dominant hand, to tug open the straps of his armour.

"Need any help with that?" Dismas asks, tossing his coat onto his bed.

He expects the knight to rebuff him, but to his astonishment Reynauld nods after a moment's hesitation.  Up close, Dismas can see fine decorative etchings along the edge of the armour, as well as the cuts and miniscule dents that mar the otherwise shiny surface of the metal.

"If you could just undo this clasp."  The crusader dips and turns his head, to better observe the highwayman out of the corners of his eyes.

He does as he has been asked to, opening the clasp on Reynauld's right shoulder blade, and the one on the very top of his neck and watches as bit by bit the armour begins to come off.  Dismas gets to see how each piece is fitted so as to offer the best protection while still allowing the wearer their full range of movement.

He does his best not to think about how much the whole suit of armour must be worth.  More than everything  he had ever owned in life combined, that's for sure.

When Reynauld removes the cap, Dismas is amused to find that his hair sticks every which way.  He curses the sudden urge to run his fingers through the unruly tresses to comb them into some semblance of order.

It is a bad time for such thoughts.  An exhausted mind is a fickle thing.

The hauberk rattles as it pools on the bed, almost like a liquid, and the padded jacket is carefully hung over the back of the chair at the desk. Reynauld stretches his neck and rotates his shoulders.  There is a hollow pop that makes Dismas hiss in sympathy, but Reynauld sighs in relief, slumping now that all the weight has been lifted off him.

Summer is almost over, and in the crisp night air, the knight is steaming.   There's not so much as a nick in his tunic, but his eyes are red-rimmed.  Whatever Paschal had hit him with, left them puffy and irritated.

"Better go wash that shit out," Dismas says, circling a finger in front of his own face.

Reynauld's head snaps up, the tension returning to his posture.  He appears to have forgotten about the other man, but after a moment he relaxes again, a weary nod telling Dismas that he intends to follow through with that idea.

A soft knock announces Reynauld's return a couple of minutes later.  He has changed his tunic, so he has probably washed up too.

"I could do with a basin and some hot water," Dismas greets him from the depths of his bed, although now that he's gotten vertical he doesn't plan on getting up anytime soon.

"Is there a bathhouse?" Reynauld asks although he doesn't sound like he really cares.

"There was once.  It closed down," Dismas informs him.  He is ready to bet the last of his snuff that Reynauld will not follow his example and simply fall into bed.  He smirks when he is proven right.  Recognizing patterns is a useful skill to have, and one he has honed.

Reynauld checks his equipment, putting away each piece only after it has received a thorough examination.  Then, he kneels to pray.  Just like he had yesterday.

'He should learn to take care of his bodily needs as well as his spiritual ones,' is the last thing Dismas remembers thinking before he passes out.

That night, Dismas learns the hard way that Reynauld screams in his sleep.

His own dreams are uneasy, full of ever-shifting corridors and the search for an exit he knows he will never find in time.  A small bubble of panic begins to fill his chest, and it grows with every step he takes. He cannot find a way out of the labyrinth of hallways, and he is being pursued by someone or something that he only manages to catch glimpses of out of the corners of his eyes.  If he doesn't escape, he will die here ant he corridors will become his tomb.

In desperation, Dismas scratches at the stone walls with torn, bleeding hands and cracked nails, and he screams for them to  let him out.  He'd done his time, he'd –

Dismas wakes abruptly to a voice that is not his own, shouting in a language he does not understand.

He jerks up too fast, gets tangled in something, and crashes to the floor.  It's dark, too dark to see, and his heart is pounding in his throat.  All he is aware of is that he has to fight or flee – and he does not yet know which.

Before his situation or his surroundings become any clearer, the door bursts open, and it's pure reflex for him to point the gun at the intruder.  By the light of a single candle, Dismas can see Mallory charge into the room – she and her boar spear.   The fact that she's wearing a nightgown does not make the weapon any less intimidating.

The door bangs against the wall, and Reynauld wakes with a gasp, reaching for his sword by his side.  

The heiress looks around with wide eyes, taking in the scene – Dismas lying on the floor, blankets twisted tightly around him, Reynauld sitting up slowly, and her mouth opens and closes a few times.  It takes Dismas several seconds to realize he's still holding his flintlock and he quickly lowers the weapon.

"I thought I head – ," Mallory says in way of apology, her eyes briefly skittering to the crusader whose face is hidden in the shadows.

It's fairly obvious by now what she heard, but Dismas has to commend her dedication of rushing to their help.  "It's alright," he says in a rough voice, though his position on the floor might belie his words somewhat.  "Thanks."

Mallory nods a couple of times, as if she has to convince herself that everything is indeed alright, and much gentler than she had come in, she closes the door behind her.

Dismas rests his forehead on his knees and takes a moment to take several deep breaths.  The panic has passed, but he still feels shaky when he gets to his feet even though by now his heartbeat is slowing down.  Dismas shivers when the cold night air stirs his sweat-soaked shirt.

Being awake may have pushed back the terrors of the unconscious, but when Dismas remembers the previous day and the horror they had found under the mansion...

Shit, he don't even begrudge the knight his nightmares.

Dismas can hear Reynauld breathe heavily, though he cannot make out much more than the other man's hunched over form.  The crusader sits on the bed with feet braced and his sword across his lap, the exact opposite of someone relaxing and ready to return to sleep.  Not that Dismas can blame him, but the other man's tension is making him uneasy as well.

Dismas is about as awake as he's gonna be, and he really does not wish to lie around and let his mind come up with more ways to torment him.  

"Ya know what always makes me feel better?" Dismas asks suddenly, pulling on his pants and shrugging into his coat after a quick change of shirts.  "A walk."  He's certainly going on one, and the invitation stands; it's up to Reynauld to accept.

The crusader heaves himself to his feet, a motion more fitting for a man thirty years his senior.  His limp is less pronounced than it was when he was wearing armour.  Dismas cannot recall it being there yesterday, or even this morning, which means it is a souvenir from today's forage.

They do not speak, but Dismas waits impatiently as Reynauld dresses in something warmer than his tunic.   When they descent side by side, only the stairs creak in the otherwise silent mansion.  The air is musty, thick with dust and something else.  Dismas cannot put his finger on it, but he senses that Reynauld can feel it too.

Out in the open, the night envelops them like a blanket.  It's cold and fresh, and with the stars and moon out it's even lighter outside than it was inside.   Bright enough that do not need any additional light sources.

Dismas slowly begins to relax as the confinement of walls is left further behind him with every step.  He doesn't ask where Reynauld wishes to go, they just stroll around the old house as if that was a path they had agreed on before.  The sword Reynauld carries bumps into Dismas' hip a couple of times.  Reynauld does not seem to notice.  Dismas would have said he hasn't been like himself ever since going down into that cursed cellar, but the truth is he doesn't know the knight well enough to make that assumption.  

Behind the mansion there is another courtyard, wilder than the one in front.  It is flooded in silvery moonlight that reflects off the white marble statues that are wrapped in evergreen ivy as if they too had dressed for winter.  An ornate fountain takes the center, but upon having a closer look they can see that it is clogged with rotting leaves.  This place must have been beautiful once, but much like the rest of the Hamlet, it has fallen to decay.

When they find a low bench, they take the opportunity to sit down.  Instantly, the cold of the stone surface seeps through Dismas' pants.

"If I didn't know better I'd say it's pretty," Dismas says, surveying the gardens around them.  Talking is just another way to stave off the desperation, but when Reynauld doesn't react at all, Dismas' discomfort tips over into worry.

"Hey.  Ya sure yer alright?"

Reynauld looks up only when Dismas' hand lands on his forearm.  Dismas withdraws instantly, because he doesn't like how the knight flinches back.   Something sure ain't right there, but he'd be damned if he knows what it is.

"Fine," the crusader replies, but he does not meet the highwayman's eyes.

Yeah.  Sure.

But there's a change; Reynauld seems more alert than before.  He runs his fingers through his hair, then remains with his hands pressed to his eyes.

Dismas picks at a loose thread on his sleeve.  They remain like that for a while, but Dismas has never coped well with the quiet.   He likes the sound of a voice – even if it's just his own.

"How's the leg doing?" he asks eventually.  They're not on good enough terms for Dismas to tell him to drop his pants so he can check for himself.   The thought of the knight's face if he did does lift his spirits somewhat.

"It has suffered no greater harm," Reynauld replies, lifting his head.  "It should heal, Light willing."

The crusader had patched him up, he knows something about medicine.   Probably much more than the highwayman does.  Dismas drops the topic, and they lapse back into not talking.

"You are a very fine marksman," the crusader says out of nowhere.

It's nothing short of true, but to hear another one say so, ignites a spark of pride in Dismas' chest.  He's also a bit too shocked about the knight complimenting him to manage anything more coherent than,

"Thanks... Rey."

The smile Dismas directs at the other man sours and withers when the crusader keeps looking at the ground.

"I have seen much," Reynauld rasps after a while that us just long enough to make Dismas fiddle with his coat again, "but never the dead rise up to claim the living as their own.  And the things they whispered to me- ."  At this point he seems to be talking more to himself than to his companion.

Dismas shivers, happy not to have heard a thing.   Maybe Reynauld is talking about his dream.  Maybe he isn't.  Either way, Dismas doesn't want to know what the dead whisper.

"We made it out.  S' all that matters."  But even as he speaks, doubts assault him. This was just the first real run.  Will they have to go back?  He isn't sure he can face what hides under the manor again.  At the same time, he may have to if he ever wishes to leave he Hamlet.

He may deserve this hell, but that does not mean he can stand it.

"Let's go."

"What?" Dismas asks stupidly, so caught in his own thoughts that he has missed Reynauld getting up.  He swears he can see a muscle twitch in Reynauld's jaw.

"You said to go for a walk; let's walk."

They do so, passing dead flower beds and bushes that had long ago lost their artful trims.  On the other side, Dismas spots a low building that he had never paid any attention before.

"What's that?" Dismas asks, pointing.

"The stables," Reynauld replies, and picks the path that will take them closer.

"Huh. Didn't know there were any."  A silly thing to say, he realizes too late.  Of course there are.  Mallory's got to keep her horses somewhere.

As they draw near, he can hear a soft nicker greet them.  There are six animals in total out in the pasture; two are the horses who pulled their ill-fated chariot, and one is Mallory's sleek hunter.  One of the others is sway-backed and thin enough for its ribs to show under a shaggy, patchy coat, and it is the first to get its nose rubbed by the crusader.  Dismas chooses to stand a few steps behind.

Horses are fast, and appear to be even faster when you're on top of them, they eat grass and they kick.  That's the gist of his knowledge.  Not that he'd not stolen the one or other, but certainly never one as fine as most of Mallory's animals.

Reynauld seems happy to pet his furry friends, even one enormous steeds whose head is as big as Dismas' torso.

"Don't get your hand bit off," the highwayman grumbles, eying the beast warily.  He sure ain't gettin' anywhere near those teeth.

"They don't like meat," Reynauld says calmly with a look over his shoulder.   "If they take a couple of your fingers, they'll spit them back out again."

And that is supposed to be... comforting?  Dismas gapes, at least until the nearest beast snorts and sprays the crusader with a fine mist of snot.  Then he breaks out in a laugh that spooks the horses into trotting away.  That's what the knight gets – but Reynauld chuckles too, genuinely amused and Dismas watches the transformation in him with fascination.

They head back to the house soon, for what rest they can get for what is left of the night.

The next time when Dismas wakes, it is because the early midday sun is shining through the window and straight into his face.  Usually an early riser out of necessity, the only times he sleeps in like this is when large amounts of alcohol are involved.

By the time they returned to the house, a faint stripe of grey was visible on the horizon.  They'd both managed to find some more rest, and the rest of the night passes without any further incidents.

The highwayman casts a glance towards Reynauld's bed – which he finds made and its owner gone.  And he had not heard a thing.  A man of the crusader's calibre ought not be able to move so stealthily.  That trait should be reserved for rogues such as himself.  But even so, the water pitcher that Dismas knows for sure wasn't full yesterday, is most welcome.

When he finally makes it down, Mallory isn't around and neither are Reynauld or the Caretaker.  The latter also runs a small general goods store in the village, which might explain how he continuously fails to do his duties around the mansion.  The Heiress is convinced that it is because of the man's madness, and not out of any ill will or inherent laziness.

Dismas' feet take him towards the Hamlet, in the opposite direction of the path they had walked yesterday night.  Over the crest of the hill he cannot see the stables where Mallory's horses are undoubtedly noisily munching some fodder.  As always, the town seems to be half-deserted, although today he can see pale faces behind broken shutters that quickly disappear when he looks their way.

Dismas tries to shake off the strange feeling that suddenly assaults him and turns towards the one place where there seems to me some manner of activity: the abbey.   There, Dismas spots Liz and Darell hauling wooden boards, such as are used in construction.  The man is sporting a large bruise on his cheek and both of them keep their heads down and their mouths shut.  It seems someone's learned their lesson, as neither pays the highwayman any heed when he walks past.

Just out of curiosity Dismas decides to have a closer look at the church that his roommate has taken upon himself to restore, probably with the help of the Vestal.  She doesn't seem to be here now, but the highwayman instantly catches sight of Reynauld.  It's easy to make out the crusader's broad form next to that of another man who has to be the priest.  He's got a long face, too big ears, and tufts of hair that stand up just so as to best frame his balding head.   Dismas dislikes him at first sight.

He doesn't approach any further.  They seem busy enough with abbey work, and he isn't sure what he could contribute to that – or whether he wants to.

Dismas decides to look in on the smith, and leaves with a rack for Reynauld's armour, a lance, and a pouch full of newly cast bullets, which is the bribe that convinces him to help Farley carry the former two back to the mansion.

Unlike Reynauld or the smith, Dismas doesn't have work to do, and he is free to wander the village and to spend his time as he wills.  Eventually, he gives in to the pull and slowly makes for the tavern.  It's still early for drink, but there's bound to be food there, and company, and he craves both in equal measure.

As he nears the building, Lenn's booming voice spills out from the tavern.

"No!"

Grinning from the thought that the barman might have sensed his presence, Dismas pushes open the door – and immediately finds himself in the midst of a heated argument.

"Tis' a guesthouse or not!?" a stocky man in his middle to late fifties bellows.  He has a head full of grey hair that is on its best way to becoming white as snow, and is a stark contrast to the red in his round face which betrays his enragement.  But without a doubt the stranger's most memorable feature is the patch covering his right eye.

"Aye," Lenn growls without backing down.  "A guesthouse, not a bloody hospice!"

"Friend," another man intervenes, and his quiet, calm tone that has much more impact on his companion than anything Lenn has said so far.  "It is his tavern, and his good right."

Dismas is shocked to see the stranger's telltale getup.  A mask and clothing that leaves not an inch of his skin visible.  He now understands what the dispute is about and has to agree with Lenn; it's discomforting being even this close to the afflicted.

The leper's companion sits down, although he does so with a glower, and Dismas swears that even his moustache is bristling with belligerence.

"There's plenty of empty houses around," Lenn grunts, and he sounds more sullen now that he's no longer having his feathers ruffled.  "Bring or buy your own dishes, and I will provide you with food and drink."

"Well.  I shall go find us an abode then," the bloke who had argued with the bartender huffs, and rises again with the brusqueness of a military man.  He is not tall, but Dismas suspects that his girth is more muscle than fat, and he prudently steps to the side to let him pass.

Dismas takes the opportunity of a lull in the conversation to approach the bar.

"Who're they?"

"New arrivals," the barman grunts.  "Say they came here 'bout an hour ago.   The leper over there," Lenn isn't subtle in pointing the dirty glass in his hands at the man in question, "and two of his friends.  Offered them a room, but they didn't take it well w hen I said I ain't housing him, no matter what that witch says."

Two?  Dismas had not seen anyone else, but a careful look around reveals what he had missed at first – there is another figure leaning against the tiled stove, motionless and far too easy to overlook.  Dismas feels a surge of ire towards this person, although it is his own fault that he had failed to spot him.  At least he doesn't have to enquire who that witch is.  Nor is he surprised that the plague doctor would take an interest in the diseased man.

"What does she say?" Dismas wants to know.

"That the chance of someone getting infected converges towards zero," Lenn parrots.  "Well, it's a chance I ain't taking.  There's a reason they cast them out," the barman grunts.  "Poor sod – he ain't even the actual problem.  Been nothin' but polite since he came it."

"Ah."  Dismas can guess the pain in the ass has been.

The person in question returns just as he is midway through his second mug of rum-spiced berry infusion.

"I found a house," he announces.  "It's not much, but it has a room and a functional chimney."  He gives Lenn a dark glare which the barman returns without blinking, and Dismas is good and ready to find cover under the counter the second something other than dirty looks gets thrown.

"Thank you, Montfort" the leper answers.  "I am sure we will make it homely in no time."  He nods in the direction of Lenn and Dismas, and beckons to his other mysterious companion, who follows like a shadow.

"Let's go then," Montfort agrees, holding open the door as the entourage gathers to leave.  "There's some sort of congregation happening outside, I don't like – "

Dismas doesn't get to hear the rest of it before the door closes and cuts off the rest of the sentence.  All of a sudden, the bar feels empty and confining, and the urge to move again like an itch under his skin.  He chugs the last of his drink and hands back the mug.

Provoking the barman is the next closest thing Dismas has done to poking a snarling bear with a stick, but he cannot resist to grin up and Lenn and add, "See?  I ain't that bad."

The answering snort tells him otherwise.

Just as he is about to leave, there is a burst of noise as the door swings open again and a cloaked figure comes running up to the bar, almost knocking Dismas over.  A flash of irritation crosses Lenn's face, until the hood is thrown back, and he and Dismas both recognize Farley's wild hair and beard.

"She's not here?" the smith gasps, looking around, as if expecting to see someone familiar.

"Who?"

"Mallory!"

"No, why– ?"

Farley waves a hand to silence him, and hurries to explain.  "The townsfolk, they are planning to march on the estate.  Last night's magic has them scared witless.  I tried ta reason with some of them, but they think what worked on the old man might work on his heir."

It takes a few seconds before the words sink in, but when they do they do a better job of sobering Dismas up than being dunked in the horse trough by the city guard.

"I need to go," he blurts out and he gets up so fast he knocks over his stool.

"Wait!"  Lenn's paw on his shoulder stops him.  "Better take the back door."

Dismas doesn't have time to nod, because he is already on the move.  He hits the door at a full run and barely takes notice of all the people milling around, of the torches being lit.  Farley was right, it don't look good.  Angry shouts fade in the distance as Dismas hauls ass back to the mansion, as if the Holy Inquisition itself was on his heels.

Every step feels like being stabbed anew, and there is an irritating pinch in his knee and thigh, but he doesn't slow down.  He needs to get to the house before the mob does, or they're all royally fucked.  Funnily, enough he's not thinking about Mallory as much as he is about Reynauld.

Tin-man will help, he tells himself, because after sprinting all the way up the hill he ain't sure he'll be good for much more than throwing up on the threshold.

Dismas bursts into his room with enough noise that the crusader jumps up, actually jumps, and stares at him with wide eyes.  Ain't the time for him to worry what that is about.

Dismas' chest is heaving and his throat burns worse than after drinking fire whiskey, but he manages to point to the window and wheeze,

"We're in trouble."

In the distance, a fiery serpent has begun to coil itself around the alley leading up to the mansion.

AN: Fifth chapter is out and it took quite the unexpected turn!

You can also find this story here on AO3