#and i am worried the quality has dipped in the later chapters

[dyrewrites]

Yesterday, when I was not meant to be writing, I wrote a whole scene on my phone. Which is torture, by the way, writing on a phone. But I did it. Because I am an idiot controlled like a terrible puppet by the tiny people in my head.

Which is to say I can't write now, when I'm meant to... T^T

[todoscript]

Syndicate —  [ 3 ]

parts: one | two | three

SUMMARY: The four of you arrive at Hatsume’s workshop, hoping to find some leads about the mysterious bullet you discovered in the aftermath of the scuffle against the Shie Hassaikai yakuza group.

genre: mafia au. pairing(s): mafiabosses!todobakudeku x fem!reader word count: 2.1k+ warnings: mature themes. mafia talk. crude language/cursing. future adult and violent scenes. polyamorous relationship. characters are aged-up. taglist: in reblogs. please ask if you would like to be included in the taglist for updates on future parts.

author’s note: oh my god, i am so sorry for the very long wait everyone! trying to crank this part out was a bit of a struggle with everything going on, but i’m glad it’s finally done! i initially planned to make this chapter a bit longer and continue on with some of the next section, but it made more sense to end it off here so the next part could be flushed out more on its own

Nothing but the grating sound of machinery sparking against each other fills the room the moment you walk into Hatsume’s workshop, located in the more uneventful parts of Tokyo, and away from the seeing eyes of the public. Your ears recoil at the noise; however, it is a cacophony of sounds you are used to, considering this is far from your first time here. Thus, it’s not so much a surprise, being greeted this way, though still jarring nonetheless.

Mei Hatsume is a woman who usually busies herself with work. Whenever she wasn’t occupied filling out a client’s order, such as creating the gadgets they requested necessary for certain heists, she was always active in coming up with new inventions—other gizmos to win people over. In turn, she managed to catch the three pairs of eyes that are responsible for overseeing the infamous Yuuei mafia. Before long, the syndicate had become one of her most frequent and loyal clients due to her high-quality skills and work ethic. 

Your three men are in tow behind you when you enter, following in not only your steps but your strained expression over the racket.

“Hatsume!” you shout out to try and capture the girl’s attention, being that her eyes are covered in her dense, protective goggles to even see the four of you coming.

Far too engrossed in her work, her nonchalant hums in between her buzzing equipment indicate that she isn’t going to notice you anytime soon. Knowing this, Bakugou grits his teeth out of annoyance and marches past you.

“Hey Goggle-Head!!”

Unsurprisingly, his yell is garishly loud and is enough to cut through the jarring grinding of the machines and reach Hatsume’s ear. Bakugou does prefer to take a strident approach to things after all. And today especially, he isn’t in the mood to wait around.

“Bakugou. That was unnecessary,” Todoroki says, side-eyeing his partner for his boisterous attitude.

“It was totally necessary, Icy-Hot,” the blonde retorts.

Hatsume soon stops what she’s doing and finally brings the noise to a halt. Lifting her bulky steampunk goggles from her eyes, she properly greets her guests.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite clients!” Her tone is welcoming and chipper, despite the somewhat rude awakening courtesy of the blonde. “What can I help the four of you with today? Perhaps in need of some more firepower for your men? Hmm?” Hatsume wiggles her brows—a crafty gesture she usually gives to entice her customers while flaunting some incredibly elaborate contraption of hers in her arms. Midoriya declines with a shake of his head, waving a hand out.

“No, we’re fine with all the equipment you’ve provided our group with so far, Hatsume. They’ve been working wonders for us,” he says kindly.

“Especially that earring from the other night.” You join in the praises, and Hatsume readily eats them up as her yellow eyes begin to sparkle.

“Ah, the teardrop earring, I presume? As expected, I knew that particular item would perform excellently, what with its compact size and design to elude suspicion, along with its vast set of features—”

“Come on, quit yapping already! We’re here for business, not to give our fucking reviews,” Bakugou dispels the girl’s incessant ramblings with his ill-tempered tone.

Todoroki steps forward, following in the blonde’s approach. “He’s right. Excuse us, Hatsume, but we wanted to ask you about something we encountered last night,” he explains, hand digging into his coat pocket to procure the ziploc bag containing their item of inquiry—the bullet.

Your hands glow magenta; your quirk lifts the bullet from the plastic and into the air to prevent Hatsume from needing to touch it directly for examination. As it hovers in front of her, Hatsume’s eyes start to gleam a brighter amber yellow inactivation of her quirk, allowing her to scrupulously inspect every detail down to even smidgen of a scratch.

A few hums leave her lips the more she tilts her head at the object, index finger steady beneath her chin.

“Well?” you ask, a tad impatient for answers as are the other three. Hatsume gives the bullet one last look before turning to you, a somewhat uncertain look on her face.

“Just who did you retrieve this bullet from?”

“A henchman from the Shie Hassaikai yakuza fired this at us last night while we were in a scuffle with them,” Todoroki answers with Midoriya continuing.

“We managed to avoid getting hit by it thanks to a comrade of ours.”

“Hah, as if those jokers could pose even a threat to us with flimsy weapons like these.” Bakugou punctuates with his arrogant poise, and you playfully roll your eyes at his comment before returning to the situation at hand.

“Still, for us to not recognize something as ordinary as a bullet like this is concerning, adding onto the fact they were willing to use this instead of facing them head-on with their quirks,” you add. There’s a silence lingering in the air at your words, but it eventually isn’t long until Hatsume says her piece. 

“Well, after seeing this, I suppose the talk going around the crime groups is true after all.”

The four of you exchange peculiar looks, inquisitive at the mention of such “talks”.

“What ‘talk’?” Midoriya asks, voice dipping low for his standards.

Taking a seat at her workbench while facing her four guests, Hatsume’s expression grows unusually serious.

“Some of my clients have spoken about some shady business going on in the underground recently.”

“Shady business?” Bakugou repeats vehemently, eyebrow quirked.

“This is the first I’ve heard of this,” Todoroki comments, growing wary at the shift in the situation.

“We practically have total control of the black market on the east side of Japan. What shit could be going on under our fucking radar?” The blonde’s eyes flare a menacing red over the news.

“To begin,” Hatsume continues, “my clients have spoken about a new weapon being spread around amongst many criminal gangs. It’s no surprise you haven’t heard of it actually. The ones producing them have made sure to evade the gaze of your mafia group by offering them to those in the west, and have only recently moved to the east.”

“They didn’t want us to intervene and mess with their steady business on the black market, I’m assuming,” you add, and Hatsume nods at your conjecture.

“Likely. Anyways, this weapon didn’t seem like a big deal at first. Just some talk about a bullet similar to the one here.” Hatsume gestures to the transparent bag. “But a bit of prodding later, I learned that the contents inside the bullet actually contain a drug created by a scientist, which was forcibly taken by the Shie Hassaikai yakuza.”

Midoriya, Bakugou, and Todoroki are immediately attentive at the name, their expressions soon altering into revulsion as if a vile stench had suddenly wafted into the air, turning the atmosphere sour.

“So the yakuza made out with some stolen research and are mass producing these bullets onto the black market behind our backs, correct?” Todoroki relays the info with malice prevalent in his timbre.

“Those fuckers. Thinking they can do whatever the fuck they want, huh?” Bakugou’s teeth grit at every word uttered under his breath, fists clenching together. “They’re asking for it now.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Kacchan. We’ll make sure each and every one of them is delivered the punishment they deserve.” Midoriya joins his fellow mafia bosses in the menacing pressure exuding from them. His smile is far from genuine—two-faced with intense animosity emanating from just a simple glance.

Having been by their side through situations similar to this level of tension, you’re very much used to witnessing these expressions painted on each of their faces—such as a time when their shipment of goods came far delayed due to a few lackeys’ miscalculations. In turn, Yuuei had lost a bit of time in their well thought out schedule, which was something Deku, Ground Zero, and Mercury were not at all happy about as they thrived on pure efficiency. To make the story short, those henchmen had received a rather brutal ending for their errors when the three were done with them.

Since then, the trio have let it become a lesson learned not to rely on a bunch of simpletons to carry out such important tasks. As a result, the mafia group had become more efficient from then on out, now centering around your smaller group of elites in the aftermath of the events.

You have to admit, seeing the three so riled up is quite attractive in your eyes. They were already charismatic on their own—being in their presence gave you a very tasteful glance of their domineering aura. But in action, that charisma somehow manifested many times stronger, and when in pursuit with such determination in hand, it felt like they could do just about anything they set their minds to.

However, there are times when you knew you needed to step forward and become their sense of reasoning, lest they walk through fog with no sense of direction. Now is one of those times.

“Well, to start, we need some leads.” You join in, and the three turn to you, ready for what their right-hand woman has to say. “Hatsume, do you know what the drug does?”

The girl shakes her head, much to your dismay, but offers a hunch. “I can only assume it must disrupt the body in some way on contact.”

“It’s a good thing Kacchan didn’t get hit by it then,” Midoriya comments.

“Shut up, Deku.” Bakugou harshly jabs his elbow into the young man’s sides, annoyed.

“Now’s not the fucking time.”

“Right, right… My apologies…” Midoriya replies, holding no ill will at his partner, despite his rough demeanor. The trivial exchange between the two quickly ceases. You decide to resume your questions directed at the craftswoman.

“Alright then… How about the scientist that created the drug? Do you have any info on them?”

Musing in thought, Hatsume’s eyes draw to the ceiling as she rummages through her head to recollect her memories.

“Hmm… What I have heard is that the yakuza had infiltrated a place located in the corner of Kamino Ward in Yokohama to obtain the drug.”

“So that must be where this scientist’s laboratory or base of operations must be then. Kamino Ward.” Todoroki guesses and the girl gives him a brief nod.

“Then that’s where we’re going next. We’re gonna find this scientist and get the info we need, even if we need to beat it out of them!” Bakugou exclaims, voice thundering throughout the workshop as his palm emits a small, concentrated burst of fire while coming in contact with his fist. “Not a single one of those half-rate yakuza asswipes are getting away, pulling this shit on us.”

“Though I have to warn you,” Hatsume interrupts forebodingly as a shadow casts over her features, “there have been rumors of people disappearing around those parts.”

You lift a brow, suspicious at the meaning behind those claims.

“Disappearing?”

“That’s right. Anyone that so much as approaches that area ends up poofing out of existence.” She emphasizes this notion by springing her arms outward. 

“Oh? Sounds a bit… far-fetched.” you reason, adamant on the idea that no such thing could happen without natural causes. After all, quirks are biological phenomena. Nothing as supernatural as disappearing from existence should be occurring, right?

“No, Angel Face, it sounds more than just far-fetched. It’s more like a load of bullshit to me,” Bakugou chimes in, bolstering your doubt against it.

“Probably something stirred up to keep people off this scientist’s back,” Midoriya speculates. “He’s already had his research stolen from him. I’m sure he wouldn’t want a repeat of that.”

As he appears behind you, Todoroki lays a hand on your shoulder reassuringly. “Even if something like that is true, I doubt it could truly pose a threat against us, considering who we are.” His hand dips down to find yours before lifting it above your shoulder to lay a quick kiss on your fingertips. You smile at both his words and his touching gestures.

Ignoring the affectionate display, the girl only shrugs. “That’s what I’ve been hearing is all, but I suppose you could take it with a grain of salt.”

Despite the ominous admonition, Midoriya gives Hatsume a grin before reaching into the pocket of his coat. “Thank you for the warning, Hatsume,” he sets a wad of cash down on the workbench in front of her, “along with the valuable set of information. We’ll be sure to put everything you told us to good use.”

She returns the smile, fingers curling around the stack furtively. “Well, a pleasure doing business with you, Yuuei. And remember, my services will always be available to you when you need it.”

“Dutifully noted.”

[butmakeitgayblog]

“ I hope you like the new chapter “?? You kidding right

Cuzzz believe me dude.. we will read it with PLeasUrE! I mean come on Demon!lexa???

God i’m so excited, and I’m excited more that you said it will be a LONG chapter! Awesome.

Anyway i’m waiting the pain and pleasure in this story that i lovvee.

Ps : you promised us for 😆sneak peek 😆just a reminder don’t say I didn’t remember 🏃🏻‍♀️

Oh yeah you're totally right. And yeah it's now over 11k and I still have probably at least, at 👏 the 👏 least 👏, another 6k to go. But I'm betting more like 8k. Heyo ok anyway, happy last day of pride! Cheers to us queers 🍾🥂🏳️‍🌈

Snippet for chapter 8 demon au, forgive mistakes it's unedited and might change a bit between now and posting

Also go give love to sassymajesty it's her birthday today

/////////////

"Oh my God."

"You're very bad, Ms. Griffin."

She could only whine in agreement. 

"Look at you. You're not supposed to be enjoying this this much."

Clarke clenched down at the loud slap to her ass. She hissed at the sting of it, rocking her hips on the silicon that pumped into her from behind. 

Hands gripped at her waist and pulled her back into each rapid jog of hips, the clap of skin on skin ringing in her ears. Forehead pressed to the cool plastic of an industrial copier, she groaned and shook when the punishing rhythm quieted enough for her to breathe as sharp snaps of the strap slowed to deep, rolling thrusts. 

Clarke arched at the feel of a hand smoothing up her spine to wind into the sweat sodden hair clinging to her neck. At a gentle tug, Clarke moaned and let herself be guided up, using the palms of her hands to support the weight of a warm body draping against her.

"Still good?"

Half delirious with a laugh and wiggling to get back the friction she had lost, Clarke felt herself dripping at the warm breath in her ear. "Mhm. Just fuck me, Lex."

"I think you mean 'Ms. D'Angelo," Lexa whispered, nipping at the fleshy skin of her lobe. "Remember, now. We keep things professional at the office..."

Clarke smiled to herself, biting her lip as she envisioned herself being pushed face-down back onto the copier. She checked her watch and glanced at the door, tapping her foot alongside the whirs of its rhythmic back and forth blinding neon light.

She thought of exactly how good Lexa's ass looked bound in buckles and strips of leather. How the harness they'd gotten the week prior sat in just the right way that it accentuated the lovely bubble-esque quality that made it all the more kissable. 

Or biteable. 

It really just depended on her mood. 

A few solid raps sounded through the door as Clarke leaned back on the table beside the copier, a satisfied grin stretching across her face as she chirped a bright, 'Come in.'

The door opened and then slammed shut in a flurry of motion as a wild wave of chestnut slungshot into the room. Clarke let out a surprised yelp of laughter as the small space was crossed in two giant strides and hands cupped her face, pulling her into a messy kiss. 

Lexa's groan was loud enough that Clarke worried for a moment that someone might hear. But the thought fell away just as quickly when fingers trailed to Clarke's hips, squeezing tightly and lifting her onto the table. 

Clarke wrapped her legs around the waist that pressed into her, thanking last night's self for selecting such a forgiving dress.

"You… are driving... me crazy," Lexa breathed between kisses, pulling away just often enough to let fresh oxygen into Clarke's lungs. "What are you doing in here?"

"Making copies," Clarke smartly shrugged as dark eyes glistened in the low light. 

"I am with a client," Lexa said with a needy sigh, resting her head against Clarke's as her hands mindlessly caressed thighs, hips, and chest. "A client and his father."

Clarke burst out in a poorly stiffled laugh. "Oh shit. My bad."

"Fuck, gorgeous," Lexa breathed, pulling Clarke's hips to the edge of the table and rocking onto her. "You are so bad."

A low moan rumbled through Clarke's chest as the words sparked fresh visions of her deviant daydream. 

"What?" Lexa asked with dark eyes and an excited hum. 

"Just something I was thinking about before," Clarke said, brushing a few curls from Lexa's face before letting her arms rest over her shoulders. 

"And what were you thinking about?"

"You."

"Well that's certainly a relief," Lexa smirked as she peppered kisses across the dip of Clarke's chest. "It'd be awful for my ego if you were in here making me wet while thinking about someone else."

Clarke just grinned, sifting her fingers through the fine hairs that sat on the nape of Lexa's neck. "I thought that might get your attention."

"What has gotten into you today?"

"Boring day. Kept looking at those pictures you sent the other week. Wanted to kiss... Wanted to see you in this shirt again. Take your pick," Clarke said as she pulled Lexa back onto her lips. She swallowed Lexa's sigh and licked into her mouth only to have Lexa twist away with a wet pop. 

"I have a client sitting in my office waiting to sign a contract."

"I can be quick."

"I don't want quick," Lexa shook her head as she grabbed Clarke's wandering hand that had been snaking its way under the belt of her skirt. "Let me finish this and we can take lunch right after. Go back to my place--"

"You have court at 1," Clarke sighed, deflating on the spot on the table. 

"Fuck." Lexa hissed the curse as her eyes screwed moment for a minute, biting her lips as they popped back open a second later. Her breath picked up as she looked hungrily over the expanse of Clarke's body, hands squeezing once more at the swell of Clarke's thighs. "Okay… Okay. Come with me."

"What?" Clarke asked as Lexa took her hand and quite literally dragged her off the table. 

Lexa leaned around her and grabbed a fresh pen from a box at random before tugging them toward the door. "Come with me to my office. We can pick this up when they leave. I'll just say I need a witness for the signing or something."

Clarke frowned as Lexa dropped her hand and flung the door open. "Uh. But you don't."

"Well they don't know that," Lexa whispered as she waved for Clarke to keep up with her pace toward her office. 

"You're serious?"

"Yes. You stand there and look… God," Lexa swallowed as they pulled to a stop just outside her office door, eyes dipping down to the hint of cleavage that peeked out of Clarke's dress, "just like that. And then you conveniently remind me I have court in ten minutes so I can get them the hell out."

Before Clarke put up any sort of protest, Lexa turned the knob and glided back into her office with a flourish. 

"Here we go," she announced, holding up the new pen in one hand and ushering Clarke inside by the small of her back with the other. "This is Ms. Griffin, a legal secretary here in the office and she'll be helping us today."

"I just wanna get this over with."

"Don't we all," Lexa sighed with a strained smile as she walked around her desk, leaving Clarke to stand awkwardly in the center of the room. "Now, you just sign these, and then Ms. Griffin and I will handle the rest. Sound good?"

A grunt was Lexa's only answer as she handed the pen over and pushed the stack of papers under his nose, Clarke reigning in a grin at the roll of her eyes. But still, Clarke waited patiently, hands idly picking at the hem of her blazer as she took in the pair sat in front of her. 

A boy no older than possibly 17 sat hunched over and small to her left. Sandy hair buzzed in a high and tight cut and clothes starched to within an inch of their life, he looked as though he'd be more at home in a military school than in the confines of their humble law office. He didn't move, barely breathed through the scratching sound of his father's writing as Clarke watched him all but sink through the seat of his chair. 

"You better thank your lucky stars this lady is willing to do this for you."

The low growl of words had Clarke frowning, shifting her eyes to the older man scribbling furiously through the stack of papers. His shoulders flexed with each rough flip of a page, his muscular body broad and tall enough Clarke wondered if he'd fit through the door without ducking. 

"The pleasure's all mine," Lexa waved him off when the boy tipped his head lower and stayed quiet. "He's a good kid. Just at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Well that's the fuckin' problem, now isn't it," the man snapped as his head swiveled around to stare at his son.

And Clarke's stomach bottomed out at the sight.

The man from the street. 

The temperature of the air inched upward as Clarke's eyes shot to Lexa, only to find her already looking back. A pleased smile played at her lips as a perfectly trimmed brow flicked upward. Clarke worked to control her breathing, jaw locked and hands balling full of the hem of her blazer as she tried to parcel out exactly what the hell Lexa was up to. 

She knew Lexa always had her reasonings for doing what she did. 

Always had a plan.

But fuck all if Clarke hadn't realized she was going to be a part of it. A damn courtesy heads up would've been nice. 

"-- which is exactly the problem with you, boy," the man kept going through Clarke's silent freakout. "You don't get it. You can't seem to get a single thing through that thick, useless lump you use a goddamn hat rack."

And with no warning, he reached out a hand and slapped the boy over the back of his head. 

"Mr. Trikru."

Lexa's voice echoed through the office, sharp and simmering with a quiet rage as they cut off his tirade. 

Clarke halted in place from where she'd taken a few stumbling steps forward, dropping her hands that'd whipped forward as though to forcefully pull him away from the child who'd barely flinched at the blow.

Lexa's hand was steady as she plucked her phone from its base. "Finish signing the papers. Now." Her tone left no room for argument, eye dark and glued to the man who threw a final glare at his son and went back to writing. 

A moment passed as Lexa murmured softly into her phone, holding up a finger when the last page was flipped and the pen tossed aside, before hanging up and folding her hands expectantly on her desk top. Clarke felt her chest rise and fall with a kind of confused and indignant rage because seriously what the hell was Lexa playing at?

Clarke nearly jumped at the tiny knock against the door, whirling around to see Raven's head pop through the opening. 

"We all done in here?" Raven asked, her mask of professionalism firmly in place. 

"Yes, we are. But I need to speak to Mr. Trikru for a moment alone," Lexa said with an easy smile, up and around the edge of her desk in just a few fluid steps. "Why don't you take this young man to the break room. Get him a snack or something."

Lexa all but yanked the kid up by his arm, ignoring how he tried to glance back at his father as she shuffled him toward the door. She coo'd a few pleasantries and assurances that it'd just take a moment, telling him to go crazy as she shoved a small fold of ones into Raven's hand and passed him off to her. 

Clarke took a measured step back when the hulking man rose from his seat as Lexa shut the door and flipped the lock. 

"What the hell are you doin'?" he thundered and crossed the office. 

He stopped short when Lexa turned on her heel, eyes black and lips stretched in that increasingly familiar sinister smile. 

"Teaching you some manners."

The sickly crack of her knuckles against his jaw made Clarke's stomach roll. She watched in stunned, horrified silence as Lexa punched him hard enough to send him reeling back. His knees buckled and he hit the ground with a dazed shake of his head. 

A fist wrapped in the collar of his shirt before glassy eyes could stop rolling in his head. Another punch split his lip. Another caused his head to whip painfully sideways. 

Lexa yanked him up by his shirt, slamming him into the wall beside the door. A growl vibrated through the thick air as her fingers wrapped around his neck and squeezed. 

"Lexa," Clarke exhaled, her entire body shaking so badly she wasn't sure if she could walk. 

But then she watched the hand clamped over his airway flex and lift him upward. His feet kicked uselessly and his eyes bulged from their sockets, his hands grasping and scrabbling at the locked arm holding him up.

Clarke's mind jumped into gear as his face became redder, his gasping more sporadic, his movements turning jerky and less desperate. She lurched forward, staring at the side of Lexa's face.

"Lex, let him go."

The growling only deepened. 

"Lexa, let go of him," she snapped, raising her chin when black eyes turned to her with a snarl. 

She licked her lips and steadied her breathing and said the exact first thing that popped into her head.

"You hate cleaning up messes at work."

The growling stuttered as Lexa's eyebrows furrowed together, her head tilting in obvious confusion. 

"You told me you hate cleaning up messes at the office," Clarke rushed out, grabbing onto the one thing that Lexa had ever really complained about and riding the thought process to hell and back. "If you kill him right now, think about what you're going to have to deal with. There's gonna be an upset kid. Everyone's gonna freak out. Ambulances, witness statements. A literal dead body in your goddamn office. Think about it."

Lexa stared at her for a long moment, her jaw ticking in annoyance though, thankfully, the growling had stopped. And then without pause, Lexa loosened her hold and let him drop.

He crumpled to the floor in front of them, hacking coughs racking his body and his hands moved to massage his neck. Lexa squatted down, elbows resting on her knees as she leaned into his face.

"I think you should thank your lucky stars this lady was willing to do this for you, Mr. Trikru," Lexa spat in a harsh whisper. "But make no mistake... I will be seeing you again."

/////////////

[lifeofkaze]

An Art of Balance #6

A/N: If anyone’s interested, the perfume Lizzie is wearing is one of my all-time favourites, Aqua di Gioia by Giorgio Armani. It’s really poorly described here because my olfactory recognition doesn’t go beyond ‘good’ and ‘bad’, but well. It’s divine though. Also, bear with me if sth astrological is wrong, this stuff is complicated! Katriona Cassiopeia (aka KC) belongs to my lovely friend @kc-needs-coffee

  Word Count: ~ 2.100

______________________________________________________________ 

Chapter 6: A New Perspective

As it turned out, Orion’s decision to name Everett Hufflepuff’s new Beater had been the right one. He still had a way to go, but he immediately fell in line with the rest of the team. What he lacked in precision, he made up in strength.

Orion had taking his individual training on himself. As the team’s captain, he saw it as his personal responsibility to ensure every one of his teammates was able to reach his full potential. Everett was a fast learner, but it would take him a few more sessions to even be remotely able to hold a candle to the Ravenclaw Beaters.

Rath and Cassiopeia had been a well attuned team for many years now, both as skilled a Beater as they came. They would need any protection against them they could get, and the match against Ravenclaw was approaching fast.

Although Orion wasn’t the type of person to let his mind be clouded by worries, he had to admit he wasn’t entirely sure they could get Everett into proper form in time. He had been voicing his concerns to Lizzie the other day, during one of their tutoring sessions. If anyone knew what it took to become a Beater in a short amount of time it was her.

Lately, Orion had found himself looking forward to their meetings in the greenhouse, despite his already tightly packed schedule. It was refreshing to discuss their team matters with someone that didn’t flood him with a multitude of statistics for a change. Lizzie had a different approach to things than him, but they weren’t polar opposites like he and Skye. Exchanging views with her had provided him with a new impulse more than once.

In fact, he had come to enjoy her presence in general, even more so than before. They had always been friends but his knowledge about her had pretty much begun and ended at the Quidditch pitch. Seeing her outside team meetings and practise had allowed him to get to know other sides of her. He’d had no idea Lizzie had been part of the duelling club until last year. Or that Arithmancy was one of her favourite subjects. Or that she used a perfume smelling distinctively of jasmine and mint.

Orion had a harder time bonding with her friend Rowan. He hadn’t had any points of contact with her before he had started tutoring them. Now, several weeks later, he still knew hardly anything about her. She seemed to be exceptionally smart, but also equally as shy. Most of the time she would consult her textbook about the plants he tried to teach them about, while Lizzie paid it no mind, listening to his explanations instead.

Orion couldn’t help his impression that Rowan was struggling with his unconventional style of teaching. He didn’t refer to books more than he had to, rather letting his instinct and experience guide him.

Having trained with him for years, Lizzie knew his way of conveying knowledge was not always straightforward. Rowan, however, had a hard time letting go of protocol. She was clinging to the academic theory as if her life depended on it. Following the rules could help with a lot of problems, but she would never master the delicate nuances advanced Herbology had to offer, if she wasn’t willing to tread paths unknown to her.

“And what exactly is the difference between dried foxglove petals and desiccated foxglove petals?”

McNully snapped him out of his thoughts and back to where they were sitting in the Great Hall. It was study time and most of the students were gathered at their House tables, brooding over their homework.

They had been discussing their latest Potions essay, covering the effects sourcing methods had on the quality of ingredients.

“That is what we are supposed to illustrate, I believe.” Orion dipped his quill into the ink bottle they were sharing and tried to pick up where his wandering thoughts had let him off. His eyes wandered casually across the other Hufflepuff students lining their table.

It lingered where Skye and Lizzie were sitting. Lizzie was rapidly flicking through the pages of her textbook with a puzzled expression. Skye was talking insistently at her, looking equally as bewildered.

Several heads shot up as Lizzie audibly slammed her book shut and clambered off the bench. When Skye made no move to follow her, she jerked the other girl up off her seat and motioned with her head towards where he and McNully were sat.

They quietly walked towards the head of the Hufflepuff table. Seeing them approach, McNully reached for his wheelchair that was blocking the way. He moved it aside to allow the girls to join them. Orion smiled.

“What can we help you with?”

Wordlessly, Lizzie held up her copy of Unfogging the Future and slid into a seat between Murphy and him. She reopened the page she had been examining before and gave a frustrated sigh.

“I cannot tell you how much I hate Divination, I really can’t. You’re good at this, aren’t you?”

Orion supressed a smile. “So I am told. What bothers you in particular?”

“It’s those bloody birthstones,” Skye explained. “No matter how often we go over it, Lizzie and I always come to different results and we can’t find the mistake.”

They handed him their notes and Orion quickly gave them a check before returning them.

“That is because both choices are correct. There is more than one birthstone for each of the zodiac signs. You both chose the right stone for the right sign, but in different parts of the time span covered.”

Skye groaned in frustration, earning her a chiding glance from Professor Flitwick, who was supervising them today. “What do you mean, more than one? Why can’t this stuff be straightforward for once?”

“Everyone is different and such is reflected in the stones fortifying our inner strengths. Why should there be so little birthstones when there are so many traits to represent?”

Both girls looked at him with blank expressions.

Patiently, he flipped the pages to one of the star charts at the back of the book. “The astrological year is divided into the twelve zodiac signs. Each zodiac sign is subdivided into three decades, meaning a set of ten days. There are additional factors to consider, but simply put, there are three birthstones for each sign, representing one decade each. That is why you come to different conclusions, you didn’t factor in the time of the month.”

He contemplated telling them about the stones meant to counteract each signs weaknesses. But seeing Skye pinching the bridge of her nose, while was Lizzie trying to process what he had just said, muttering “I hate Divination” under her breath, he decided against it. Better not too much at once.

“How do you know all this nonsense?” Skye was shaking her head in disbelief.

“I know all this because it is explained in the introduction of the chapter you two apparently weren’t reading too diligently.” He turned the pages back to the beginning and pointed at the paragraph on the first page.

Lizzie’ cheeks flushed a bright read as she quickly scanned the text. “I can’t believe I overlooked this.” Embarrassed, she quickly snatched the book out of Orion’s hands and got up. “Thanks for helping anyway.”

They made their way back to their places, the scent of jasmine and mint lingering behind. Orion was always glad if he could help a friend. A few seats down the table, Lizzie was discussing what he had just told them with Skye. He thought back on what Penny and Murphy had said on the train ride to Hogwarts a few weeks earlier.

Lizzie really had changed a lot. She seemed to be standing taller, an air of effortless confidence around her. The blush on her cheeks had made her look really pretty, reminding him of how the rush of the wind brought the colour to her face when she was flying. She was moving differently as well, more graceful and fluently, her hips swaying ever so slightly with every step she took. He had never noticed her hips swaying like that before.

McNully nudged his shoulder. “Uhm, Orion… if you don’t want to rewrite your whole essay, I’d move my quill if I was you.”

He snapped out of it and looked down at his parchment. The ink was dripping from the tip of his quill, forming a large black puddle at the end of his last sentence that was quickly spreading onto the rest of his half-finished essay.

Orion cursed under his breath, immediately drawing his wand to vanish the excess ink. Fortunately not too much of his work was ruined.

McNully raised his eyebrows. “Such a strong language, my friend. I have only heard you curse three times, so far. One time was when you crashed your broom into the commentary box and broke your wrist, the second time when you forgot the time while broom balancing and almost missed your Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. exam and the third time when you burned yourself on your cauldron and spilled Wiggenweld Potion all over Professor Snape. This reaction is 87,9 % surprising.”

He felt the heat creeping up his neck. McNully was right, he wasn’t easily enticed to displaying his emotions verbally. He hadn’t meant to let himself slip like that.

Choosing not to answer his curious friend, he committed himself to restoring the missing part of his essay. But McNully wouldn’t let it pass like that.

He was nodding in the direction of Lizzie. “I wonder if she knows how much attention she is attracting.”

Orion gripped his quill a little tighter, concentrating on finishing his sentence. He fought the urge to follow McNully’s gaze.

“Our friend has a captivating personality, for sure. But would you mind lifting the veil of ignorance from my eyes and tell me how you reached such a conclusion?”

For a moment, McNully smirked knowingly before he directed Orion’s attention over to where their roommates were sitting. He could easily make out what McNully had been referring to. Everett was eyeing the girls up without even trying to conceal it.

“Him, of course. He’s been checking Lizzie out ever since she came over to us.” He smiled innocently at him. “Why, who did you think I was talking about?”

Orion’s brow furrowed in concern. He didn’t like the predatory look on Everett’s face. This guy had somewhat of a reputation.

“Yeah, I don’t like the looks he’s giving her either,” McNully echoed his unspoken thoughts with a scowl. He leaned closer to him, putting his elbow on Orion’s shoulder in conspiratorial way. “I think we should do something about it, don’t you? And by ‘we’, I obviously mean ‘you’.”

Shaking off McNully’s hand, Orion gave him a disapproving look. “And why would I do that? He is our new Beater if you don’t recall.”

“For the sake of the team, of course!”

McNully started reciting his calculations. “I’d put the chance of him going for our little Chaser prodigy at roughly 80 %. There are some variables unaccounted for, but I’d say the chances of Lizzie falling for him lie at something around 54 %. Which would affect the team’s dynamic gravely. And we can’t have that decreasing our- I mean, your odds on winning the Quidditch Cup.”

Orion blew onto his parchment until the ink had properly dried. “You talk as if he was actually hitting her up. All he did was looking at her.”

And there was certainly nothing wrong with looking.

“Lizzie can fend for herself if need be. Besides, who am I to interfere with the course the heart is deciding to take.”

McNully looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “Mate… I don’t think the heart has much to with it if you get my drift. Seriously, do something.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” He stood up and handed Professor Flitwick his work of the day.

McNully raised one eyebrow at him. “And what would that be?”

Orion gathered his strewn books and notes. “Finding balance inside and outside of my mind, my dear friend. See you at dinner.”

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Theurgist

Chapter Five: A Quick Laugh at Death

-dragonswithjetpacks

Notes: I am so sorry it took so long. I had a busy week last week and was gone all weekend. I got really tired of trying to right this chapter so I am sorry if it seems rushed and choppy. I mainly just wanted the quirky bits. And I have so many things already pre-written I'd like to get to. Including the temple. And then tying in the bite scene later on.

Read here on Ao3

Ferelith looked down into the reflection of the water, examining the dried blood on the side of her face. A small shard of anger slithered into her thoughts when she thought about the creature from the crash. The worm was trying to fight it, but the twirling shadow had clouded it’s thoughts. Her patron was still there, protecting her the best he could. But he would not speak. Ferelith looked up to the moon and saw it was still a few days away before she could perform the ritual to speak with him. Though there was always the option to try. She sighed, setting her gloves to the side to wipe them off later and she dipped her hands into the water. As she began to wipe off her face, Gale had approached her.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like a word once we’ve settled in for the night,” he said.

“If this is about what happened earlier,” she rose to her feet, “then I assure you I’m quite alright.”

“Actually, no,” he paused as he turned. “But I’m glad to see you’re feeling a bit more like yourself.”

A swift breeze pulled her hair into her face, but she was quick to tuck it behind her ear. Gale watched her eyes closely, but saw nothing peculiar within them. They were just as they always had been. Pale yellow with nothing of importance gleaming inside. No hint of anger or excitement. Just simply mindful and content. And the lingering dark essence he had sensed before disappeared. There was just Ferelith with her pale skin and dark hair holding her arms against her chest to brace herself against the cold wind of the river.

“You know,” she said, squeezing her arms. “I’ve met many wizards in my travels. Have you… met many warlocks?”

“A few,” he nodded.

“What were they like?”

Gale paused for a moment. A warlock was unlike a wizard in the sense of how they obtained their power. A wizard was impatient, in most cases. They desired power, but that wasn’t any different than any one else. What separated a warlock was the means in which they obtained that power and what sort of desire drove them. It varied upon the person. And when he looked at Ferelith, the quiet woman who cradled the apron with her books and her singed quill, he did not see a desire for power. He saw a woman with secrets. A woman blanketed by a protective shadow. He took a deep breath.

“Nothing like yourself,” he smiled at her in adoration.

Her eyes, once cold and gazing lost across the river came round to acknowledge the compliment of her companion. He caught the reflection of gratitude within them and knew her smile to be true.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” she looked back out to the water. “It even makes me sound a bit dangerous. But I’ll take the ambiguity as a compliment.”

“I simply don’t know enough about you to say otherwise,” he attempted to correct his statement.

“I appreciate your honesty,” she let a little sigh slip through, leading Gale to believe she was finished with his company. “For the record… you’re one of the kindest wizards I’ve ever met.”

“I do try… my lady.”

“Alright enough flattery,” she waved her hand slightly as he left her line of sight, her gaze still focused on the rolling stream in front of her. “I’ll see you later.”

His footsteps faded out, only to be replaced by another. Ferelith glanced up at the sky, realizing they had a few hours of daylight left before she could retire. There was still much to be done, but she had a sudden urge to be alone. Whoever it was behind her, they were in no rush. And she wondered how long she could stay silent before they urged her to speak.

“The breeze will just get colder as the sun goes down,” she said eyeing the colors shifting as the sun set. “It will draw me closer to the fire. Soon enough.”

“Take your time,” a male’s voice startled her.

Ferelith turned, seeing Astarion with his newly gifted bow strapped to his back, a few crude arrows in his hand.

“Oh, I though you were- well, it doesn’t matter…”

“I was just leaving,” he stated, glancing back to the rest of their party gathering around the pit as Gale prepared a fire.

“And you’re, what? Taking requests?” she smirked over her shoulder.

“I’m afraid the prime rib will be unavailable tonight,” he shifted his weight to his other foot. “But, in order to make up for it, I’ve offered a few bolts to your collection.”

Ferelith lowered her arms, granting him her full attention. “To my what?”

“The village coward dropped his quiver. There were a few arrows in there a bit too short to be considered an arrow. I tossed them onto you bedroll.”

“Oh… thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. At the quality they appear to be in, they could have just been poorly made arrows that couldn’t be used by a proper bow,” he cringed. “They might just snap straight in half.”

“Right,” she nodded, admitting that her thoughts were lost on him.

Astarion could see her drifting back out into the open evening, eyes faded into a distant plane. After what he had witnessed of her earlier that day, he had expected a change to her behavior at camp. The outburst to him meant a reveal of character. Not this reclusive woman who was lost in thought. While Ferelith had been a mostly quiet person from the beginning, there were still those snarky comments between he had rather enjoyed. This was simply just disappointing. She did not even bother to send him away as he turned to leave.

***********************************************************

After an evening delegating a very passive aggressive discussion between Shadowheart and Lae’zel over what she would consider dinner, Ferelith was forced to resist the urge to turn in for the night. Her head had been pounding, likely a side affect of the illithid’s mental damage from before. Still, she had agreed to have a moment with Gale. And least with him, she knew half of what to expect. That included walking up to see him observing his own double.

“Be with you in a moment,” his voice echoed.

His attention never left the mirror image, his eyes focused upon his own face. Ferelith snorted a bit, rolling her eyes with a sigh as she glanced around for something else to keep her occupied. She allowed him a few more seconds before she grew impatient.

“Is there a reason you’re studying your own image?”

Gale turned, a smirk shot at her to acknowledge the teasing tone.

“Indulging in a spot of vanity. Handsome devil, aren’t I?” he spun around with a wave of his, causing the image to vanish. “Be that as it may.”

It slowly fizzled down to a few sparks. He folded his hands behind his back, very much in the estute sort of way she would have imagine. His brow lowered and she could feel the tone shifting to a more serious manner. Though, she felt she had enough of it that day.

“Ceremorphosis. What does it make you think of?”

“The tadpole,” she answered, knowing it was what he expected.

Still, he responded with utmost enthusiasm.

“Spot on,” he winked. “Day one: fever and memory loss. Day two: hallucinations and graying skin. Day three: hair loss and blood leaking from all orifices. Need I go on?”

“By all means,” she nodded.

“Day four: excruciating pain as the skeleton and organs reform and reposition. Day five: the host's personality has disappeared. Fingers, toes, and limbs elongate,” he became a bit aggravated as a small chuckle fell from her lips. “I take it you get the picture.”

“I’ve already committed to the lesson, Gale,” she grinned. “Might as well get my money’s worth.”

“Day six,” he lowered his brow, clearly not humored by her sarcasm, “The flesh around the mouth splits to make way for tentacles. Day seven: a mind flayer is born. This is the most annotated version, of course.”

“What you’re saying,” she shifted with crossed arms, “is that I can at least keep my sense of humor until the fifth day? I’d say we only have another night’s worth of laughs, Gale.”

“I’m glad your coping mechanism consists of deflecting the seriousness of this problem with jokes,” he replied.

“You’re no fun tonight,” she tilted her head to the side. “But no worries. We’re two days in. We should have clearly turned gray by now.”

“Spot on again,” he flicked a finger at her. “Orifices remain blissfully unbloodied. Our heads remain clear, and our blood temperature is normal. Any expert will agree: this is… abnormal.”

“Don’t question it so much,” she shrugged. “In all my existence, the only reason I owe my life to anything is because of the abnormal. I’m just lucky to be alive.”

“I’ll toast to that,” he smiled uneasily with a hint of intrigue. “The pragmatic in me, however, sees only the silence before the storm. Something to sleep on. We should get some rest.”

“Thank you for leaving me with that imagery,” she gave a slight nod. “I’m sure it will soothe me as I mediate tonight. Good night, Gale.”

“I’m only here to help,” he gave a half solute.

Ferelith grinned, waving her hand slightly to bid farewell as she retreated to her bedroll. They had acquired a few extra blankets. And she was lucky enough to procure an additional pillow. Leaning against her new luxurious cot was her pack, waiting patiently for her hands to dive into it. And standing directly across it from the fire, just as he was the night before, was Astarion. He seemed to be waiting as patiently as her pack.

“I saw you getting a lecture from our magical friend,” he said the moment she glanced in his direction.

“It was quite informative,” she took a break from straightening her blanket to address him. “Descriptive, at the very least.”

“I have to say,” he said leaning forward with narrowed eyes. “I thought you’d look worse. But no. Not a tentacle in sight.”

“Thank you?” she pulled back, turning a shoulder to him. “I’m hoping it will stay that way.”

“Naturally,” he rose a brow. “But I was thinking… what if it doesn’t?”

Ferelith had thought about what would happen if she did change. But the ever growing stubbornness inside her made her truly believe it would never happen. She was not willing to believe it. Nor was she willing to admit to anyone else that it was a possibility. He let the sentiment settle with her for a moment. Though he could see it had little impact. The blank stare with a slow blink signaled him to proceed.

“Of course,” he went on, tilting his chin to the side with a gleam in his eye, “first sign of change and I’ll have to stop that pretty little heart of yours.”

He almost seemed too excited at the thought of putting her down. Like a wild animal. She crossed her arms, as if to guard her chest from his stare. It did not matter, he could hear the sound of her pounding heart. And it had only grown louder from his statement.

“I am open to suggestions. Knives, poison, strangulation – whatever you’d prefer.”

“I’d prefer not to die,” she said dully.

“Well now you’re just being closed-minded,” he teased. “There are some lovely ways to go.”

“First I listen to Gale talk about the details of turning into a terrifying monster and now you’re telling me all the options I have in which you could kill me? Whoever said chivalry was dead must have no taste for macabre.”

“To be fair, you were the one that pushed the wizard to give those wonderful details. I am giving you these options as a gift.”

“I am ever so grateful. Do go on about the beautiful ways in which I can ensue death,” she opened her arms, flicking her wrists in a manner as if she were receiving the said gift he spoke of.

“You know, I watched urchins freeze to death on the street. It looks peaceful – just like falling asleep.”

“Very poetic… I wonder if drowning feels the same.”

“Ha!” his shoulders fell back as he lifted his head with laughter. “Oh, come on. Humor me. If you had to choose…”

“Fine,” she took a deep breath with a few seconds of thought. “I suppose a knife. Straight to the chest. That seems quick.”

“A classic,” he nodded with approval. “One good thrust to the heart and you’re gone. We need a good blade, of course. Don’t want to waste time hacking and prodding with a dinner half.”

It was the first time in a long time it had happened. The welling feeling in her chest. The tightening of her cheeks. The widening of the eyes. The burst of air from her mouths as her voice let out a loud series of rhythmic laughter. It caught her off guard. So much that she covered her mouth, leaning forward, and looking to Astarion with surprise. She rose her brows in disbelief that he had truly made her laugh.

“Well,” he said, leaning forward toward her like they were a couple of children cackling in school, “I’m getting ahead of myself. This is all a worst case scenario, obviously.”

“You’re terrible,” she giggled, lurching forward with one last tit of laughter. “What about you? Is there any way you’d like for me to end your life?”

“Oh, my dear,” he said with a condescending tone. “I’d like to see you try.”

Ferelith reared back, a bit offended that he held himself so much higher than herself. But she knew he was only testing her. Pushing her to see what sort of outcome he could obtain by doubting her strength.

“Dealer’s choice then,” she said firmly. “I’ll make sure it’s a lovely surprise.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll disappoint me,” it was meant to be a positive reinforcement, but the way he said it still made it sound more like a threat. “Now, enough of this talk. Let’s get some rest. The sooner we start tomorrow, the better our chances of keeping this hypothetical.”

“I take it you’re joining us to the tiefling camp, then?”

“Of course, darling,” he replied. “I’ll go wherever you lead.”

“I’d be careful with those words,” she said darkly. “You’ll never know what path I’ll lead you toward.”

“Even better.”

She shook her head at his advancements with a foolish smirk she could not hide. “Good night, Astarion.”

“Good night, Ferelith.”

************************************************************

The next day brought a heavy fog over the camp, dampening both their supplies and their spirits. Ferelith could smell the moisture in the air and knew it would lift as the sun rose. And sure enough, the moment they began to snack on their morning rations they could see a bit of orange illuminating the sky. Their pace quickened and they got to their feet, ready to begin to their journey into a new part of the forsaken land they had been thrown into. The human, the gith, and the two elves made their way out of camp, leaving Shadowheart to sulk to herself as they had agreed to take Lae’zel to question the tieflings and seek further assistance for themselves against her wishes. Though Ferelith had promised the temple would come soon, as she had an interest in what laid within it herself.

The path was quite clear to the camp. And Ferelith wondered how they had missed it so easily before. Or perhaps, they had been far too occupied with their troubles and each other to pay attention to path carved among the rocks. She kicked at the dirt, still a bit dry despite the wet morning, and looked up to the back of her companion who was the only one who managed to sustain any of the information the tieflings had given before. He stopped for a moment, glancing behind him to smile at her, then looking to the others.

“I think we should take a moment to really prepare ourselves for this camp,” he said with an overthought of wishful thinking. “Our main goal is information. We don’t want to overwhelm them.”

“It’ll be fine, Gale,” Ferelith stated, slinging her pack over her shoulder. “We’re only asking a few questions. Getting supplies. There won’t be enough time to do any real damage.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Gale whispered slightly to himself with a shrug. “I can think of a few things that could go wrong.”

She ignored him, rummaging through the items in her pack until she felt the cold texture of leather beneath her fingertips. Pulling them out, she gave them one good look before she turned Astarion.

“Here,” she handed him brown leather folded neatly to show the string tied at the top around the collar.

He took them, a bit disgruntled but willingly. Though he wasn’t sure what she expected him to do as she kept searching through the pack.

“Am I supposed to hold onto these?”

“Put them on,” she directed, otherwise paying no mind.

“Right now?” he dipped his head low as he questioned her, staring her in the eyes while waiting for her acknowledgment.

“Yes, right now,” she finally turned to look at him but only for a moment. “You’ve been wearing the same city clothes for days. You should put on some actual leather. One, because it’s more useful. And two, so you don’t look like a complete lost cause.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that last part because this is a very expensive doublet. And this blouse is of the finest threads in Baldur’s Gate.”

“I’m sure,” she grinned lovingly, looking back down into her pack.

Astarion tossed his new leather armor to the side to free his hands. He began to work on his doublet right away. It was already sliding down his arms when Ferelith looked up, catching the back of him in just his white shirt. He looked… nice. It almost made him feel more humble than he really was. Or at least, more approachable. His hands came up, his fingers loosening the collar. Still facing the rock, he pulled the shirt up and her eyes widened as he lifted it. His back flexed and his hands grasped the bottom of his shirt as he pulled it over. She swallowed… hard… as he turned around. What she had assumed was the doublet in all its puffed out glory… had been the actual thickness of the man’s chest. He was lean, but he far from frail. Seeing it off was a revelation and normally she would have felt annoyed at being so wrong about someone’s character. She inhaled a heavy dose of air, holding it for a few moments as she let her eyes wander. He shook the leather tunic out and she admired the muscle in his forearm tensing as he did. Slowly, she exhaled, observing him turn around with his arms raised trying to pull down the armor. She counted each curve of his abdomen with a small smile. Then, nodding with a bit of appreciation, she looked back down into her bag.

“Well, you certainly have no shame,” Gale nudged her.

“What?” she shrugged with a coy smile. “I’m in the wilderness. My eyes get hungry, too.”

“Careful. Some of the tastiest looking berries are the most poisonous.”

“Better than death by ceremorphosis.”

******************************************************

The back of Zevlor whisked away, his tail thrashed back and forth with irritation as he left. There was something about a tiefling that left an excitement behind for Ferelith. Like a small trail of flame. She breathed a heavy sigh, knowing that the flames would grow larger the longer she stared at them. After all, she had just witnessed them in battle. Turning to her comrades, she noticed a slight irritation within their faces.

“What are we messengers, now?” Astarion seemed particularly the worst.

Ferelith stepped close to him, too close for comfort. It made him shift backward, which is exactly what she wanted. He took several steps back just so she could hiss at him out of hearing range of anyone else. She kept her head down as she spoke.

“Listen, we keep all options open. There’s no agreeing. No disagreeing. If we’re stuck here, we best leave all doors open in case we need a way out. That means seeing what we can do about the druids.”

“Ah, I understand, now,” he said, his chest still out further than than his chin to keep her at bay. “This is the sort of thing we should have discussed before our arrival rather than my appearance.��

Ferelith blinked, her eyes gliding up toward him. “I didn’t expect you to complain in front of the whole sodding camp after watching one of them take an arrow to the chest.”

“Like it makes a difference? They’re all going to die anyway.”

Ferelith crossed her arms, her fingers tapping against her forearm. “If we’re not careful, we’ll die too.”

“Fine, fine,” he waved his hand.

“If you’re done,” Gale interrupted. “I believe there’s a merchant just down the hill.”

She gave him one last warning glance before she turned to the direction Gale was pointing. There was a small set up just on the edge of the camp beneath a stretch of a rock archway. It was a grand entrance, nothing at all comparable to a refugee camp. They followed the trail down, glancing further into it and noticing the make shift buildings and rails along the sides. They seemed misplaced to her. Even the shop they approached looked more like a scatter array of things more than any kind of marketplace.

“Refugees… adventurers. No one in years. And suddenly, we’re overwhelmed. Well me,” he greeted them begrudgingly. “Thank you for beating back those goblins. Most brave of you.”

“I do what I can,” she shrugged, not feeling quite worthy of his gratitude just yet.

“Is there anything you need? Act fast if you do. The ritual will be complete before too long.”

“I do,” she paused, observing Astarion round the display. “We’re a bit short on supplies. But we do have a bit of coin. Are they really locking down the grove? I was hoping to rely on the business here for a short time.”

“I know it’s drastic, but more monsters seem to terrorize this region every day.”

“And the tieflings?”

“We druids will be safe-”

The sound of the merchant drowned as she became distracted by Astarion looking through the array of weaponry. She watched as he ran his fingers over the blades along the table, glancing at her with a mischievous smirk. Her eyes shifted back to the vendor, trying to pay attention as best she could. But she kept wandering back to the rogue. He held up a knife, displaying it for her with a raised brow. She shook her head slightly. But he ignored her, giving the air a few jabs and shrugging, setting it back down with a frown. The next one he picked up, waving a hand down in it like it were a grand prize. She swallowed the lump forming to stop herself from bursting with laughter. It did not work and she was forced to clear her throat rather loudly.

“It sounds like these are dire times,” she blinked to regain her focus.

“You sound just like Khaga.”

“Are these the only weapons for sale?” Astarion interrupted, setting down the knife he was holding with a loud thud.

“These are the only ones I am selling,” he lowered his brow. “There’s a blacksmith further into the camp. Though I’m not sure he has much to offer.”

“Thank you,” Ferelith said loud enough to draw his attention back. “Here’s what I have for… oh, I think a few potions will do.”

“Of course.”

She passed Gale the bottles as they were handed to her who began to slip them into the back of her pack. Astarion had lost interest in the wares and moved back to Lae’zel who was impatiently waiting behind them. Her stare was into the gorge, examining the tieflings as if she were able to spot the one with the information she needed. Ferelith was certain she would have already caused chaos if they were not with her. As she turned around, she could hear Astarion grumbling into her ear.

“Things are about to get a lot more dire with those sad excuses for weapons.”

“You’re going to get us kicked out,” she said as she brushed by the two of them. “Let’s find the blacksmith. Find the lead. And get out.”

“Is the blacksmith necessary?” the gith rolled her eyes.

“Yes,” Ferelith said firmly. “I’ve only got two bolts for my crossbow. The ones Astarion found are useless.”

“I warned you,” he shrugged.

“A snapped bolt could have meant my death.”

“It wouldn’t have been my first attempt to kill you.”

“Nor the last,” she said over her shoulder as she trailed further down into the camp.

[star-spangledstud]

THE CURE KEEPER - two

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (female!)reader

Summary: Bucky doesn’t even like pool. The team gets back from their mission. 

Word count: 3100-ish. 

Warnings: none

A/N: I don’t have an upload schedule or anything, I just post whenever a new chapter is finished ;) I also don’t have anyone to proofread for me, so there might be a few mistakes here and there (of course I do my best to check my spelling/grammar). English isn’t my first language!

The Avengers Tower, New York City, USA. 13 May 2018, 3:23 a.m.

He doesn’t realize he’s shouting until he’s woken up by the sound of his voice spewing profanities and pleas in Russian hidden behind a thick, American accent. There’s heavy breathing to break the deafening silence of his room that causes his chest to rise and fall in irregular motions, and his fists are curled around damp sheets as if he���s afraid he’ll fall deep into the abyss if he lets go. He’s sweating profusely and his entire body trembles as he tries to remember where he is.

Bucky turns over in his bed, twitching eyes falling on the alarm clock on his nightstand. It’s nearing 4 am, which means it’s nowhere near a respectable time to be awake, but he can’t help it. Most of the events that occur within his dreams he can’t remember ever taking place, but he knows they’re real because he’s been told what kind of person he used to be. The things he used to do remain inside him as stories, narrated by the people that judge him for them. 

Bucky’s dreams are flashes of people donned in clothing from different periods of time and weapons of varying intricacy, one as dangerous and deadly as the other. He surely doesn’t remember the bow, but it was there in his hand, the rope tight against his cheekbone and ready to wreak havoc. He woke up moments before letting the arrow fly to its target, but didn’t need to see it. He knows even in his current state of fighting between sleep and being awake what the aftermath would look like.

He frantically searches for five items in his room to calm himself down, five random objects to help him shift his focus from the hellish images of people dying at his hands to tangible objects. It’s a trick he’s learned from Sam and although the guy gets on Bucky’s nerves, he has some good words of advice, because it works every time. 

Cream-colored curtains, dresser filled with clothing, dirty t-shirt on the floor, coat hanger on the doorknob, just one more.

When he’s calmed down his breathing enough to remember his name, he hears something that draws his attention. It’s strange, because for one, it’s the middle of the night, and two, everyone’s still gone. Everyone except for you and Bruce, who’s most likely sleeping in the lab. The sound, soft yet unmistakably clear to his overly sensitive ears, is that of a record player, which quietly elicits jazz music from its speakers. It sounds old, he can tell from the static and the poor quality of the recording, but it’s younger than he is because although he might recognize the artist’s name if you were to tell him, he surely doesn’t remember hearing this song before.

Lampshade. That’s it. Breathe. 

He’s up in an instant, covers swept carelessly to the side as he rises, and he doesn’t bother with fluffy socks to keep his feet from chilling against the hardwood floors or to keep himself from sliding across. He knows the sound is coming from you, because the wall that separates you from him is also the wall that separates him from you, and it's coming from the other side. The hallway is dark when he sets foot in it, but a small slither of light is coming in from underneath the crack beneath your door. That’s when he’s sure you’re the source of the sound. 

He knows you know it’s him who’s at your door because who the fuck else would it be, but he knocks anyway, waiting impatiently until he hears the unmistakable sound of feet clad in Adidas slippers shuffling to the door and you, yawning twice in a row, stand before him moments later. You’re not so silent now, but he decides to give you a break. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, and it’s not at all what he expected to come falling from your lips, ���did I wake you?”

A fuck you, or a what the hell are you doing at my door at 3 in the morning sounded more appropriate in his head, but an apology didn’t even make it near the top of the list of things he expected you to say to him. You notice he doesn’t respond, and once again have the urge to wave your hands in front of his face. He zones out a lot, you think. 

“No,” he says finally, peering into your bedroom in search of the music, “no, you didn’t.”

“Then what is it?” you ask, hands with red painted fingernails holding the door frame through which you peeked at him.

“The music,” he points out, “can I listen?” 

You frown for a moment, searching his face for emotion. Anger, maybe, because you’re convinced you woke him up after all, or laughter at your expense, but you find none in his words and you find nothing of the sorts on his sweaty face. You let go of the door and step aside, allowing him inside your room for the first time.

It’s nothing and everything he expected at the same time. It’s cozy. A plush, white rug comforts his cold feet, and several fluffy pillows are stacked on your bed, leaning against the headboard. Fairy lights are strung up on the wall and serve as the only source of illumination, the same light that flooded out from underneath the door. You don’t say anything when he sits down at the foot of your bed, hands clasped in his lap, and his eyes on the ground. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist, or Bruce Banner for that matter, to figure out something’s wrong with him. You’ve heard the screams. You know the stories, the myths that surround him. 

“It’s early 60′s Frank Sinatra,” you explain, “the next song is my favorite.”

“What’s it called?” He asks as silence between tunes fills the room, before soft drums queue the next song. 

“All I need is the girl,” you reply, smiling as you sat down next to him, “it’s underrated in my opinion.” 

He appreciates the fact that you don’t bring up his disheveled features, or the frown that seems permanently etched into his forehead. It’s not what he needs right now, a lecture, or words of advice. He needs distraction from what’s going on inside his mind and the one person who truly understands him is currently 5000 miles away fighting a battle Bucky himself wasn’t allowed to join. 

“I like it,” he replies, “it’s better than most of the music Tony’s been showing me.” 

Laughter erupts from deep within your chest. It’s a sound Bucky’s never truly listened to before, not even when you snicker next to him as Natasha’s secretly making funny faces at you during meetings that last for hours. It’s warm and makes his heart thump. It makes him feel human. 

“That’s because Tony only wants you to hear garbage,” you smile, “there’s plenty of good music nowadays, you just have to look for it.”

“I didn’t peg you for a jazz-enthusiast, Y/N.” He says bluntly. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, James.”

He doesn’t respond, because why would he? You’re right, he knows absolutely nothing about you, nothing other than your first name and that you like to read and can sneak up on people when they least expect it. This realization makes him get up, afraid to think he’s over-welcomed his stay just as the song comes to a soft end. 

You look tired, purple circles make your eyes less bright, and even though it appears you’re a night owl, he remembers even owls need to sleep sometimes, and so do you. 

“I’ll remember that,” he says, and with one last look back at you on the bed wearing pink pajamas with kitty cats on them, he leaves to return to his room, which suddenly doesn’t feel so homely anymore.

The Avengers Tower, New York City, USA. 15 May 2018, 11:10 a.m. 

After he’s done with his daily morning work out routine, Bucky Barnes heads back to his room to take a well-deserved shower. He hasn’t seen you in two days, which slightly worries him, although it’s not that hard to disappear in a building as large as the tower. You could be anywhere at any given time. Just because you share a room on the same floor, doesn’t mean that’s where you are. Besides, he’s had his fair share of keeping track of people’s whereabouts. He doesn’t want to do that anymore.

Despite this, he finds himself looking for you, keeping an ear out just in case you decide to once again sneak upon him. He wants to ask you if he can borrow the record you were playing earlier, but the question that’s been heavy on his tongue gets swallowed down his throat when he finally does see you again.

You’re seated on one of two wooden benches by the pond out back, legs dipped in shallow, murky water while you’re reading yet another book. He begins to wonder if that’s all you do because he can’t recall ever seeing you not holding at least one in your hands. You have red heart-shaped sunglasses on to shield your eyes from the sun, which brings its powerful rays down on your bare shoulders without mercy. You’re enjoying it, he can tell because you have a smile on your lips that’s so small he’s sure you don’t even realize you’re smiling. You enjoy the heat, it brings an airiness out in you that’s not there when it rains. 

He’s looking out the window now, praying to whatever god is listening to him that you don’t see him lurking in the shadows of the compound’s game room. 

After what feels like hours of eyeing you from across the yard, he turns back around, taking the pool cue between his fingers and twisting it mindlessly. He’s playing a game against himself, so he can’t lose. Still, he has a favorite side, the winning one of course. He doesn’t even like pool, even after three rounds of winning games he literally can’t lose, but he also doesn’t have any better ideas, so he begins to once again line up all the balls for a fourth round. 

“You winning yet?” 

He jumps, dropping the pool cue to the floor and three balls with it. They roll across the wooden floor, the sound so loud it reminds him of gunshots before all of them disappear from view.

“Jesus Christ,” he exclaims, placing his hands on the pool table to steady himself, “you scared me half to death.”

“I’m not Jesus, sorry,” You, looking up from your book, smile gently, “you were very concentrated.”

“I’m a bit of a sore loser,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck before picking up the wooden stick he lost moments ago, “even against myself.” 

You hum, before skipping past him to the bookshelves on the wall. You see him watching you intently, which causes you to turn around slightly so you can see his face.

“Glad I didn’t join you, then. I never lose.” 

He remains silent, wondering for a moment if you would’ve played with him had he asked. Probably not. 

“I read this one already,” you explain, motioning to the book in your hand, “twice, actually. It was better the first two times. I can’t get myself to finish it a third time. The ending’s too sad.”

The only plausible reason for the sudden increase in conversation on your part is that, well, you’re just as bored as he is staying alone in a house big enough to accommodate well over a hundred people, but that instead of playing a game of pool against yourself, you chose to read. Apparently, even reading gets boring to you, or maybe reading the books available to you has become boring. Bucky’s not sure.

“Would you mind putting this back for me?” You ask, holding the book in your hand out to him.

He sees the empty spot at the top of the shelf almost immediately and realizes quickly you’d never be able to reach it without a ladder or at least a chair. 

“Sure,” he mumbles, placing the pool cue on the table and walking towards you. 

“Steve usually does it for me,” you explain, “but he’s still gone.” 

His heart twitches slightly, and he’s not sure why. Jealousy, probably, but he refuses to give in to the idea of being jealous of his best friend just because he gets to be the one to help you reach for something so stupid as a book. He doesn’t even know you, and he sure as hell doesn’t know what type of friendship you have with Steve. He’s never studied your interactions before and he doesn’t keep tabs on his best friend’s acquaintances. 

He reluctantly takes it from you, lifting it by the spine with just two fingers as if it’ll crumble beneath his touch if he applies even the smallest amount of pressure. He puts it back without much effort, only required to stretch his body a little to reach the shelf. His shirt hardly rides up. 

“Can I have that one?” You ask, pointing in the general direction of the highest books. 

“Which one?” he replies, looking at the spines lined up in perfect alphabetical order. 

“The green one,” you say after some thought, “I’m not sure if I’ve read that one yet.” 

He picks it up and hands it to you, allowing you to quickly scan the back cover before shaking your head. You give it back, he puts it back on the shelf. This continues for quite some time until finally, he grabs one you surprisingly haven’t indulged in. You open it up on a random page, nodding to yourself when you indeed confirm the word patterns are foreign to your brain. It’s thick, the heaviest one out of all of them, there’s a large crack in the spine and the pages are frayed. The title, which was previously painted on in gold letters, faded so much Bucky can’t quite make out what it says. He wonders why on earth Tony has so many books anyway. The guy doesn’t even read. 

You don’t even say thanks as you begin to skip away from him, leaving Bucky wondering what the hell just happened before he realizes you’re out the door. Then, he glances at the pool table, a groan erupting from his throat when he realizes he’s lost at least three balls he now has the privilege of trying to find. It takes him nearly an hour.

You’re not sure what compelled you to seek him out in the first place. You were perfectly content sitting outside basking in the sunlight, enjoying the scent of fresh grass and blossoming flowers while frogs and birds made their presence known in their funny ways. As such, it takes you a while to realize you’re curious. Curious to know what the infamous Winter Soldier is really like. You’ve lived with the guy for months, but have never so much as spoken more than a few words at any given time and it bothers you because something is lingering just behind the facade that draws you in more than you’re willing to admit.

Maybe it’s because his hands tell stories that go further than any book you’ve ever read. Their actions could fill novels, yet he doesn’t know how to put a single word on paper because he doesn’t remember any of it. It fascinates you beyond comprehension. 

You tried to stay away from him because you know it’s what’s best for everybody, but the screaming and howling at night, and the depth of the ocean in his eyes spike your curiosity and suddenly you find yourself wandering the halls in search of him, wondering what a man like him could be up to on a beautiful day like this. 

You really did not expect him to be playing a game of pool against himself. 

The Avengers Tower, New York City, USA. 16 May 2018, 1:44 p.m.

A book is in your hand when the others finally make it back the following day. To everyone’s relief, none of them are seriously injured, but Natasha needs an x-ray to make sure she doesn’t have a cracked rib, and you find it in yourself to leave the book - a new one, with a bird on the cover this time - you were reading before they arrived behind just long enough for you to accompany her to the medical bay. 

Bucky hugs his best friend close to his chest, glad to see he’s made it back without any major injuries. He knows Steve has the same serum coursing through his veins that allows him to heal in a very short amount of time, but he can’t help but worry nonetheless. It’s in his nature to take care of him, just like he used to do when they were in the previous century. Habits die hard.

“What have you been up to?” Steve asks as they follow each other back inside the compound. 

“Not much,” Bucky says nonchalantly, “relaxing.” 

Steve raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. He knows Bucky doesn’t typically relax but chooses not to question his answer. Instead, Steve watches you skip gleefully after Natasha, telling her in grave detail how your last book, the one Bucky handed you, ended with a horrifying plot twist that left you shivering and shaken to your core. The redhead nods in your direction as Sam, who’s clearly not amused by your need for storytelling, uses his arm to support her weight. She’s intently listening to your expressive story, simply happy to be near you again because you offer normalcy in her crazy life.

It doesn’t take Bucky very long to realize Steve’s looking at you in the same way. Even Sam, whose teeth are gritted and whose lips are pursed in a tight line, has a twinkle in his eyes that Bucky’s never noticed before now. 

He realizes at that moment he can no longer push away his curiosity. There’s something buried deep inside him that’s nestled within his core, something that compels him to know more. He decides he’s going to ask Steve about you but closes his mouth the second he opens it because he knows now is not the right time for such questions. Steve’s tired, he can tell by the way his eyes droop and he’s dirty and smells like sweat and gunpowder, and Bucky can only imagine how badly his friend wants to take a shower. 

“What?” Steve asks with his eyebrow raised as he watches Bucky’s mouth move like that of a fish on land.

“Nothing,” Bucky says, “Just glad you guys are back.” 

“That bad, huh?” Steve jokes, punching him lightly in the shoulder. 

Bucky begins to follow him inside. 

“It’s been quiet, that’s all.” 

“Admit it pal,” Steve grins through his tiredness, “you’d be lost without us.” 

--

Taglist:

@justine-en​ @meghapillai

[zankivich]

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 4

a/n: hi I'm back! Please don’t hate me tbh. The semester is off to a crazy start for me already, I don't think Senior year is gonna go down without a fight. I’m really excited for these babies tbh. Shit’s about to get real so strap yourself in tight!!!!! 

WARNINGS: deep throating, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), restraints, general Dom-ness? 

*y/n’s point of view*

The only good thing about bougie ass dinners with industry people is playing dress up. Nothing else good could come out of a bunch of rich people throwing themselves a dinner to network and do a raffle for charity so that no one notices how pointless the dinner was. New York was notorious for them. More so than even LA maybe. But, however much you hated them wasn’t going to stop you from attending. It was important for the company that you go. You figured a little pampering session was the least that you deserved.

Somewhere along the line you stopped having to visit beauty shops with black plastic bags that contained your hair for the event. At some point a hair stylist started showing up at your apartment. You stopped paying in cash and started having Tiana pay the bill. Things had changed a lot actually. But the quality of your hair? Sis, that was a standard that must be improved upon and maintained.

One cannot imagine the power of a lacefront until it has adorned your head. Think Beyonce on stage with the jet of a thousand fans whooshing through her hair. Only without the networth or discography. Tonight you were going for something a little unorthodox, a little outside of your comfort zone. Purple to be exact. But not just any purple. It was this rich, vibrant shade of purple. The roots started out black which made it a little more natural looking and this beautiful wig was sitting at twenty-six inches long meaning you were finna be looking GWOOD. Yes with the ‘w’, too.

“Ooooooo child! Would you look at me?! Where did she come from looking so pretty? Sheesh!” You cackled at the mirror.

Tiana laughed right along with you as your stylist did some finishing touches to make sure your wig was glued for the rest of the night.

“If you’re done loving on yourself we gotta get you into your dress and make up in less than thirty minutes.”

“Oh shit, girl why didn’t you say somethin’?”

Tiana just rolled her eyes. She had said something. At least three times. Woops.

Your dress for the evening was one of those dresses that one didn’t get to eat meals in because any added weight might make the zipper burst. Usually you were a flowly type of gal, a fuck the patriarchy type of gal. But the dress was silk and free so like...just this once.

In the car to the event, you work on emails for your artists, while Tiana works on emails for you. You were probably moving in the direction of needing to hire more bodies, hell you knew your clients were pulling in enough work on their own, but it was hard to give up the duo, the dream team. You craved the intimacy of having your best friend with you always, and you weren’t ready to let anyone else invade that space yet.

“Can we leave this thing early and go get burger king or somethin’?” You whined leaning on her shoulder.

Tiana, never one to be out done, was in her own outfit for the night. It was a sparkly beaded dress with extremely intricate detailing on the bodice. She was thicker than even you were, boobs and ass and thighs galore with a tummy to match that she was just as proud of. All of this exquisite body was draped for the gods that night, the way that she deserved. Her hair remained natural for the night but tied up into these beautiful knots in a row of three on her head. She was beautiful and perfect. You loved her infinitely.

She snorted softly. “We have to stay until at least dessert has been served. But I see no reason not to hit up some food afterwards.”

“How tipsy can I be and still get away with it tonight?”

“Hmm...I think if you do more than four vodka-crans you might start asking people if their families owned slaves.”

You purse your lips in annoyance. “But that’s my favorite question! I never get to have fun. Shit.”

Post the whole hitting number one on Forbes 30 under 30 list, you had to start doing the whole red carpet thing. Cameras weren’t your favorite, and you liked the flash of them even less. However,  Black Women didn’t exactly get to the position you were in very often, and so you’d smile and pose a little if it meant some little black girl from queens sitting at home might see it and create the thought in her head that she could get there to. Cause she needed to. There needed to be more. It wasn’t even an option.

It’s on that red carpet that you see him. Why it had never occurred to you that he would be there you weren’t quite sure. But it didn’t. And you were left floundering in the middle of a million cameras as you witnessed your fuck buddy walk out in a deep maroon, red suit like the goddamn devil he was. You bit your lip as he ran his fingers through his hair and slid his hand into the pocket of his perfectly tight pants while he smoldered for the camera. Jesus.

“Bitch you are making dick sucking eyes in the middle of this red carpet! Get. It. Together.” Tianan hissed in your ear.

“I--I am so sorry. I’m together. Together. I promise.” You whispered.

You cleared your face, teeth resetting into your famous smile. Your fingers rested on your thigh and hip for that perfect pose. Maybe you settled your hair a little more over your shoulder. The photographers were impressed, as they should be, and called for a little more action. There’s no way you let your eyes roam over to see if he was staring. There was no need. You could feel the heat in which he stared, nearly felt the zipper on the back of your dress come undone with it. Hmmm. Sounds about right. Men, so obvious.

Eventually you turned to let Tiana lead you to the next section of carpet. Unfortunately there was nowhere else to turn. He was there. Hair perfectly nestled into a curly disarray. You didn’t miss the way he licked his lips as you walked closer. There’s no way the cameras missed it either.

“Y/n!” He called, the cocky asshole. “Let’s get a picture.”

Your eyes widened and you turned to Tiana for assistance, only for her to shrug.

“There’s technically no reason to say no.”

And that is how you found yourself in the middle of a red carpet, his fingers burning against your hip as you both smiled for the cameras.

“We are in public.” You hissed through clenched, but smiling, teeth. “Please act like it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of acting differently.” He grinned, fingers digging a little more firmer against your skin. “But uh, you taking this dress off in my apartment later or is that my job?”

You went to throw your hair over your shoulder again and took the time to subtly and smoothly ram your elbow into his side.

“Ouch. Dammit, y/n.”

You smiled. “I must be moving on. Have a lovely time, sweetheart.”

His eyes travel over your back and down to your ass as you walk away. Again, you don’t need to look to know it. You were a fucking dream.

The inside is just as schmoozy and annoying as ever. There’s some violin, harp type shit. There’s a cocktail hour. Half of the audience looks ready to keel over. And yet here your black ass was having to deal with it all. Rude. But like always you and Tiana made the most of it.

She led you through the throngs of people stopping you when it was necessary to shake hands and kiss cheeks. Tiana understood just as you did, that as annoying as it was, these nights were extremely necessary. The better you fit into the crowd here, the more leverage you had to buck the system in your daily job. And you loved bucking the system.

By the time the cocktail hour had ended you had all but forgotten about Shawn and that godforsaken suit. It isn’t until Tiana and you head for your table for the dinner that you catch sight of a head of hair that didn't look nearly as good as when your fingers were tugging at it. He’s leaning on the chair of some other woman, blonder and thinner and so your opposite that it must give the man whiplash. But that’s fine. It’s not like you’re exclusive, not like you’re dating at all. You don’t care at all.

There’s a glass of champagne in your hand and you keep your body turned entirely the opposite way of his, so as to not intrude on his conversation. Tiana gives you a little helpless smile as if she isn’t sure whether this means anything to your or not. But, it doesn’t.

“I’m fine.” You assure her hand reaching to touch her arm. “Now don’t let me drink more than six of these.”

“Four. We said four sis.” She snorted.

You shrugged your shoulder. “Ti, we gotta let loose every now and again. We deserve it.”

“It’s my job to make sure you don’t regret it in the morning.” She noted.

“Nah, fuck that. You work practically twenty-four, seven for me, Ti. I know we’re best friends but like...take the night off. Drink. Eat. Relax. Find someone to go home with. You deserve it, okay? I’m serious.”

Her playful grin dipped into a genuine smile. You were ride or dies for a reason.

She leaned closer and settled your hair more perfectly along your shoulder as a guise to whisper in your ear.

“It’s okay if it bothers you, ya know? Like you’re entitled to your emotions.” She breathed.

Your eyes widened over her shoulder as the only person in the world with the ability to catch you slipping caught your ass like a fish out of water.

“I--It doesn’t.” You mumbled. “I’m not bothered at all.”

“Okay. That’s okay too. I just want you to know that if there’s anyone in the world you could maybe share that with if you were feeling it, that that would be me okay?”

You smiled softly. “I know. I do. Thank you. I’ll be fine okay? Don’t worry about me.”

“So what...I’m just supposed to go to the bar? Get a drink?” She giggled.

“Yes, bitch. Get several, okay? Put it on my tab. Stop worrying about me. You worry more than my mama does and she worries enough for all of us.”

You pulled her easily into your arms for a hug and a kiss before swatting her on her ass to get her to leave. Behind every successful Black Woman is always another Black Woman itching to see her succeed. Well sometimes success needs to come with some time off. What better night to give her some?

The problem arose that once you sent Tiana off to live her best life, you were still stuck at a table with a whole bunch of people you didn’t know. Except for Shawn. Who you could definitely feel staring at you as you took a sip of champagne. You flicked your hair like an elegant curtain over your shoulder, still facing away from him. Perhaps you had forgotten the kind of guy that he was, that taking no’s or subtleties weren’t exactly in his wheelhouse. It was hot in the bedroom, and annoyingly inconvenient everywhere else.

“So are we just pretending we don’t know each other?” He asked throwing his arm around the back of your chair. “Just wanna know how I’m meant to play it.”

You rolled your eyes in the opposite of his direction.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just sitting here waiting for this unseasoned ass meal to begin.”

He chuckled. “You are about as subtle as a bus to the forehead. You realize that, right?”

Unable to ignore the emotion that fluttered in your stomach, something that was unnamable to you even then, you turned to face him. His chair was directly next to yours, his arm draped casually against the back of your chair with ease. His hair was still just as perfect, if not a little more tugged into submission from the last time you saw him. He was grinning at you and eyeing your lips even now. As if it was a game that you’d lost before you’d even knew you were playing.

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” You asked.

“I just couldn’t help but notice the glare you sent my way when I was talking to Natasha earlier.”

“Natasha.” You snorted. “Who the hell is Natasha?”

“Funny...She’s just an associate alright? Works for my dad.” He hummed, lips practically at your ear.

You barely sniffed in his direction.  “Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Mhm. And why do you feel so inclined to assure me of that huh? Or is that you being subtle?”

He rolled his eyes at you, a playful little smirk upon his lips. You didn’t like him. You didn’t like him one bit. He drove you crazy.

The chatter of the room dimmed slightly as the food finally began to arrive to the tables. Shawn didn’t move his arm from around your chair. In fact as the waiter began to doll out plates to your table, he leaned in even more, let his lips rest against your ear like there was no one in the room but the two of you.

“Doesn’t quite matter who I talk to does it? No one’s my good little girl like you.” He whispered.

Your eyes fluttered over to him before looking aimlessly anywhere else. Your champagne glass. The silverware. The old man across from you who looked like he was wearing a toupee from the 70’s. The party moved seamlessly around the two of you, but you couldn’t help but look for eyes that might be on you. Shawn didn’t seem the least bit interested in doing anything besides driving you mad. He never seemed to be worried about much of anything. You both envied it and were annoyed by it. It didn’t stop your legs from crossing tighter, or your spine from straightening now did it?

“Not tonight.” You sighed. “Not here.”

He released a hum that you’d only ever heard in the bedroom. It was one of disapproval, one of challenge. He hated when he didn’t get his way, and this was you denying him on the thing he wanted most in that very moment. You.

“After. My place isn’t far.”

The waiter finally got to the two of you placing your dishes before you. Something that resembled a dry ass piece of chicken lay stagnant on your plate, with some weird dots of something that looked like baby food. It was enough to get your mind back on track and enough to get you more centered and less dick crazy.

“I--I can’t. Tiana and I are going to Burger King.” You shrugged.

You could see his eyes widen from your periphery giving you the time to ask the waiter for another drink. You might need it.

“Burger King...Well fuck it let’s go to Burger King then.”

It was your turn to look at him, wide eyed and confused.

“I’m sorry? What part of what I just said made you think your pasty ass was invited to my Burger King expedition?”

“I just figured we should take some time to build up our strength for some late night activities is all.”

Genuinely, how did you end up here? Where was the camera? When was the joke going to reveal itself?

“Honestly you must have a script writer or something. There is no way that shit actually comes out of your brain and through your mouth.”

The table around you was having a conversation, but it just didn’t seem to matter. Nothing really cut through when the two of you were together. Whether he was annoying you or turning you on, Shawn seemed to take up all your senses. He did it with ease and with swagger. Sometimes you didn’t even hate him for it. Sometimes you wished you hated him more.

“Have you ever thought about how much easier both of your lives would be if you argued with me less and just let me make you happy more often?” He asked.

You peered at him looking for a sign of him joking, waiting for him to say something smart, something that would make you want to slap him. But he didn’t. He just stared as if he genuinely wanted an answer. And when the time came you were helpless but to give it to him.

“Is that...is that what you’re concerned with? Making me happy?” You asked.

He stared at you for a second, eyes wide and sincere, before his shoulders dropped and he shrugged away whatever moment there might have been.

“‘Course I am darlin’. I’m concerned with keeping us both happy if you know what I mean.”

You rolled your eyes and tried to focus on cutting through the food on your plate. It was barely edible. God you hated these dinners.

“There’s nothing wrong with talking to each other when we’re not naked, yn.” He mumbled between his own bites of dry chicken.

You shrugged your shoulders. “I know that.”

“Yea? So can I come to Burger King then?” He asked.

His jawline points to you and it is as infuriating as it is comforting. You’re not quite sure how he manages that. You just know that you don't quite hate each other. Never have. You actually had periods where you got along quite well. And perhaps that’s what made you the most nervous. This potential for the two of you to get along muddied up the waters slightly. What did that mean if you were two people who fucked and got along? What did it mean if you became friendly, became friends even? You weren’t sure, and it seemed like everything that the two of you might want to avoid. So definitely don’t invite him, right?

“W--Well… Fuck. I guess you can come. But if you at any point start fucking up the atmosphere, I will promptly drop your ass off at the subway.” You warned.

“Fine. It wouldn’t be the weirdest foreplay we’ve gotten up to anyway and you know it.”

“God, kill me now.”

***

When you told Tiana to go live her best life you weren’t quite sure what that meant. But, you knew it had not entailed bringing some random ass man on your friendship Burger King run! Granted he was sexy as hell, but like...not the point. And the fact that you showed up with Shawn tagging along was not to be mentioned, no matter how many eye rolls she sent in your direction. Rude.

“Can we go to your place tonight?” Shawn hummed moving your curtain of hair to tuck gently behind your ear.

You bit your lip, warm and fuzzy from your fifth glass of champagne, and stared at him.

“Mhm. How come though?”

“You sleep better when you’re not in new places. Not that my place is really new anymore, but you still sleep better at home.”

“H--How… How could you possibly know that?”

He shrugged. “You’re not invisible to the world just cause you think you are. I can see you.”

Your heart rate picked up in your chest. You stared at him harder trying to understand how it was possible for this man to do that. He seemed so young, so inexperienced (not in the bedroom of course). You had pegged him as man child, as someone completely out of touch with reality. How dare he see you for more than you had been ready to share. How dare he look deeper.

“I don’t even understand.” You mumbled. “What?”

“At my place you wake up before your alarm. Without fail, every morning. You’re an early bird as it is, but it’s literally like your body enters fight or flight mode or something. We don’t have to talk about it if it’s not what you want. Don’t get mad at me for noticing you though. I think we’re around each other a little bit too much for that now.”

His eyes are warm and gentle and his hand somehow ended up holding your wrist. Even his grasp in gentle. He’s not teasing you, or trying to make a joke. It’s just genuine. Simple. A moment between the two of you that might complicate things if you think hard enough. So, you don’t.

“Fine.” You huffed sliding down in your seat to lean your head on his shoulder. “You don’t like the lights off when you sleep though.”

He peers down at you from above this time, and you get a little stuck on the rosiness of his cheeks.

“Excuse me?” He raised an eyebrow. “We sleep with the lights off every time.”

You shake your head playfully. “At your place you always keep the bathroom light on. At mine? You always change your clothes in my closet and then you leave the light on and the door cracked.”

He goes silent for a while.

You thought maybe you’d touched on a nerve that you weren’t meant to. But, you weren’t sure how to backtrack or talk to him about it. He had touched a nerve for you after all. One that you weren’t quite ready to share. Even with him.

His eyes stayed on his fingers as he played with his rings. You felt calm resting there against his shoulder, watching him. You thought you could fall asleep that way.

“How come you never shut it off?”

You opened your eyes, cheek resting on his shoulder. “Hmm?”

“The light. You never shut it off. You let me keep it on. How come?”

“Cause it seemed like you wanted it, seemed like it made you comfortable. Why wouldn’t I let you do something that makes you happy. It wasn’t affecting me none.”

Another stretch of silence fills the back seat of the car. Tianna and her man giggle to each other. He’s cute. You wonder how long they’ll last. Tianna was the queen of random ass long lasting relationships. She could date someone for two years after meeting them at a bar. She was kind of infectious that way.  You thought that maybe keeping her working for you was stopping her from settling down, from moving on to a new phase in her life...She’d never admit it even if you asked.

“It’s just a thing with my mum.”

“What is?” You asked curiously popping back into the conversation.

“When I was a kid, she used to keep the light on at night so that I wouldn’t get scared. And when we moved out to California, away from Canada, our house was too big. My room was super far away from hers and so she would always keep it on so that I could come find her if I needed to. It’s silly but she’s back in Canada now, and when I go home to visit she still leaves it on. Guess I just got used to it.”

You felt warm against his side. Like maybe if he wrapped his arm around you you wouldn’t mind. Like maybe his lips could touch yours and it would be okay. And when he speaks you feel yourself relax and ease completely against his side. It’s not just the vulnerability. Part of it is the sound of his voice, soft and smooth against your ear. And part of it is his nerves, the way he twitches his fingers as if you might judge him. But you won’t. Couldn’t imagine it.

“That’s not silly.” You whispered against his neck. “That’s sweet. That’s what you deserve. We keep the light on, okay?”

He looked at you like he did at the dinner. Eyes soft and gentle and searching. It’s a loaded glance, but this time you don’t look away.

“Okay. thank you. And we can stay at yours whenever you know? I--I don’t mind.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Burger King is not prepared for the four of you to walk in at eleven o’clock at night, dressed to the tee and looking for food. But the second a chicken sandwich and an onion ring enter your hand nothing else matters. You are zen. You are in pleasure. You are in heaven. You are...horny?

“What in the hell is you lickin’ your lips at?” Tianna snorted as you two sat in a whole ass booth at burger king in five thousand dollar dresses. What a world.

Shawn was ordering you another chicken sandwhich after the first had not satisfied your hunger. But watching him stand at the register with his hands in his pockets, talking to the person ringing up their order was doing something for you that even you couldn’t explain.

“Ti’ I wanna suck his dick.” You admitted softly. “I wanna suck his dick so bad I can’t stand it.”

“Oh sweet jesus.”

You bit your lip as he turned to throw a smirk at you over his shoulder. That was all she wrote.

“I have to fuck him. Like now.” You shrugged. “ I don’t make the rules.”

“Bitch the hold that man’s dick has on you I will never understand. You cannot go fucking that boy in a Burger King bathroom. That is a level of ratchet-edy that I cannot allow as your best friend.”

You turned to your best friend in your time of need. Tianna had been there your whole life. From braces to training bras to stretch marks to breaks ups. She had seen you at your worst and at your best. And most certainly she had seen you at your horniest.

“Ti, here’s the thing. Sometimes I just need someone to rail me.” You offered in your loosened state. “Sometimes? I need to be bent over and taken for everything that I’ve got. Now I’m not picky about who does it as long as they do it well. The problem...and it is a very big problem, sis...is that no one has ever had the audacity to fuck me like that firm, chiseled little beanpole can.”

“Not beanpole, bitch.” She cackled.

You licked your lips in his direction and sighed the sigh of a woman who was in desperate need of dick. What a life.

“I’m serious. I think it’s the greatest, throw my back out and leave me crying , dick I’ve ever had.” You hummed. “I want him.”

“Well let’s get some more food in your drunk ass and then he can throw your back out a little later.”

It would never make sense to Tianna. It wasn’t that you were drunk at all. In fact, with some food in your system you felt pretty fine. It was just that you really liked the way that he made you feel. And he really liked the way that he made you feel. Shawn should’ve been selfish, should’ve been cocky and underwhelming and sucky in bed. But he wasn’t. He was just...good. He was good and whatever it was that the two of you had, you kind of liked it. What was wrong with that?

Tiana got up to go meet her mans, and when Shawn got back to the table, he set your food in front of you politely. Instead of focusing on the sandwich you looked up at him. And he looked back. His fingers gripped the back of your seat and you leaned forward until you were in each other’s space, until your chin butted softly against his stomach.

“What?” He chuckled fingers grazing your jaw.

Too soft. God he was so soft.

“Mmm. Want you to kiss me.”

His eyes widened slightly and his fingers stilled.

“You do? Right now?”

You nodded. “Please?”

He looked into your eyes and his teeth sunk gently into his bottom lip. Your lips parted and you leaned forward, your heart thumping unevenly in your chest. When he kissed you, you weren’t quite sure what to expect. You thought you’d grown used to his kiss, to the feel of his teeth and his tongue. But, nerves nestled deep in your gut as you weren’t sure what kind of kiss he might give you. When his fingers trailed along the back of your neck softly before gripping it tightly. Breath wooshed past your lips as he yanked you forward to kiss you hard, fast, and deep…in a Burger King.

You gasped lifting slightly out of your chair as his tongue snaked in. Your fingers found his hair and squeezed tight, squeezed desperately at everything that he was. Suddenly your whole body was on fire with want, with need. His hands burned at your hips and you fell into him. He knew exactly what the fuck he was doing. What he always did to you. God you hated him.

“Eat your chicken and let’s go.” He huffed barely pulling back to lick his lips.

Your eyes fluttered wantonly up at him. “W--What are we doing?”

“I’m gonna fuck this pretty little mouth of yours. And then I’m gonna eat your pussy until you sob.”

He tapped lightly on your cheek before turning on his heel and heading straight for the door. If there was a chicken sandwich or a meteor, or God herself in that damn restaurant you was not finna notice.

“Bitch where is you going?!” Tiana called after you.

But there was no use. You were practically floating on air after that man like the dirty little whore you were. Thank you.

“Gotta go.” You called over your shoulder not wanting to miss the way his ass looked in those pants.

Outside the cool fall air felt like ice against your heated skin. The city was still alive and bustling, cars weaving in and out of traffic, horns honking, people booking it to their next location. Shawn stood at the edge of the sidewalk near the car that had driven you from the event, but made no move to get into the vehicle. As you stepped closer, your thighs still practically quivering, he turned to you and smiled before licking his lips with dark and clouded eyes. Fuck.

“Why aren’t you getting in the car?” You whined.

He reached for your hand to pull you closer. One second you were standing beside him and the next he had lifted you just slightly off of the ground until the soles of your shoes were nestled on top of his. His hands settled just below the curve of your ass and tugged your thighs so that your bodies were pressed together. It was some Cinderella, prince charming shit that you had never in your natural born life expected. Suddenly you were feeling far more intoxicated than the drinks had ever caused.

“I didn’t wanna leave Tianna stranded, so I called my driver. He never left the banquet; he’ll be here in fifteen.”

You nodded softly fingers resting on his shoulders at he held you against him.

“Should we...like wait inside then?”

He shook his head with a smirk that made your toes clench.

“No. I’d rather tell you all the things I’m gonna do to you the second I get you alone. We don’t need to go inside for that.”

You gulped. Bitch, honest to god gulped. You didn’t know anyone but Shaggy and Scooby was walking around gulping, but alas. What a fucking night.

“What are you gonna do to me?” You whispered.

He sighed softly letting his thumb run over your cheek in soothing motions again. Then he wrapped his arms around your back and held you so close that may have felt like more than what it was had he not began to speak lowly into your ear.

“I’m gonna keep you in your panties all night.” He hummed. “I’m gonna eat you so good you’ll be aching for me to rip them off, but I won’t. I’m gonna lick you through them. I’m gonna make you cum against my face with them on. I’m gonna lick you clean with them on. I’m gonna drive you absolutely fucking wild if I can help it.”

You swore your knees gave out. But it didn’t matter because his fingers were digging deep into your hips to keep you upright. It wasn’t a sexual embrace. It was barely even romantic. This of course only made it hotter that he was talking to you in the manner that he was, that anyone might walk by at any moment and would have no idea the things he was saying it. You got wet just thinking about it.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” He asked. “Gonna let me make you feel good?”

“Y--Yes. Yes, sir. I promise I’ll be so good for you. Only wanna be good for you.”

“Yea? Gonna let me slip my cock between this pretty lips?”

His thumb tugged at your bottom lip and you moaned embarrassingly loud.

“Shit.”

He leaned forward to kiss your forehead another juxtaposition of emotions and actions that really were sending your body through the ringer. How was he real?

“I’m gonna fuck your throat until you beg me to stop.” He said calmly.

The car pulled up at that exact moment but you were frozen to your spot. Shawn was completely unbothered by the existential crisis that he’d left you in, and simply lifted your feet off of his to open the door. As if it was just a tuesday night or some shit. The audacity.

“Sweetheart let’s not keep Jake waiting, aye? It’s rude.” He murmured in regards to his driver.

Surely there had to be a level where this stopped. Surely, it was all getting to be too much. This man seemed to have you wrapped around his larged, perfectly skilled finger. Yes. Too much. Needs to stop. Like yesterday.

“Okay.” You sighed and shuffled your fine ass into the car.

Welp. Maybe another day.

***

“Are the ropes too tight?” He breathed against your neck, lips trailing delicately over the skin.

You hummed. “No. Feels good.”

“Color?”

“Green.”

“Good girl.”

He steps in front of you, his body long and lithe and taking up all of your senses. His thighs flex with ease and that’s before you even get to the sharp jut of hip that leads to a perfectly pointed V towards his dick. He’s already hard and already ready for you to make him feel good. Because that’s what it’s about. Mutual pleasure. You from giving and him from receiving, and within that giving you everything that you could ever ask for. Your thong is soaked just thinking about it.

“You’re not gonna be able to speak obviously, so I need you to tap me three times really quick if you want me to stop okay?” He asked eyes wide and sincere.

You nodded. “Okay.”

“No I’m serious. If it starts to hurt, I need you to stop me. If it start feels less than good at any point you tell me to back the fuck off. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Shawn, I understand.” You assured him.

He makes you practice it through the ropes around your wrist. Only once you’re comfortable and he’s comfortable does he step closer. Your wig now gone and in its place is your hair pulled tightly into a bun at the back of your head, there’s not much for him to grab onto. That doesn’t seem to bother Shawn in the slightest.. His fingers reach for your cheeks and jaw instead, gentle and playful at first and he tilts your head to the right angle for him. When his cock slips into his hand, and he lets the head rest between your lips, the sound that comes out of him is so tantalizing you nearly cum right there.

“So pretty for me, sweetheart.” He groaned. “Go ahead and get it wet.”

Your tongue laves at the thick fleshiness of his head. He won’t let you move closer to get more, won’t push forward at all yet, so all you can use is your tongue. Surprisingly you love the power that it gives you. The power of being in control of his pleasure from beneath him. It’s an intricate play at the power dynamics that the two of you constantly played with. But, you like it. You like it a lot. You let the tip of your tongue trace lazily at his slit and notice the way his eyes flutter close at the feeling.

“Fuck. Y/n, yes. That’s it.”

He steps a little closer and finally lets his dick slip between your lips. Your tongue continues running beneath the underside, fingers wrapping instinctively around one of his ankles to anchor you more to this moment, this pleasure. The second he gives you the leeway, you wrap your lips tightly around him and suck. You weren’t kidding back at Burger King, you were more than prepared.

“Goddamn, your fucking mouth. You’ll be the death of me you know that?”

You slurped a little nosily at the amount of his length that he had given you, wanting to show your enthusiasm as an answer to his question. He steps a little closer now, and fills you more.

His hands come to rest on your head, one directly on top, and the other at the bottom of your jaw. Your eyes finally lock and his lips fall open in lust as he lets his cock slap against your tongue.

“I’m gonna start to move now. I’m gonna give you more and more until my whole dick is in your mouth. You know our safety signal right?”

You nod eagerly. Desperately. He makes you practice the signal again just in case. Three taps for STOP. Two for slow down a little. One for I’m so happy with this.

The first time he puts his whole dick in your mouth it isn’t even the feel of him that makes your entire body pur. Instead it’s the sound of him whining, His legs tremble and his eyes flutter shut. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. And you want more of it. Crave it even. So you let him fill you. You let your throat relax and your tongue flatten. You breathe through your nose and you don’t dare move as he slowly begins to move his hips. It has its intended effect on him, but even more than that is the effect it has on you. Your pussy throbs indecently as his balls tap your chin. The rops tighten as you stretch to lean closer, to be closer. His mouth parts and he moans for you. It’s euphoria.

“Jesus. Your mouth feel so damn good.” He grunted.

His thrusts got tighter, more pointed until the sound of your dick between your lips was lewdy and filthy. You welcome the spit that dripped from your mouth, yearned for the way it made him gasp and plead for you. Was he in control? Maybe. But who was really steering the pleasure? You were. And you fucking loved every second of it.

When he pulls from your throat you gasp and cough for breath, but not without seeing the way the tip of his cock was red and angry and leaking. It flapped against your lips and glistened in the light of his bedroom. Even when you were still fighting to breathe, you couldn’t help but want to suck it again.

“I--I’m not gonna fucking last.” He huffed squeezing at the base to stave off his orgasm.

You couldn’t help but pout at the way he got to touch himself while your fingers were tied. Couldn’t stand that your lips weren’t on him anymore.

“Don’t need to. Don’t want you to.” You whined. “Come back to me.”

The look that he gives you is one of heat and lust and something that’s maybe a bit tender. He cups your jaw again and bites his lip like he’s conflicted. About what you haven’t got a clue. Before you can think too much he’s thrusting himself into you again, but this time with more power, more recklessness. It burns slightly at your throat. The sounds get louder, more dirty, and so does the way he cries out for you. It’s desperate and needy and so fucked out and GOD why won’t he touch your pussy yet?!

“‘M gonna cum. Gonna cum down your throat.”

Your fingers gripped desperately at his calf, mouth stretch wide beyond your limits and he gagged you repeatedly with his cock. The fight for air was long and hard, but the way he trembled on his fucking toes for you was everything. It was power and it was beauty and it just made you want to be good for him. You just needed to please him. Simply because you could. Better than anyone fucking else could.

He cums with his fingers wrapped tightly around the back of your skull holding you against his crotch as he emptied himself into your throat. When he pulls out his head taps your lip a final time and each of you groan for different reasons. You for the air that fills your lungs, and him for the orgasm that seems to rock him to his very core.

“Shit. Shit y/n. That was amazing.” He whined.

You smile softly with wet eyes and a wet lips and a bit of a sore throat.

“I know.” You hum.

He rolled his eyes playfully at you and moves to his bedside table for the bottle of water he left for you there. Shawn quickly dropped to his knees along side you and lifted the water bottle to your lips to let the cool water trickle down your throat.

“Are you okay?” He checked. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head. “No. Feel good. A little sore. But good.”

“Yea? Well you were amazing. You’re always amazing.”

It fills you with a lightbeam of happiness that is too much to deal with it. You felt like you were on cloud nine. It was one thing for you to know you were good, and another entirely for him to agree. Another thing entirely for him to praise you so endlessly and feverently. It made you feel so damn good.

He untied your wrists and rubbed his thumbs soothingly into your skin. His lips track down yours and it’s just as good as it was at Burger King, just as hunger filled and desperate.

“‘M gonna get you on the bed okay?” He mumbled against your mouth, still pressing heated kisses to your skin. “Your hands aren’t tied anymore so you can do whatever you want with them while I’m eating you out. You can tug on my hair. You can grab at me in whatever way you need. There’s just one thing you can’t do.”

“What’s that?”

“You can’t push me away. I’m gonna make you cum. You’re gonna want me to stop. But I won’t. And I need you to be good for me. I need you to take it. Okay?”

“O--Okay.” You sighed, thighs squeezing together again. “Okay. I’ll be good.”

He smiled and gripped your chin. “My good girl. Come.”

There is nothing like the feeling of him between your legs. His body is warm and hard and heavy. He roots you to the bed and makes you feel more present than ever. His lips and tongue are hot against your already flushed skin as he kisses and nibbles his way along your thighs and stomach. With your hands now free to roam as they please you can’t seem to get enough of him. The softness of his curls between your fingers. The bulge of muscle at his shoulder blades. The dip in the back of his spine. And the entire time he’s doing just what he promised. His tongue soaked at the fabric of your thong, pushing it against your clit with languid little strokes. If you thought that your underwear being in the way would make it less intense, you couldn't have been more wrong. The fabric was silk and it added another texture against your skin as he sucked and prodded at you. Not even fifteen minutes later and your legs had found their way around his back, toes nudging that divet in the small of it again.

“S--Shawn.” you whined pitifully. “Please. More.”

He peered up from between your thighs with the grin of the devil. His lips were already red and swollen. You simply needed more contact.

“I’ll give you more when I’m ready honey. Be good for me.” He cooed.

He sucks a mark into the jut of your lip and runs his tongue there to soothe the flesh before he dives back in.

It’s absolutely torturous. From the foreplay of his dick down your throat, to the absolute hell of his teeth on your thighs, you were buzzing. The need that seem to build and throb from your core was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. You’d never craved being touched, had never needed it this badly. But, here Shawn was constantly pulling emotions and feelings that no one had ever been capable of getting out of you.

He slurped loudly at your pussy through your thong, constantly flicking the fabric to tap anxiously at your clit. When your orgasm started to build, your fingers fisted into his hair, thighs clenched. You pushed closer to his mouth and cried out widely for him, for his tongue, for anything that meant he might take you over the edge. And over the edge you went.

“Fuck. Ohmygod--fuck yea!”

He let you grind your pussy against his face. Let you ride that high like you rode his mouth. And when the orgasm began to ebb and your clit throbbed again, he leaned onto his elbows and grabbed at your ass to pull you even closer against his face. He wasn’t done. He’d barely even fucking started.

“SHAWN!”

He tugged the thong out of the way and licked you clean, ran his tongue along every crevice and nerve ending. When he traces the very tip of your clit with the tip of his tongue your legs close like venice fly trap around his head. Your fingers thrust into his hair and you let out a moan that you would be embarrassed of in broad daylight. There’s just no way in hell he’s got you cumming again this fast.

He got up onto his knees, fingers digging deep into your thighs and wrestled you down onto his expensive ass bed. By the time he comes up for air, your legs were literally trembling and you heart soared so fast in your ears that it was all you could hear.

“This pussy was fucking made for me.” He grunted licking his lips. “Come here.”

“W--wait, I’m so sensitive.”

He paused, fingers still gripping you just tightly enough.

“Color?”

You bit your lip. “Green.”

“You’re sure?”

You nodded softly and leaned back onto your elbows as he made his way between your thighs once again. He tugged your thigh over his shoulder and settled onto his side to make himself more comfortable. Your eyes met from between your legs as he pressed a kiss to one of your pussy lips.

“You make me wait again and I’ll slap your ass so hard you won’t be able to sit tomorrow okay?” He murmured.

Your fingers reached instinctively for his hair now, tightening into the curls as you threw your head back in pleasure.

“Fuck. Okay. Okay, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Mmmm. Good girl.” He hummed against your core.

He starts to lick and suckle at you again ignoring the ways that your legs shake at this point. His hands are dancing on your thighs and gripping at the flesh so good it makes you squirm all the more. It really does just feel too good to be true. His tongue is like a sinful miracle and you’ve been fooling around long enough for him to know your body inside and out. From the way he bumps your clit with his nose, to the way his tongue traces around the skin in tight little circles. Every part of it feels infinitely special. When his fingers slip inside of you and curve towards the darkest part of your being, your hips start to flail again. He only smiles up at you in satisfaction.

“So sensitive for me. Wanna make you cum again. Can you cum for me sweetheart?”

Your back arched hips pushing closer and closer towards him as he filled you up and rubbed roughly at your gspot.

“Oh. Oh my god. Oh my god, Shawn! Please. Please make me cum.”

He pushed at the thigh that was over your shoulder and spread you further so that his fingers could do their magic. He rubbed deeper and deeper into you, fingers curving so that your body lost all control. This orgasm starts in your belly, warm and firey before it spread through every nerve ending. When you cum it’s like an eruption. Your screams reach new octaves. The squelching sound of Shawn’s plunging fingers meeting the thick, sticky liquid from your heat. It’s all too much. Too too much.

“HOLY FUCK!”

He pulled his fingers from within you and let your body drop back down to the bed spread. Your heart raced in your chest and your legs felt like jello. You could barely breathe and Shawn thought it was the funniest shit in the world. He peered down at you with hungry eyes and the cockiest fucking grin in the world and your pussy had the audacity to twitch again. What a whore.

He climbed onto your body, thighs bracketing either side of your torso. His dick was red and leaking again, your body literally shivering as he thrust lazily against your stomach.

“‘M gonna cum on your tits.” He whimpered fisting himself in his palm again. “Is that okay?”

He pumped at his shaft, curls flopping beautifully along his forehead with every thrust of his hips. Shawn was a dream. A sweaty, trembling dream that made your heart race and your toes curl. In the moment with his thighs tenses on either side of you, and his lips parted and swollen, denial was not an option. You ached for his pleasure, for his reward. You craved it.

“Yes. Yes!”

Your hands grasped at the flesh of your boobs lifting them to be pressed together. Your nipples stood erect and rock hard, and this only seemed to spur him on even more. The best part of Shawn’s position above you was the ability to watch him fall apart. Your dom, for all of his charisma and perfected authority, crumbled when he was near orgasm. It was in those few seconds that you got to see him in his most vulnerable state. Whiny and red faced and just as overwhelmed as you. And god did you love every second of it.

He shoved up on his knees and groaned so low that you felt it in your own chest. The head of his cock barely poked out from his fist as he fell over the finish line, cum spurting out in thick long ropes along your body. He gasped and heaved in elation hunching in on himself too. You reached without thinking to take his cock into your mouth, cleaning the last remnants of his orgasm with your tongue. When you pulled back with a nice plop for added measure, he collapsed beside you on the bed. Both of you were absolutely done for after a total of five orgasms split between the two of you. There was simply nothing else for you to give.

“F--Five minutes.” He gasped from beside you. “Five minutes and I’ll go get the washcloth.”

It seemed like a fair trade off. You couldn’t even feel your pussy to let him clean you up after all. What was another five minutes?

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[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Abelas’alas’en

Chapter 41 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3! A bit of a longer one, so only the first half is here; read the whole thing on AO3. 

A very conversation-heavy chapter here, with a hint of smut because Rynne can’t keep it in her damned pants.

*******************

Much later that night, Fenris lay gazing up at the canopy of the bed while Hawke’s slow and sleepy breaths ghosted across his chest. He’d spent the past couple of hours drifting in and out of a restless sort of slumber. Hazy, unfocused anxieties kept drifting across his mind like half-dead leaves on a sluggish autumn river, and he couldn’t quite tell if they were fragments of dreams, or pieces of his waking worries that refused to depart his half-conscious mind. 

One concern in particular kept rising to the front of his thoughts. And unlike his worries about Corypheus and the future and the anchor on his hand, this concern was one that he could address right now. 

He carefully disentangled himself from Hawke’s arm. She murmured a sleepy protest, and he kissed her temple to soothe her. “I’m going to the kitchen,” he whispered. “Should I bring you anything?”

She smiled, but didn’t open her eyes. “Next time,” she mumbled. A moment later, she was fast asleep again. 

He tucked the blankets around her naked body, then tiptoed over to the writing desk and scrawled a quick note to tell her where he’d gone in case she awoke more thoroughly. Then he slipped down the stairs and into the Great Hall.

As expected, the hall was empty but for a pair of guards and lit only by the torches on the walls – and by the spill of light emanating from the rotunda. 

Fenris padded silently to the rotunda, then paused in the doorway. Solas was exactly where Fenris had known he would be: standing tall on his scaffolding with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and a jar of paint in one hand. 

He was painting a new mural on the freshly-plastered wall, and Fenris quietly studied the charcoal outline of the scene. Then, slowly, he entered the rotunda and made his way toward the elven mage. 

Solas glanced at him briefly. “Fenris,” he said softly. “I’m surprised to find you awake.”

Fenris nodded a brief acknowledgement, then leaned against the nearest doorjamb and folded his arms. He watched Solas very carefully as he asked the question that had been nagging at his mind all afternoon and night.

“Are you a Sentinel?” Fenris said. 

Solas paused in his painting, then shot Fenris a thoughtful glance. “I am not a Sentinel, no. But I am curious to know what led you to ask such a question.” He dipped his brush in the jar once more, then continued to paint. “I would hope that your reasons for asking are based on deeper observations than my lack of hair.”

Fenris scowled briefly at this. “Your accent, for one,” he said. “I have never met another elf with an accent like yours, or such a fluent grasp of Elvhen. Aside from Abelas.”

Solas tilted his head quizzically. “You presume a shared history based on accent alone?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “A very unusual accent,” he pointed out. “But that is not all. Abelas considered the Dalish to be shadows. Pretenders in false vallaslin. But you he singled out. ‘Elvhen such as you’, he said, and you knew what he meant.”

“It is no secret that I am learned in the ways of ancient Elvhenan,” Solas said. He turned back to his mural. “Perhaps the Sentinel recognized our shared knowledge.”

“How would he know you have shared knowledge?” Fenris demanded. “He doesn’t know you.”

Solas was silent for a moment. When he looked at Fenris again, his eyebrows were tilted with sadness. “His name,” he said softly. “Abelas. It means ‘sorrow’.” He paused and dipped his brush in his jar, then continued to paint. “There is a word in Elvhen: abelas’alas’en. It means ‘world sadness’. A deep and melancholy wish to see a world that’s different from the one in which you find yourself.” He looked at Fenris once more. “It is a sorrow that hung heavy on his shoulders. It hangs heavy over many of us here. Perhaps that is the kindred wish that he saw in me.”

Fenris frowned. “Why do you wish the world was different?”

Solas shot him an odd look. “Is it truly so strange a wish? When you first escaped Tevinter, you told me that you wanted change not in yourself, but in the world around you. I mean only to say that I know such desire.” He turned back to his mural. “Corypheus and the orb, the chaos of the Breach, Grey Wardens and Templars… There is much in this world that inspires sorrow and a wish for change.”

Fenris pursed his lips. Solas wasn’t wrong about that. If it was possible to change things – the political structure of Tevinter, the way Fenris and every other elf were dominated by humans, everything that had conspired to throw him and Hawke into this incessant ocean of danger… 

There was much in the world that needed changing, to be certain. Yet Solas’s answer left him unsatisfied.

He frowned and watched Solas painting for a time. Then he launched into his next argument. “Hawke says your magic is different in quality than any magic she has ever seen before.”

“I expect that is so,” Solas said. “Magic learned directly in the Fade must be very different from magic taught in a leashed and lessened form through the Chantry.”

Fenris frowned. Magic should be leashed and lessened for the sake of safety. But that wasn’t the argument at hand right now. 

He forced himself to stay on point. “Merrill and Dorian didn’t learn to magic through the Chantry,” he said shrewdly. “Hawke says your magic is different even from theirs.”

“They have not trod the pathways of the Fade,” Solas calmly said. “They have not walked its winding trails and seen the wisdom it provides. They are not somniari, as you and Dorian would say.” He glanced briefly at Fenris once more. “You will recall that I discouraged Hawke from learning the art of dreamwalking.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Fenris said quietly. As though he could ever forget Hawke’s desperate hope to contact Carver in the Fade.

Solas nodded once. “If not for Hawke’s… dangerous but understandable motives, I would have taught her what I know,” he said softly. “Your wife is an excellent student of magic.”

I know she is, Fenris thought. Then he shot Solas a suspicious look. Solas’s manner was calm and forthcoming, but Fenris still somehow felt as though he was being manipulated. 

“That is your answer, then?” he said skeptically. “Your magic is different from the others because you learned it directly in the Fade?”

“Remember that the Fade is governed by completely different rules – or rather, by no hard rules at all,” Solas said. “Nothing there is quite the same as it is in this world. The nature of my magic reflects that difference.”

Fenris folded his arms. “And you claim that Hawke could learn to be like you if she – if you – she could perform magic like yours, if she were taught?”

“She could, yes,” Solas said.

“So she too could learn to phase across the Fade?” Fenris said swiftly.

Solas glanced sharply at him, and Fenris straightened. A reaction at last, he thought with a combination of anger and relief. 

He took an aggressive step toward Solas’s scaffolding. “I know about your phasing,” he accused. “Dorian told us you are able to skate along the edge of the Fade in a manner similar to Cole and me, and those Sentinels. Why did you hide that?”

Solas frowned. “It was not my intent to hide it from you. It was my intent to hide it from every other mage.”

Fenris scowled. He didn’t like the way Solas had phrased that, making it sound like Fenris was one of the mages.

Solas, meanwhile, was still blithely talking. “Consider the implications,” he said. “If all mages could skim the threshold of the Fade, it would require barely an effort to take it further. To push through the delicate border of the Veil and into the Fade directly. You know firsthand how dangerous that would be – both for the people of this world, and for the denizens of the Fade.”

“But not for you,” Fenris said in an accusatory manner.

“Not for me, no,” Solas said mildly. “Nor for Cole, for whom the Fade is his home.”

“And for me?” Fenris said archly.

Solas tilted his head and gave Fenris an appraising look. “I believe we are in little danger of you abusing that power. Your ability to handle the power bestowed upon you is among your greatest strengths… which leads me to my next question.” Solas lowered his jar and brush and turned to face Fenris directly. “What will you do with the power of the Well once Corypheus is dead?”

Fenris recoiled slightly. “What?” he said. He was starting to feel unbalanced by the twists of this conversation, and he wasn’t quite sure why the topic had shifted from Solas to himself. 

“The Vir’Abelasan,” Solas said. “Its power and wisdom are now yours, by means of Morrigan. What will you do with that power?”

Fenris gazed at him dumbly. Truthfully, he hadn’t considered the Well’s knowledge as belonging to him at all. Morrigan was the one who held its insidious secrets in her mind; Fenris was worried about the Well’s cursed contents as a power that belonged to her, not to him. 

“I had not thought about it,” he finally said. 

Solas’s eyebrows creased slightly. “Yet the humans are already asking you to answer. Will you restore the Chantry? Destroy the Chantry?”

Fenris licked his dry lips. “I…” Almost immediately, he trailed off as a terrible truth struck him.

This decision was what he had to look forward to once Corypheus was dead: a decision about the fate of the Chantry. But the Inquisition was not directly associated with the Chantry. Kaffas, they were not even directly associated with one particular nation. Well, they were linked with Orlais, but that was an alliance for the greater good. How could the Inquisition – how could Fenris – be expected to make a choice about the fate of the entire Chantry?

“That should not be my decision alone,” he said finally. “Nothing so momentous should be the decision of one person alone. I will… Hawke will help me decide. And Cassandra. And our advisors.”

Solas shook his head ruefully. “You think to share your power, to avoid the temptation to misuse it. A noble sentiment, but ultimately a mistake. While one selfless man may walk away from the lure of power’s corruption, no group has ever done so.”

Fenris scowled. “You, Hawke and Fiona have not been doing badly with the mages here. Or are you seeking a demotion?”

Solas studied him quietly for a moment, and the look on his face continued to melt into sadness. “You have great faith the counsel of your companions,” he murmured.

“Yes,” Fenris said belligerently. “Some more than others, but yes.”

Solas sighed and looked at his unfinished mural. “I know that mistake well enough to carve the angles of her face from memory,” he said softly.

Fenris narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “‘Her’? ‘Her’ who?”

Solas looked at him once more. “A figure of speech.”

Fenris gave him a hard stare, but Solas steadily returned his gaze for a long moment before picking up his paint and brush and turning back to his mural.

Fenris watched the elven mage carry out a few more brushstrokes, then folded his arms again. “So you deny that you are a Sentinel.”

Solas nodded. “I am not a Sentinel.”

“And you are not… an ancient elven spy,” Fenris hazarded.

“I am not, no,” Solas said. He shot Fenris a brief, sad smile. “If only every life could be so easily summated.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow, and as Solas turned his attention back to the mural, Fenris continued to watch him mistrustfully. Something about this entire exchange was throwing Fenris off, but he couldn’t put his finger on the problem. It irked him that he was the one who seemed to be coming out worse for wear from this… What was this intended to be, in fact? A conversation? A confrontation? An interrogation, even?

Then Solas’s calm voice broke his buzzing thoughts. “You are welcome to remain and watch, though I would advise you to sit,” he said. “I will be working here for the rest of the night.”

Fenris didn’t reply, and he didn’t sit. He watched Solas silently for some time as the mural emerged from his practiced brushstrokes. 

Finally he spoke again. “There was something else that Abelas said. He called my… the lyrium marks ‘a form of the true vallaslin’. What did he mean by that?”

Solas was silent for a moment as he finished a section of the mural. “What do you know about the ritual that placed those markings on your body?”

Fenris leaned slowly against the wall. “Danarius found the method in an ancient treatise. He liked to boast that he was the only one clever and skilled enough to master it.”

Solas carefully dipped his brush in his jar of paint. “I have long suspected that your markings were a form of vallaslin. A form that has been modified to control its wearer, unfortunately,” he added with a respectful nod. “What you say is consistent with what I have learned in the Fade. That is likely all that Abelas meant: that the… practice of vallaslin dates back to the times of Arlathan.”

“Then it seems that the vallaslin are something the Dalish remembered correctly,” Fenris said somewhat acidly. Then he paused in confusion. Why was he defending the Dalish to Solas? Fenris didn’t particularly like the Dalish, either.

Solas frowned. “As a matter of fact–” He cut himself off abruptly, then turned back to the wall.

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Nothing,” Solas said. “It is… of little consequence now.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. Solas’s brushstrokes were slightly more brisk than they’d been just a moment ago. 

“Speak, Solas,” he commanded. He wasn’t about to let Solas off the hook, not now that he was being cagey.

Solas clenched his jaw and finished a few more strokes, then turned to face Fenris. “There is… something I have been reluctant to reveal to you,” he said. “Something I learned during my journeys in the Fade. I learned what the vallaslin truly mean.”

Fenris frowned. He didn’t like the apology in Solas’s face. “What?” he demanded. “What do they mean?”

“They are slave markings,” Solas said quietly. “Or at least they were in the time of ancient Arlathan.”

Fenris stared at him. A creeping sense of the surreal was encroaching on his mind, the same sort of dizzying strangeness that nagged his mind when he thought too hard about the sheer existence of the Sentinels, and it took a long minute before he was able to speak again. 

He took a deep breath. “You mean to say… the ancient elves kept slaves. They… they enslaved other elves?”

“That is the case, yes,” Solas said. His expression was growing sadder by the moment. “A noble would mark his slaves to honour the god he worshipped. After Arlathan fell, the Dalish forgot.”

Fenris gazed at him in silence, struck dumb by the awful revelation. For centuries the Dalish had tattooed their faces to mark their elven identity. They had worn those tattoos proudly to show themselves as the ‘true’ elves, elevated above their city-born counterparts. And all this time, those tattoos were just another mark of the exact institution the Dalish sought to divorce themselves from?

A terrible, mirthless laugh burst from Fenris’s lips, and he ran a hand through his hair. “Kaffas. Venhedis fasta vass.” He began to pace restlessly. 

Solas lowered his jar and brush. “Fenris–”

Fenris cut him off. “So I am forever marked as a slave. Both in modern and ancient times. That is…” He laughed again, but the sound was more snarl than mirth. “I should find a glass of wine to wash this down before the irony chokes me.”

Solas rested his fingers on the bannister of the scaffolding. “I am sorry. Truly,” he said. “I would not have told you this if not for your enquiring mind.”

Fenris spun toward him. “You are blaming me for this?”

“Not at all,” Solas said. “In fact, I commend you for your questions. You and I have not always seen things through the same eyes, but… you have surprised me.” He tilted his head. “Neither you nor Hawke have been what I expected.”

“How thrilling to know we’ve subverted your expectations,” Fenris snarled.

Solas lifted his chin and gave Fenris an appraising look. “You are not a slave, Fenris.”

“I know that,” he snapped.

“I know you do. Never forget it,” Solas said. “Those markings on your skin have shaped you, but they do not define what you are.”

Fenris glared at him. Did Solas think he didn’t know this already? That he hadn’t spent years fighting his own metaphorical shackles to get where he was today?

He turned away and stared unseeingly at one of Solas’s finished murals. Then Solas spoke again in a quiet, calm tone. “If you have further questions, I would be happy to talk some more.”

Fenris swallowed hard, then glanced at him. “No. I… this has been… It is enough. I will take my leave.”

Solas nodded politely. “Goodnight, Fenris.”

Fenris nodded tersely in return, then left the rotunda and returned to his and Hawke’s quarters. 

Hawke was still asleep. Fenris prowled quietly around the bedroom for a few minutes to calm himself, then slid gingerly into the bed.

Hawke rolled over and curled up against him, and Fenris quietly inhaled the sleepy sandalwood scent of her hair. A moment later, she lifted her head. “What’s wrong?” she whispered. 

He wilted slightly. He hadn’t wanted to worry her in the middle of the night. “What makes you think anything is wrong?” he murmured.

“You’re so stiff,” she said. “And not in a fun way.” She ran a hand along his arm. “What happened? Did you find weevils in your toast?”

Her tone was jocular, but her eyebrows were tilted with concern. Fenris sighed and sat up against the head of the bed. “I need you to speak to Solas in the morning,” he said.

“To Solas?” she said in surprise. “About what?”

“About his behaviour in the Arbour Wilds,” Fenris said. “I attempted to confront him–”

“Confront him?” she said.

“Yes,” Fenris said. He frowned at her. “You can’t deny he was behaving suspiciously today. Contradicting himself at every turn, acting as though he couldn’t decide whether to lecture us or silence us? It was strange, Hawke. You know it was.”

She dropped her gaze and nibbled the inside of her cheek, and Fenris watched with a pang as the dreaded worry bled across her face. 

She settled against his side. “Well, what did he say when you confronted him?”

“Nothing that… assuaged my concerns,” he said. The ugly truth of the vallaslin rose to his mind again, but he pushed it aside for now. That was definitely a conversation for the morning, not for now 

“Do you think he lied to you?” Hawke whispered.

“That is what frustrates me the most. I don’t believe he did,” Fenris said. “But he is also… There is something more going on.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Nobody is that calm when faced with such probing questions.”

“Varric is,” Hawke said.

Fenris scoffed. “Varric is a practiced storyteller. He spins tales for a living. He thrives in the face of probing questions. Solas, on the other hand…” He shook his head slowly. “I don’t believe he is lying per se. But he is not telling us everything, either.” He looked at her. “That is why I need you to talk to him.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why me?”

“Because I trust you,” Fenris said. “And he is fond of you. Perhaps he’ll be more forthcoming with you.”

Hawke suddenly propped herself up and looked him in the eye. “Fenris, you aren’t really jealous of him, are you?”

Fenris stared at her in surprise. Her face was very serious. “Why would you ask that?”

“The comments you made in the Arbour Wilds. About me flirting with him,” she said. She gently stroked his chin. “You… you don’t really think–?”

“No,” Fenris said hastily. “No, of course not.” The very thought of Hawke straying was laughable. 

“Good,” she said. “Because that would be gross. He’s like my father.” She settled against Fenris’s side once more and wrapped her arm around his waist.

That’s what I’m afraid of, Fenris thought. Hawke’s closeness with Solas was a threat, but not for petty reasons of jealousy. No matter what Solas said, there was something deeper going on, something ineffable that danced at the edge of Fenris’s comprehension. And if Fenris was being truthful, he was scared. 

Scared of how it would affect Hawke, if yet another of her close friends` turned out to have some dark and devastating secret. 

Anders’s tragic face crossed his mind, and he frowned into the darkness. Then Hawke spoke again, and her words were so closely aligned with Fenris’s thoughts that it was uncanny. “You don’t think he’s got top-secret plans to blow up Skyhold or something, do you?” 

He had better not, Fenris thought threateningly. But he didn’t say this. Instead, he stroked Hawke’s arm. “No,” he murmured. “Blow up an ancient elven fortress? He would see that as a colossal waste of history and memories.”

“I suppose,” Hawke said. “Preserve the elven glory and all that.”

“Mm,” Fenris murmured. He continued to stroke her arm slowly, and as the warmth of her naked skin seeped through his tunic and into his side, he finally felt himself starting to relax. 

Her soft voice broke the silence once more. “Speaking of elven glory…” She shifted closer and slid her leg over his, then tilted her chin up and kissed his neck. 

He smiled chidingly and squeezed her arm. “Hawke…”

“Yes?” she said coyly. She pressed her groin against his thigh. 

He squeezed her arm once more, then kissed her forehead. “Not now,” he murmured. Sex might be her preferred way of de-stressing in the face of a new problem, but now that he was back in bed with her, his exhaustion was creeping in on him. 

She chuckled, then kissed his throat once more before shifting slightly away from him. “All right, hands off the handsome elf,” she whispered. “But you don’t mind if I, you know, look after my own business, do you?” 

He shook his head and shuffled down into the covers. “Not at all.” He yawned, then tucked his arm beneath his head and closed his eyes. 

She settled under the blankets beside him. A minute later, he felt the mattress shift slightly, and Hawke released a long, soft breath. 

Fenris opened his eyes, then turned his head to look at her. The light of the moon was casting a feeble ivory glow across her features, and Fenris studied her closed eyes and her parted lips as her left hand moved between her legs.

He watched her quietly for a moment longer, his half-asleep eyes taking in the rise and fall of her collarbones and the taut tendon in her neck as she drew out her own pleasure. Then he rolled lazily onto his side to face her. 

He smoothed his palm over her breast. She gasped and arched her spine, then let out a little moan as he slipped his hand beneath the blankets. “Y-you don’t have to…” she breathed. 

“I want to,” he mumbled. His semi-stiffened cock was pulsing between his legs, but his fatigue was too strong and his limbs too heavy. Hawke’s pleasure was imminent, however, and at least Fenris could share in that.

He slid one finger smoothly through her folds, and she pressed her hips toward his hand. She was wet already and the bud of her pleasure was swollen and ripe, and within the space of a minute, Fenris’s gently stroking finger coaxed a cry of ecstasy from her throat. 

She grasped his wrist. “Fenris,” she gasped.

He didn’t reply. His body was a pleasant buzz of vicarious pleasure, but his heavy eyelids had fallen shut, and he had to force his waning wakefulness to remain. 

He angled his wrist and pressed two fingers inside of her, and she cried out once more and bucked her hips to take his fingers deeper. A few minutes later, minutes during which Hawke’s gasping breaths and rocking hips fought valiantly for attention against the gentle darkness of Fenris’s dreams, she pulled his hand away from the apex of her thighs. 

She brought his hand up to her mouth and sucked his fingers clean, and Fenris’s eyes popped open for a surprised moment. She was gazing at him, and her expression was a breathtaking mixture of satisfaction and desire and tenderness – all the things he most liked seeing in her beautiful treasured face. 

“I love you,” she panted. “I love you so much, Fenris. More than anything.”

He smiled faintly. “As I love you,” he murmured. 

She rolled close to him and kissed him, and Fenris sleepily noted the musky flavour of her pleasure on her lips before she chastely tucked her head beneath his chin. He lazily draped his arm over her, and in a matter of seconds, he finally fell asleep.

Read the rest on AO3.

[ask-the-guiding-light-cast]

Guiding Light turns two years old today!

It’s crazy to think this all began only a couple of years back... and also hilarious it falls on the same day as “International Mystery Dungeon Day” over on Twitter. More after the cut. This is gonna be a long one, so I appreciate anyone willing to read this. ^^

For a long time, I had been a casual consumer of fan fics. It started in the late 2000s when I was in a Spyro craze thanks to the more story-driven Legend of Spyro trilogy. I had an itch that I needed scratched and FFN fulfilled that to some extent. I also looked at some Mario fics, including Paper Mario: The Temple of the Sun, which I greatly enjoyed and thought did a good job adapting the formula that made Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door so beloved and putting a unique spin on things.

But it was until the early 2010s that I actually started getting back into Pokémon games with Gen V. After Emerald, I fell out of touch with Pokémon for a time. When Gen VI came around, I dipped my toe into the fandom through Twitch livestreams, but also through reading a few anime-based fics that are very long and still going, even now. 

At the same time, I ended up buying PMD: Explorers of Sky... and damaged my cartridge before I could properly finish the game with my Vulpix/Riolu team. So, I watched cutscenes for what I missed on YouTube, then got Gates to Infinity and, later, Super Mystery Dungeon and had fun with both of them... though more for the stories and characters than the actual gameplay. Truth be told, I don’t care much for roguelikes at all.

It was during the gap in time between Super’s release and the first official footage of Sun & Moon in mid-2016 that I found myself hit with a recurring thought: “What if someone made a PMD story where the hero and the partner are forced to fight one another with the fate of the world at stake?” I wound up (loosely) brainstorming an idea for a PMD story revolving around an antagonistic Hoopa character who would use its ring portals to collect entire communities, including the Pokémon living in them... all so that he would never be bored. This would lead him to “collect” the partner to add to his “toys,” so when the hero shows up, he’d sic the partner on them.

But that was as far as I got with the idea. I ended up graduating college and took a job with late evening hours. It left me pretty tired and exhausted and unmotivated to do much of anything. I withdrew from the parts of the Pokémon community I was involved in.

Then the Generation VII games came out and, while divisive in the fandom, I found myself really liking some of the concepts. There were so many times when I thought, “Gee, I wonder what this would be like if it were in a PMD game?” For example, one of the ideas I had was a sort of edgy rival rescue team akin to Gladion, which would have a Midnight Lycanroc, a Zoroark, and a Type: Null character in it.

So, toward the end of 2016 and early 2017, I started creating an idea for a Choose Your Own Adventure story with the intent of putting it on this really small forum I was a part of. It would be a Gen VII-themed PMD story, but because I didn’t think that sounded interesting enough, I decided that, not only would the human keep their memories, but they would be from the real world and be a major Pokémon nerd. The idea was that the choices the readers made would affect the relationship between the human and partner. I even came up with a point system. The more points the readers earned for their choices, the “closer” the relationship the hero and partner would have and the happier an ending the story would get. If the hero and partner couldn’t stand each other, one of them would likely end up working with the bad guy and winning. If they became steadfast friends, they’d work together to save the world.

Unfortunately, the forum shut down before I got too far into planning it, so I shelved the idea and continued focusing on my job. And things stayed that way for several months, until I ended up getting into med school and scrambling to move.

During the downtime I had when I wasn’t doing moving related stuff, I decided to look at FFN again and found Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Defenders of Warmth. I wound up reading through the entirety of the story quite quickly. I guess you could say it sparked something in my head. The fic itself focuses on what, at the time, was the newest Gen (Gen V). It also has multiple humans and is set on a continent separate from the canon locations (which were just the Air and Grass Continents, since Gates and Super didn’t exist when the fic was written). In short, it renewed my desire to pursue my idea of a Gen VII-flavored PMD story.

So, I set about creating my story outline. It is so... so much different from the actual story, though I’ve gone into that in previous posts (search for #amby answers). Originally, I used Mario & Luigi: Partners in Time as the framework for the fic: an alien invasion in a colorful, comedic world. I took more specific cues, too. Zero was meant to be a (mostly) silent antagonist a la Princess Shroob, for example.

The problem was, I really didn’t have much confidence in myself or my abilities. I’d like to say I was writing for myself, but I really did want validation, too. I think any author is lying to themselves if they say they don’t feel this way at some point. Because of this, I figured if I put the fic on FFN, it would get ignored. The site’s huge! There were, at the time, around 85k fics in the Pokémon section alone. (That number’s since gone up to over 90k!)

Given I had experience with forums, I decided to post it to Serebii, because the fic community seemed much smaller and more open to giving feedback to one another. In an effort to try and, y’know, establish some connections, I actually read other pieces and reviewed them before posting any stories. This also helped me build up a backlog of chapters and prove to myself I enjoyed writing this enough to keep going.

When I finally did post the fic, it was a bumpy start, for sure. I do think I made a lot of mistakes out of the gate, including uploading chapters way too quickly for readers on Serebii to (reasonably) try to keep pace. That probably cost me a few potential readers... or made them silent readers who I never ended up hearing from. Which is why I’m especially thankful to @girl-like-substance (who I can seem to tag, drat) for all of the well-thought-out feedback given throughout the fic’s run. I don’t think I would’ve made such significant strides in my writing otherwise... and there are plenty of long-running fics where the quality tends to stagnate.

In any case... it was thanks to a request from @deliriousabsol to put the fic somewhere more mobile-friendly that I chose to mirror Guiding Light on FFN starting in October 2017. I would’ve kept going on Serebii had she not asked so nicely, so she’s the one you can thank for it showing up there! (She’s a fellow author who does cyberpunk-themed fics and art and her characters have cameoed in the fic.)

And, honestly, I’m just... beyond shocked at what wound up happening to the fic once it hit FFN. Well, actually, for the first several months I was lucky if I even got a comment when I put up a chapter. I’m not sure any of the people who first commented on FFN still follow the fic anymore. I haven’t seen/heard from them at all, so I assumed they moved on with their lives.

In any case, around March of 2018, the word count on FFN passed 300k and... somehow, the fic starting getting more attention. Like, a lot more attention. This was... not really something I was even remotely prepared for.

(Yes, this means there’s gonna be a giveaway. More on that later.) I never would’ve thought I’d reach a number like this. I never imagined I’d meet another PMD author who’d be willing to do a fun collab (thanks @virgil134, Spiteful Murkrow, and Namohysip). I really did not imagine that I’d ever get fanart of characters that I wrote (huge thanks @thebreak-ofdawn, @ask-nicky-and-others, and @cresselia92). I mean, above everything, I not expect the fic or characters to resonate with anybody the way it wound up.

A part of me feels like I don’t really deserve it. I’ve made a lot of serious gaffes with writing this. When initial Serebii feedback had people intrigued by Shane’s jerkass attitude (when I didn’t actually intend for him to come off as a jerk), I dialed things up in the hopes I’d keep their attention. It probably cost me readers. Then there’s the slow pacing of the early episodes and the mistake of making Special Episode 3 as long as it was... which my speaks to my (bad) tendency to give into some of my strongest impulses even though I had an outline I was trying to stick to.

And, I mean, there’s also some of the “shamlessly shameful” stuff I’ve done with the fic. I’m not fooling myself. Guiding Light has grown progressively more furry and, uh, probably fanservicey, too. All the big furbait (and some scalebait) ‘mons are accounted for. There’s a lot more sexual humor when I initially promised myself I would stay away from romance and keep everything platonic. I practically turned Xerneas into waifu bait, if some of these asks are anything to go by. This blog certainly didn’t help in that regard. Maybe I’m just being my usual nervous self? 

I am worried that this fic’s performance has, somehow, affected my thoughts and behavior. There are very popular fic authors who let their popularity get to their head... or chose to open up Patreons (something that makes me uncomfortable) or start doing things like taking commissions for written pieces, which is understandable... though I think it’s an easy way to lose your passion for writing. I guess some of that worry stems from a debacle I learned about on a Discord server I’m in, but that’s not something I’m comfortable discussing publicly. 

And I haven’t even talked much about the blog itself. Like, it somehow passed 100 followers? Where? When? How? I don’t actually draw stuff like many other Pokéasks. And, like, for a lot of folks, I have no idea if they’ve actually read the fic or just check in on the blog. It’s the same with the fic, I suppose. If you’re a silent reader/follower, I would really love to hear from you! I promise... I don’t bite or anything. I’d love to know what (if anything) you’re thinking. And if you’re a blog that’s following this one and we haven’t interacted, please feel free to reach out! It’s honestly hard to tell if people like what I’m doing, so any feedback is always appreciated.

In any case, if I haven’t lost you by now, I guess all I can say is... thank you. Thank you all so much for all of the support... whether it’s on the fic, the blog, or both of them. I really do hope this final episode can meet your expectations. I’ll try my very best to make this an ending to remember. Nothing would make me happier than to hear you guys enjoy it and feel it does justice to the PMD series.

Sorry for all the rambling. The inbox is open again if you’d like to send any messages for the ficaversary. Again, thank you all so much! You’re the best!

[xfimnotdone]

Working out the kinks Parts 1 & 2 of 4 NSFW

Title: Working out the kinks

Author: xfimnotdone

Date: May 2019

Rating: Nc-17

Spoilers: small mention: Arcadia, story similar to Detour.

Summary: They get some quality time with each other to explore their newly established relationship while on a case, in cramped quarters.

Author's notes:       

Set during season 7, established/but new relationship let's say slightly before En Ami.

Raystown Lake is a real place my family and I go to on vacation. It has paranormal history and the idea and facts came from this website:             https://www.nightwatchparanormal.com/raystown-ray.html No infringment intended.           

Also a little research was done and used from this website:             https://www.glamour.com/story/a-to-z-kinks-and-fetishes 

Tags: MSR, UST, RST, Voyeurism, masturbation, smut, kinks, nsfw, season of secret sex, one bed, slow burn

Chapter 1 of 4

FBI Basement Office

October

Monday 9:25am

Scully was returning from a trip to the ladies room when she cautiously pushed open the office door, listening to Mulder talk on the phone. She peered in, eyeing up his appearance. Leaning back in his desk chair, he casually had his feet propped up and crossed on the desk. His gray dress shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. This is one of her favorite looks. She swallows dryly and listens hard, eavesdropping. Mulder abruptly says, “Okay” and then hung up with a huge grin on his face.

“Mulder? What gives?” Scully approaches the desk, eyebrow arched and arms crossed.

“I just got off the phone with Skinner. Looks like we have a lead,” Mulder reveals excitedly, kicking his feet down to the floor as he begins to rummage through his desk drawer.

“A lead? A lead on what?”

“Monster of the week, Scully! And it's not far from here. We'll leave today around one. Should give us enough time to pack and have a quick bite.”

“Mulder. You have more explaining to do.”

“Raystown Ray. Lake Monster in Huntingdon County, Pennsylvania. First reported sighting of the creature was in 1962. The description entails a 50-60 foot long serpent with a reptile head...”

“Like the Loch Ness? Mulder, you can't be serious?” Scully huffs.

“Dead serious. Dead, Scully,” he tosses her the file and her quick reflexes snatch it before the papers can spill. She opens the manila folder, her pointer finger caressing the edge as she skims the reports inside and flips.

“Two deaths in the last month. And three reported sightings of the creature. Mulder, these autopsy reports are not complete.”

“Nice catch, Agent Scully. We need to get the rest of those reports and see if we can get our eyes on Raystown Ray.” Mulder folds his hands in front of him, leaning on the desk with square shoulders. “So I'll pick you up at one?”

“Sure.” Scully deflates, her shoulders lower as he stands. This is not her cup of tea. She is the skeptic of the pair and feels this is a waste of time.

He swiftly moves past her, brushing her elbow with his torso as he navigates the cramped office. She smells his body spray like a delicious cloud that engulfs her and she closes her eyes. “Mulder,” she calls, turning.

“Yeah?” he answers, nearly out the door.

“What are our accommodations?” She is afraid to ask. “Please tell me not a tent?”

“Ahh Scully. Good ole Skin-man came through for us this time. He suggested we rent one of their campers. There's no hotels close enough. One bed, Scully. I think the old man is on to us, and quite frankly I don't think he cares.”

“Well. You just behave yourself.” Scully warns. He waggles his eyebrows and beams a smirk her way as he shuts the door behind him leaving her alone in the office.

The drive to Pennsylvania is quick and uneventful. Scully took the advantage of a nap while Mulder crunched on sunflower seeds and played steering wheel drums to classic rock songs.

Upon arrival, Scully and Mulder took in their surroundings, noticing the crisp autumn air as the sun began to set behind mountains. Erie white mist began to blanket the lake and settle in the nooks of the trees. The camper was set up and parked on a gravely lot, surrounded by tall pines. There were no other campers in sight, not one. A sloping hill gave way to an open grassy area that lead down to the water’s edge.

The lake is curvy like a serpent, nestled unnaturally between two high mountain peaks. Mulder studies a map of the lake, sprawled on the camper bed. Socks revealed, dress shirt untucked, tie loosened, he makes himself at home on the bed when he is interrupted by Scully.

“Mulder,” she calls from the kitchen area and is taken aback by how comfortable he looks when she views the bedroom.

“I'm sorry Scully, there is no way in hell these long legs are going to fit in that bunkbed!”

“Yeah, I'm aware,” she smiles. “We can share. I'm heading out to the lab before they close at 5. I'm going to see if I can get any more answers out of them.”

“I'll be here.” Mulder chews on his bottom lip, floating a magnifying glass over one area on the map.

“Don't do anything stupid.”

*    *    *

Scully returns a few hours later and enters the squeaky camper door, searching for a place to put her belongings. She puts away a few bags of groceries she got on her way back from Huntingdon.

Scully proceeds to her left, down a short narrow hallway to the bedroom, opening the sliding door to find the bed empty. No Mulder. His reading glasses and magnifying glass are discarded on the comforter. She turns her head, noticing a sticky note attached to the wall mounted tv. “Don't worry. I just went for a run. My cell's on”.

Immediately, she sighs with relief. She notices the VCR light blinking red and the edge of a tape was revealed as if someone ejected it but never took it out. She ran a manicured finger over the edge, hooking it and removing the tape. “Playboy: Voluptuous Vixens II” she reads the label.

Her confidence plummets. Heat creeps up her throat, flushing her cheeks as her anger builds. She is no stranger to Mulder watching porn, but in recent light of their new physical relationship, she did not imagine him needing this outlet at this time. Especially, not here, in this place.

She tamps down her feelings, swallowing hard just as she hears whistling coming from outside. Mulder rips open the camper door, clunking his running shoes off at the door. He sees the open bedroom door, Scully's legs barely peeking out. He smiles at her as he pokes his head around the corner.

“Nice accommodations, huh Scully? The last time we got to play house was in Arcadia,” he begins and then awkwardly stops his thought when he notices a tape in her hands. “What's that?”

“Uh. It's a tape. I found it in the VCR. Were you watching this while I was gone?” she inquires. She meets his eyes for a moment and then tries to stare at something nonexistent on the bed.

“No. What is it?” Mulder enthusiastically flops on the bed next to her, taking it from her hands. “Oh! This looks like fun. But...this is not mine.”

“You're sure?” Scully reiterates.

“Scully. I hope you would know by now this is not my kink. I am more of a fan of baseball...you know,” he unexpectedly reaches for her chest, cupping one breast in his hands through her clothes. “These are like baseballs, the most perfect handfuls that I can't get enough of.”

He leans in for a soft kiss to her lips, still holding her breast in his palm, squeezing gently. She lets him feel her for a moment as they change angles, licking each other's lips seductively. Scully feels her heart quicken its pace and her labia tingle with arousal.

“That's enough,” she breathlessly pushes him away, getting up from the bed. Mulder's erection is tenting his dress pants and he makes no move to hide it.

“Do you have any kinks, Scully?” he asks, accepting rejection as if he anticipated it.

“No, Mulder. I don't think so.”

“I don't believe that for one second.” Mulder states, while taking in her appearance. Scully was acting like she was searching for something in her luggage the was piled up in the cramped space on the side of the bed.

Chapter 2

“Catholic upbringing, Mulder. We don't do kinky.” She confesses, finally pulling out what she was looking for: silk pajamas.

“That's the biggest load of bullshit you've ever tried to feed me. I can tell by the way you kiss me. You have kinks.” Mulder, notices her lack of eye contact and her hurried movements.

“Well, I guess I just never allowed myself to...” .

“Would it help if I told you mine first?” he calls after her as she retreats to the tiny bathroom.

“I already know yours. Big breasts,” she cringes as she lays her night clothes on the closed toilet lid. The small bathroom forces her eyes to dart around, trying to control the conversation while finding creative places to put her things.

“I told you that tape isn't mine,” he persists as she slides closed the wooden door between the bedroom and bathroom, hiding his view.

Mulder tucks his head with a smile, leaning back to lay on a pillow and stretch out his legs. He reaches down to press his palm to the bulge in his pants, trying to relieve some pressure.

The shower water gurgles and squeaks to life, spraying cold water at first. Scully massages the back of her cramped neck with a hand, then strips her clothing until they are puddled in a heap at her feet. Once the water is warm, she dips a toe in to test the temperature and the climbs into the tiny fiberglass shower.

The smell of spring flowers from her shampoo wafts through the humid air as she rolls the bubbles through her auburn strands. Her eyes close in pleasure, massaging her head and enjoying the warmth of the water. Then she hears it. The wooden door sliding open. She opens one eye, then the other, slowly turning her head towards the door.

“Voyeurism, Mulder? Is that your thing?” Scully questions.

“Certifiably,” he answers, laying back on the bed. He watches her and she lets him. She continues bathing normally, but he notices how the water sprays down the valley of her breasts like a slip n slide. The shower doors are wet but not steamy enough to obstruct his view.

Mulder digs his hand into the waistband of his pants, rubbing himself with a heavy hand, creating pressure. Scully's nipples jut out hard into the cool air and he watches as she runs her hands over her body. She cleans herself with nothing but soap in her hands. No washcloth. No sponge. Just her fingers.

He swallows hard and unbuttons his pants, deftly sliding the zipper down.

“Mulder? Are you touching yourself?” she asks, beginning to tuck her fingers into her labia. She sighs. It goes straight to his groin, hardening him even more as he watches her fingers disappear in her slip.

“What do you think?” he answers, voice thick with arousal. Pulling his boxers lower, his erection feels the coolness of the room, straining towards his belly button. “Is this turning you on, Scully?”

“Yes,” she confesses. He can barely hear her over the spray of the shower and whistling pipes.

“Get out of the shower,” he commands, stroking himself with a full fist. Once. Twice. The skin of his shaft rippling over engorged veins as he stretches and releases.

“You agreed.” she reminds him, continuing to clean herself, now reaching deeper into her pussy and then retreating, moving down her legs.

“What did I agree to again?” Mulder runs the pad of his thumb over the tip of his penis, spreading the drops of arousal leaking out. He watches her, notices how the water beads up and sticks to her pubic hair. He wants to lick it off.

“No sex while on an out of town case. You agreed.” She reminds him, stalling. She is rapidly thinking how to get out of this situation. Scully is slowly losing control of her resolve, dripping with arousal, tingling with pleasure knowing his eyes are on her while he is touching himself.

“Why did I agree to that again?” Stroke. Stroke. He reaches down with his other hand, grabbing his balls with the tips of his fingers and pulling the sac upwards, stretching the skin.

“Because it's unprofessional.” She finally works up the nerve to end this and shuts off the water.

“Nothing about this is professional, Scully.” He gasps, closes his eyes and continues stroking for a moment. When he hears the shower doors’ shut, his eyes snap open.

His mouth is agape, panting with his cock in his hand, still and tight. “Pinch your nipple,” he whispers. Her nipple is soft now from the warmth of the water, but with one hard pluck it pebbles under his scrutiny.

“Did you enjoy the show?” she taunts, lingering a moment too long before wrapping herself in a white towel, then grabbing another to wrap up her hair.

“Absolutely, I will always enjoy that show.” Mulder emphasizes, stroking slowly, letting her watch. He keeps his eyes on her but her eyes are on his crotch. “How's it make you feel? To watch?” he asks, noticing that she just could not take looking any longer as her eyes dart to the wall beside him.

“It makes me wet.”

“See, you do have kinks, Scully,” he shines a toothy smile at her and she blushes for a moment then turns her back and retreats back to the bathroom.

“I don't want to talk about it anymore.” She shuts down and closes the wooden door. Mulder remained patient, but his effort to coerce her has hit a door, literally and his frustration was now simmering. He had no idea her resolve was so strong.

“Fine you're not getting any!” he jokes, pulling his boxers up over his heavy penis.

“I waited seven years, Mulder. Don't underestimate me.”

Mulder stands, walking through the other doorway, down the hall and puts his shoes on.

“I'm going for a quick walk. I'll be back.” He switches on a flashlight and heads out the door. As soon as the door slams shut and the camper jolts a little from the impact, Scully lets out a sigh of relief.

She tears her towel off and without hesitation plunges two fingers into her heat, holding them there, just pressing gently, trying to relieve the throbbing. Scully feels her body pulse around her fingers with need, a new wave gushes wetness down her fingers.

She desperately makes a hard decision and pulls her fingers back out, wiping them on the discarded towel. She wipes herself dry, feeling a tiny bit of relief and begins to dress in her pajamas.

*    *    *

Mulder cautiously makes his way down the slippery, grass bank.

He stands along the edge of the lake, shining his flashlight beam across the tranquil, inky blackness of the water.

He looks around for a moment, making sure all is calm before unzipping his fly and pulling out his cock. He looks up into the night sky as he begins stroking, noticing his eyes adjusting to the low light. Mulder sees the sparkling milky way arch across the sky as he comes hard.

Satisfied for the moment, he tucks himself back into his pants and walks along the shore of the lake. Nothing moves, not even the water. His breath puffs in the cool night air, feet crunching the sand and gravel below his shoes. Dimly, he hears the call of a Great horned owl in the distance as he turns to make his way back up the huge hill.

Thump, thump, splash. Mulder whirls around, shining his beam toward the sound. His heart quickens once again, excitement building in hopes of spotting their creature. A beaver pokes its head from the water, carrying a stick as it paddles along in the darkness, occasionally thumping its tail.

[sistertzipster-blog]

Hello my fellow Tumblr, if you are in the mood to have read a taste of my upcoming novel Once She Called Me Darling I have posted both the synopsis and random excerpt from this  tale of tragedy, love and magic! 

Any feedback negative and positive are welcome! Thank you 

Synopsis: 

Many stories begin their tale with a dialogue, an introduction of an event or scene, or a voice that narrates the story in one’s mind waiting for it to unfold into the unknown. My story has been written many times over, it has been produced onto the stage such as Broadway and even journeyed to Hollywood and has been re recreated many times with slightly different twists and subplots.....however despite peoples attempts to portray me in the magical, whimsical, mischievous sense, no one has ever asked ''who is he, how did he become the person he evolved to be?''

Most people are quite content to believe that I was born selfish and disturbed; others simply don't care enough to even entertain the question. They are perfectly happy with that I was a born monster.....someone who his parents abandoned as an infant and left me somewhere. If that were the case I wouldn't be writing any of this....if it were true I wouldn't have gone the great lengths to find myself a home, a haven, the only place I belonged and at great sacrifice.

Some of you probably have guessed my name, and maybe some are left wondering who this very person is dictating their tale onto these pages.....

My name was William Pennington; born in England 1665 the son of a wealthy barrister....we will start when he is at the nice age of sixteen in his childhood home, Cambridge 1681....

Excerpt from Chapter One: 

I woke up to find myself yet again on the mysterious island. Titom was always there to welcome me...''Ah William it is always a pleasure to see you return'' said Titom in greeting. ''Yes'' I exclaimed happy to see my old friend. ''You know, today is my birthday, and I have invited all the creatures here to celebrate with me, would you like to join?'' asked Titom. I nodded excitedly. ''How do creatures such as yourselves celebrate birthdays?'' I asked my curiosity and excitement brimming....''Oh! It is great fun, we play music, build a bonfire, dance around it and eat as many berries as possible! I think you will like it...'' replied Titom. ''I am honored to attend when should I come by?'' I asked. ''We will begin at sunset, you can come with Grigorn, he knows where to meet everyone'' with that said Titom walked away. I felt my blood rushing through my body, I was not only thrilled to be invited to an island event but the atmosphere of the island accelerated me once more and as tradition would have it I ran through the jungle; I even swung through vines, climbed trees and jumped from branch to branch....when I went to the pond to drink some water I had found the goblet sitting there, I assumed I absently left it there and it was sitting by the edge of the pond waiting for me....I picked it up and filled it with the water. I then realized that I should bring some sort of a gift. Although I didn't know if it was custom here to bring gifts I decided to think of one anyway. I tried to imagine something that he might appreciate from England, however nothing seemed to fit.....I decided to walk around the jungle, perhaps it would clear my head and I would come up with an idea.....it was a bit colder today than it was the last time I was here....so I gathered some sticks for a small fire. Even though in England I had never made a fire or camped in the wood I somehow understood survival skills only on this island....when I had gathered enough wood I was about to dump it where I wanted the fire to be....I then noticed something about the sticks I picked.....they were perfect, smooth, and a deep shade of chestnut.....my mind suddenly felt a rush of an impulse a drive that I could not explain.....I placed the sticks down and ran back to the beach.....I collected a few of the most beautiful rocks I could find and tore off a few vines. I went back to my spot and was glad to find that the sticks were still there. I sat down and realized that I needed a small knife and lo and behold a knife appeared in my hands. It was an exquisite carving knife, the hand seemed to be made of some bone and ivory with blue, black and purple designs.....I then began my project. I cut the sticks so that the ends were even, I then placed the sticks I selected all beside each other and cut them to size but each one was taller than the other....I then took each stick and made them hollow.....I set my knife down and began crushing the rocks, this did take some time but eventually the powder was a beautiful shade of green.....I shaved the outer layer of the vine and cut it to the length of the sticks sitting beside one another, when I was satisfied by its size I dipped the vine into the powder and covered it and shook off the remainder dust.....I didn't think it would work but somehow the powder stuck to the vines perfectly and the color was mesmerizing.....I wrapped the vine around sticks and then shaved another part of the vine to create a string like material and tied the green belt around the sticks. They weren't sticking together as I hoped and tried to think of a way to make everything glue together. From the corner of my eye I felt something dripping onto my head. I put my hand on my head and felt something incredibly sticky. I looked up and saw that it was coming from the tree I was sitting under. I thought fast, I grabbed my knife and poked a small hole from the tree and a gush of tree sap flowed out. I didn't need much of it....I then picked up a leaf and used it as a brush that I dipped into the sap and was able to stick all the wooden pipes together plus the vine belt....I was happy with my creation. I then wanted to see if I indeed made a real instrument. I held whatever it was in my hand and began to blow into the pipes. Nothing came out except for air.....I tried again and indeed nothing.....I was disappointed but it still was a nice decorative piece. The earth began to tremble beneath me, I wasn't sure what to do....was this an earthquake? I then heard loud hoof beats and slowly turned to find the centaurs stampeding. I was still holding my instrument in my hands and was cognizant not to drop it as I jumped out of the way. The centaurs must have recognized me for they stopped abruptly. ''You can come out William'' shouted Rumus, the centaur who was close to my age...at least in centaur years. I clambered out and greeted all of them. ''Hi Rumus, how are you?'' I asked, Rumus was one of the friendlier centaurs. He had long brown hair that glistened in the sunlight and his eyes changed colour depending on his mood, that was common amongst the centaurs. ''What brings you to our island?'' asked Rumus. ''I don't know, I just like to visit often I guess'' I replied. It was hard to describe that I was just dreaming and how Rumus wasn't actually real....how would you describe that to a centaur? ''You must be here because it's Titoms birthday!'' remarked Rumus. ''Yes, I even made him a gift'' I said proudly holding up my wooden instrument. Rumus peered at it, and smiled. ''I don't know what it is, but it certainly is quite lovely, I think Titom would like it very much'' exclaimed Rumus. ''Are you attending his celebration?'' I asked. ''Yes, of course, all the creatures celebrate each other even if we don't know them personally'' commented Rumus.....''Would you like to ride on my back today William?'' asked Rumus. I nodded and hopped on. ''So that your extraordinary gift does not break I have a string, made out of centaur mane, how about you tie it around my neck'' offered Rumus. I nodded and placed my gift onto the string, it was very thick but felt silky nonetheless. Once it was secured Rumus immediately took off along with his herd! It was no different than riding a horse, however Rumus seemed to float rather than the bumpiness of a horses gallop. We ran through meadows, streams, and climbed mountains....centaurs ran up mountains with ease as if it were a mote rather than a mountain. This was a unique quality of the centaur, they can gallop up mountains without breaking a sweat, the best though was yet to come....Once we reached the peek of the mountain all the centaurs stood close to its edge. Unlike horses centaurs could jump with grace and with little effort from mountain top to mountain top! The leader always starts and lunged himself and the rest followed. I held onto Rumus terrified yet didn't want to back down. ''Are you ready?'' asked Rumus. ''Yes I squeaked'' Rumus smirked. ''Do not worry human, just hold on tight and if you do fall just simply believe and you can fly yourself to safety.....now lets go!'' Rumus jumped and time seemed to run in slow motion....my stomach flopped and my grip on Rumus's neck tightened.....I was amazed and petrified of the view, I was at eye level with the clouds that were pink and yellow....the mountain tops were far below me yet I could see the exotic flowers waving in the breeze and the rocky terrain. I suddenly felt a diving sensation when Rumus soared downward toward land. I screamed in horror and the most amazing feeling that always felt new even though this wasn't the first time doing this with Rumus. I marvelled at how centaurs could be hundreds of meters in the air and still land on their feet....I fell off of Rumus and laid down on the grass. ''I can always catch up with my herd later, lets take a break!'' said Rumus. We laid on the grass together and gazed up at the sky. ''Do humans have a world like this?'' asked Rumus. ''Not at all, my land is much more boring, we do have creatures there but there is no magical aspect'' I replied. ''Sounds extremely dull'' Rumus remarked. ''Yes, it can be at times, but there we have other yet simpler amusements'' I said. Rumus and I both dozed off, I woke to the hoof of Rumus...''Wake up William.....it is time!'' I then remembered Titoms birthday and quickly made haste. I jumped onto Titoms back and the two of us journeyed to the center of the island. When we arrived I clambered down from Rumus and observed the scene.... I noticed Grigorn and his flock sitting on the grass relaxed, there was the rest of Rumus's herd mingling with the Pegasus. I also recognized the unicorns, griffins, chimeras, jackal-opes and the mermaids, who have the ability to come on land and their fins turn into legs! It was marvelous seeing all the island creatures together in one place. Titom was being assisted by a few jackal-opes with setting up the bonfire. I walked over to him. ''Happy birthday Titom!'' I said. He turned and beamed at me and came over to me. ''William it certainly is an honor to have you at my festivities....come, help me with the bonfire'' Titom suggested. I helped with the bonfire and when it was ready to light a dragon appeared, his name was Kelisius as I recall from my visits beforehand.....he lit the bonfire and the flames danced in the darkness. Other fauns appeared too holding small drums and what seemed to be fiddles, which is when I remembered my gift. I found Rumus and lifted the pipes from the centaur hair that was holding it. I then approached Titom....''Titom, in my land it is tradition to hand a friend a gift for their birthday, thus I made you this'' I then presented it to him. Titom seemed quite amused. ''It is certainly a creative and decorative piece.....it seems like its an instrument?'' Titom asked. ''Yes, yes it...well was....I tried making music from it by blowing into the pipes, but I couldn't perhaps you can'' I said. Titom smiled and began blowing into the pipes.....the music that came forth from the instrument was extraordinary, I had never heard music such as that. Just then the other fauns began tapping their drums and Titom played the pipes merrily. All the beasts began dancing around the bonfire and singing along to the melodies. The tunes were light and full of joy and mystery. Kelisius even did wonderful tricks and visuals with his fire, scenes of fauns dancing jigs, and beautiful dragons dancing an ancient dance from thousands of years ago.....the intriguing mystical images remained in my mind in times to come. 

[deztinywarriors]

ES Spectre 2.0 Chapter 51

[megabadbunny]

if we let go (3/?)

It’s impossible not to smile at him when he’s looking at her like that, and that is one "impossible" Rose believes in.

I.e., Rose gets a choice, even if she has to carve it out for herself. In this chapter, the metacrisis Doctor makes a choice, as well.

***

a journey’s end fixit (of sorts), dedicated to @travelingrose , whose very good questions reignited my love/hate relationship with this episode/storyline, and to @goingtothetardis , who kept me encouraged while writing (thank you dahling). (i believe this also fills some rose x tentoo / tentoo day prompts from @timepetalsprompts​ and @doctorroseprompts .) heavy angst, but also lots of flirting, fluff, romance, some adventure, and some smut; sfw versions on tumblr & ff.net, nsfw versions on ao3 and teaspoon.

***

prologue | chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3

chapter three: got us a battle, leave it up to me

Rose double-checks her watch and sighs, bare feet dangling restlessly in the pool. Fifty-six hours. It’s been fifty-six hours, to the minute, since she last slept. Funny, though, she doesn’t feel sleepy at all. She just feels…drained. Depleted, fruit tossed into the wringer and squeezed free of its juices and pulp until nothing but a husk is left. Empty.

“So is he saying all those things to push me away,” Rose asks upon hearing footsteps behind her, “or does he really mean them?”

Silence. “Yes,” is the eventual reply.

Rose chuckles mirthlessly. She’s not sure what else she expected him to say, question like that.

“Do you mean them, too?” she asks anyway.

Louder footsteps let her know he’s approaching; out of the corner of her eye, his trainers come into view, red and cleaner than usual and stopping just at the edge of the pool. “It’s been a long day,” the Doctor’s voice says, so softly it’s hard to believe it’s the same voice that cut so cruelly just moments before. “Long and complicated. For everyone.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“No,” the Doctor sighs. “It really doesn’t, does it?”

Toeing off his trainers and socks, one after the other, the Doctor plunks down next to Rose, his gangly long legs folding over the poolside until his feet reach the water, dipping beneath. His movement in the water sends ripples sailing outward until they hit Rose, lapping against her calves.

(He has sat himself very close to her; she wonders if he did it on purpose, or if it’s still second nature, the lack of personal space between them.)

Rose nods toward his feet. “Fancy the feeling of wet trousers?”

“Mm?”

“You didn’t roll them up. They’re gonna get wet.”

“So they are.”

Rose watches at the Doctor’s toes wriggle, the image distorted beneath the water-surface like video on a patchy analog screen. “I imagine that’ll be unpleasant when it happens,” the Doctor says.

“Yeah. Cold, for one thing.”

“Oh, yes. And drippy.”

“And heavy.”

“And heavy, too, can’t forget that. Clingy, as well.”

Rose worries her lip between her teeth. “Maybe they’re not the only thing that’s clingy.”

“True, they’re also a big snug in the bum, aren’t they?”

“No, I meant—well, yeah, that too, but—”

“Rose Tyler,” says the Doctor with a grin, “have you been looking?”

It’s impossible not to smile at him when he’s looking at her like that, and that is one impossible Rose believes in. But her smile fades as quickly as it came on, as Rose’s hand travels up from the poolside to hover near the Doctor’s face, hesitating just below his chin. Her fingertips itch to follow the constellations formed by his freckles, trace the sharp line of his jaw.

(How would he react, she wonders, if she cupped her hand around his cheek right now—would he crack a silly joke, or stutter and leave, or close his eyes, lean into her touch, turn his face to press his lips against her palm?

Would the other Doctor react the same way?)

“You’re exactly the same,” Rose murmurs, her hand falling away. “Except that’s not quite true, is it?”

“Technically,” says the Doctor, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m still me, though, just me stuffed into a human suit.” He tilts his head, thinking. “A human suit with some suspiciously Donna-like qualities.”

“Like?”

“Stick around and you’ll find out,” he replies with a wink.

Normally that would set Rose grinning like an idiot, but instead her hands fidget restlessly in her lap. “Do you really think she has a chance? I didn’t—I didn’t make things worse for Donna, did I?”

“No. Once the metacrisis event was initiated, there was no stopping the degradation of her mind.” The Doctor laughs, and it’s a surprisingly nasty sound. “And the person responsible for that certainly isn’t you.”

Curious, Rose almost asks what he means by that, but thinks better of it—his candor has always got limits, and she suspects they just reached them. They sit quietly for a few moments, listening to the gentle tinkle of water lapping lazily in the pool, splashing against their shins as their feet swing back and forth. The Doctor nudges Rose’s foot with his, probably on accident. She nudges back anyway. He bumps her again, purposefully this time, and she sneaks her foot beneath his, locking them both by the ankles.

She smiles. “I win.”

“Hmm,” says the Doctor, thoughtful. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Well, winning implies a game, doesn’t it? And game implies rules, and players, and a prize, none of which have been discussed or agreed-upon.”

“Okay, a prize,” Rose laughs. “Like what?”

“Well,” says the Doctor again, drawing out the word this time while he tugs on one ear. “You could always, I don’t know. Kiss me again.”

Rose stares at him in shock. “As for example,” he finishes, and is he blushing?

Despite herself, Rose laughs, a good proper laugh this time. From any other bloke, the statement would have been wildly inappropriate—wait, no, that’s still what it is, that’s exactly what it is right now, with everything that’s just happened—but she can’t find it in herself to be angry, somehow. Instead there’s just surprise.

(And maybe just the faintest amount of curiosity. Just the faintest, littlest, tiniest bit.)

“Have you always been such a cad and I just never knew?” she asks.

“You never asked.”

Swinging her foot, and the Doctor’s by proxy, Rose chuckles under her breath. “And would that kiss be a prize for you, or for me?”

His responding grin is unbearably slow, and very nearly the loveliest thing Rose has ever seen. “Yes,” he replies.

She’s not half-tempted to take him up on it, to bridge what little distance there is between them and press her lips to his, hungrily, drowning them both in a kiss until they just forget every awful thing that’s happened today. But Rose shakes the thought away (though she’s sure it will creep back later, sure as the flush blossoming lazily up the back of her neck).

“Doctor,” she says, hesitantly, “was it a bad thing, me trying to come back? Am I…”

She cringes. “…clingy?”

“Oh, terribly,” replies the Doctor, drily.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. After all, I certainly didn’t do everything within my considerable power to find you again. Surely didn’t waste any time looking for holes between universes that I knew for a fact weren’t there. Definitely didn’t blow up a star just for a last handful of minutes together.”

A pause. “And if Donna wakes up and mentions anything about a certain shirt of yours living in the console room for an unforgiveable amount of time, do me a favor and ignore her.”

“Then—did I do something wrong?”

His brow furrows in concern. “No.”

“So why…”

Rose swallows, hard. Her heart jackhammers so violently against her ribcage and stomach that she feels like she might throw up. “So why doesn’t he want me anymore?”

“You can’t honestly think that’s true.”

Rose masks her sniff with a watery chuckle. “It certainly feels true.”

“Rose.”

She buries her face in her hands, the heels of her palms digging into her eyes until lights pop in her vision. Feet shift noisily in the water, slip-slap-slop and the Doctor’s ankle is no longer entangled with hers, and the fabric of his suit-trousers whispers quietly against the ground as he turns toward her. Fingers gently wrap around her wrists, pulling her hands away from her face until she can see him watching her. She forces herself not to look away, to hold his gaze, to ignore the telltale pressure building up behind her sinuses.

“When I said—” the Doctor starts, and stops. “I—when I told you—”

He draws in a deep breath. “What I said earlier, on the beach? I meant it. And not just from me, all right? Not just this body. All of me.”

Pausing, the Doctor searches her face for recognition. “Understand?”

Rose nods, licking her lips. She can’t help but notice how the Doctor’s eyes flicker downward, drawn to the motion. “You said you loved me.”

“Yes, well.” He drops her wrists, his hands settling uncomfortably on his thighs. “You said it first.”

Rose makes a noncommittal noise. “Only cos I thought I was never gonna see you again.”

“Mm-hmm. Admit it, Rose Tyler: you like me.”

She shoots him a shaky smile. “Never,” she says, but the effect is somewhat ruined by the word elongating into a yawn. Surprised, she covers her mouth to muffle the noise, but it’s too late for that.

“Just out of curiosity, when did you last get some sleep?” the Doctor asks suspiciously.

Rose stretches her arms out behind her until her shoulders pop—god, that feels delicious. “Thought you thought sleep was a waste of time.”

“Eh, I think I might be warming up to the idea of it, actually.” The Doctor covers a yawn of his own, wrinkles his nose after. “I think I’ll sort of have to.”

“It’s not so bad, sleeping every night. When you can, anyway.”

“Have you been having trouble with it?”

Rose shrugs, stifling another yawn. “Just don’t sleep like I used to, is all.”

“Well, if you think it would help, you’re welcome to—”

The Doctor cuts himself off midsentence, cheeks flushing a brilliant sunset-red. Rose wonders if she’s ever seen his face color like that before.

“That is,” he stammers, tugging on one ear, “We could—I mean, I know humans and, and co-sleeping…”

“Right,” says Rose, her own face heating up as she cottons on. “Yeah, you’re right, that’s a…thing.”

“It’s just—we could, if you think it would help. Help you sleep, I mean.”

“Yeah. Not like we haven’t done it before. Sharing a bed,” Rose adds quickly.

“For sleeping.”

“Sleeping together, yeah.” And now her cheeks are surely as hot as the surface of the sun. “I mean, both of us sleeping in the same bed, at the same time.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

Neither of them move to leave, though, both fidgeting awkwardly in the quiet. In some ways, Rose wants nothing more than to shed all these layers and just climb into bed with him, and they could just leave it at that. No, it would be enough to just wriggle comfortably into each other’s embrace, her ear pressed to his chest, feeling the reassuring heartsbeat—or no, she remembers, it’s heartbeat now, singular—their ribcages expanding and compressing in unison until the sense of each other’s breathing lulls them both to sleep.

(But that would be rushing things. Wouldn’t it? Would it?)

“Or you could always go to your old room,” the Doctor says hurriedly. “It’s all still there, everything you left. Hasn’t moved at all, hasn’t changed, since—well, since the last time you were in there.”

“Really?” asks Rose, surprised. “Huh.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, I guess I thought you would have cleaned it out, the way you always used to tease me about being such a slob. Or had the TARDIS chuck all my things out a chute or something.”

The Doctor suddenly seems to find his hands in his lap to be terribly fascinating, judging by the way he watches them. “I couldn’t,” he admits quietly.

Rose doesn’t know how to respond to that. She wonders, now, just how hard things have been for him—she knows he cares, of course she knows, she’s not daft, but with all his many years and his endless roster of companions coming and going, would the loss of one more unspecial Earth girl really make that much difference? Is there any chance he could have mourned her loss like she did his? Did he rail bitterly against the unfairness of it all, did he curse the universe and everything in it, did he miss her like a grounded bird misses the sky?

If so—good grief. Rose’s heart twists in her chest just at the thought.

On impulse, she leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek. And if she lingers just a second longer than necessary, breathing him in, mapping the texture of his stubble on her lips, well. She doubts he minds too much.

“Good night, Doctor,” she murmurs. “And just so you know, even with everything…I’m so glad to be here with you again.”

She doesn’t know if she’s ever seen him quite so shy, his smile so tender in the corners of his eyes. “Me too.”

This time, Rose can’t resist one last look at him before she leaves.

 ***

 He’s right; she reaches her room and it’s exactly the way she remembers it, everything from the too-much-pink to the rumpled bedclothes to the laundry (both clean and not) scattered pell-mell across the bed and the chest of drawers and the floor (or “floordrobe” as the Doctor once called it, rolling his eyes the way he used to a lifetime ago). The room hasn’t been disturbed by even a single dust mote, the mirror on her vanity as clean as it was the day she left, save a lipgloss-kiss she’d pressed to it the day before, when she’d wanted to blot the excess and couldn’t find a tissue quickly enough.

Curious, she touches the shape of her own lips, and her fingertip comes back sticky and melon-pink. The lipgloss is still tacky to the touch, like it never properly dried. Like no time has passed here at all.

Rose doesn’t even bother changing into any of the pajamas strewn about, just drops her boots and socks and shucks her jacket and climbs right into her old bed. She doesn’t inhale the scent of her old duvet, not on-purpose, anyway, even though it hits her in waves, the soft barely-there imprint of whatever detergent the TARDIS uses. She doesn’t let herself think too much about how it smells so differently from the detergent her mother uses for Tony’s things, doesn’t dwell on how she’ll never smell it again, a universe and a forever away.

She doesn’t cry.

 ***

Previous: Chapter Two | Next: Chapter Four (forthcoming)

[skia-oura]

Orange Lilies, 5/?

A/N:  HEY HEADS UP At the end of the chapter, there is a very short section with non-consensual kissing. This is a dream. It doesn't actually happen to the character in question. BUT it still happens and you need to be aware of that.

Also please do not expect another chapter so fast because this was a literal miracle. Also I was excited to write this, so it happened. :D Enjoy!!

Prologue // Previous  // Next 

Ao3 ff.net

Chapter 4: Olla Summons a Tutor

           Wednesday went by in the same rush of slow-cook tension as the day before it. Torako, exhausted from her bout of sleep paralysis the night before, and Bentley, exhausted by the idea of her targeted by the very demon she’s hunting, decided to take Thursday afternoon off. Bentley invited Meung-soo over for dinner, reasoning that it was less expensive anyways. Meung-soo agreed and was apparently excited enough to send Bentley a virtual sticker. He gushed over it for ages. Torako agreed to be on call for the evening in exchange for not having to physically be at the police station. Most of it was a waiting game at that point, and Torako would rather be called in when she was needed rather than sit around and do nothing. The magical creature disappearances had died down after they’d been connected to the cultists, the robbery at the magitech appliance store had been labeled a dead end, and nobody was turning up incapable of moving. Torako worried, of course—why did cultists need that many magical creatures? Why was the demon taking so long to strike? Were they summoning more demons?—but there was honestly nothing to do about it.

           Which is why, at 15:22, she was pushing a cart along at the closest Mizzle Twizzle Market and pulling things off the highest shelves for Bentley. For example, a package of assorted specialty fruits from the Californian Island Federation that he needed for dessert.

           “Why do they insist on putting that stuff up high, anyways?” Bentley groused, ticking the fruits off their shopping list on his phone. “It’s so stupid.”

           “Not priority for shoppers,” Torako said. “Or they hate short people.” She put the bag in the cart and leaned against the shelf. “What’s next?”

           Bentley muttered to himself for a moment before biting his lip. “I have a bunch of veg on the list next, and after that is fish, but I could swear there was something else before we got there. Bread? No, not bread.”

           “Were we just shopping for tonight or for later as well?” Torako bent over and looked at the list from above. She wasn’t a champion at upside-down reading, but she was pretty proficient.

           “I was only thinking tonight,” Bentley said, moving out of the way of another shopper and their two rambunctious children. “But I just can’t think of what other fruit we’d need for dinner…”

           Torako scrolled down the list with her forefinger and let out a sound of realization at the same time Bentley did. Nearly in tandem, they said, “The pineapple!”

           “Canned or fresh, though?” Torako said.

           “Canned, of course,” Bentley said, as somebody who’d grown up in a household with a stricter budget. “Superior to fresh in taste.”

           “But in terms of nutrient value, isn’t fresh better?” Torako asked. She grinned at him. “You know, for somebody who always reminds me about how awful Moffios are for you…”

           Bentley groaned and pushed the cart into the vegetable section. “Skies above, Tora, the Hellsugar is in a completely other league. Don’t even compare them.”

           Torako ruffled his hair, then reached around him to snag a package of long-stemmed mushrooms from the aisle display. She tossed them into the cart. “Okay, okay, I won’t. So if we’re just shopping for tonight, I’m going to guess we aren’t going to pick up some sugary stuff for our buddy Dip? Like—oh! Dip-paddle-pops for Dip-paddle-pops. He loves ice cream, it’s practically his name, it’s perfect. He’d love it and hate it.”

           Bentley made a small noise. He hefted an onion in one hand, weighed it, and then put it back. “I’d usually say no, but…maybe? And maybe some Gummy gums too?”

           “You planning on calling then?” Torako said. She relaxed her shoulders, cocked one hip and set her hand on it. Parent with two children between the fruits and the vegetables, two kids throwing oranges as hard as they could at the floor just to see them bounce up off the produce shield. Centaur looking at the assorted donuts and shifting his hooves like he was indulging in some guilty pleasure. Hooded figure heading from breads to meats, cart filled with an alarming number of apples and a single loaf of pumpernickel. There was nobody close enough to overhear Ben and Tora’s conversation.

           Still, better safe than sorry. She was pretty sure the police station had contacted businesses about installing mics and cams to catch cultists with more ease. Torako wasn’t so sure about that move, but desperate times, desperate measures. The cultists needed to be caught, the demon needed to be removed. Period.

           Not that they’d been having much luck on that count, but it was better than just sitting and doing nothing.

           “I’m thinking about it,” Bentley said. He found an onion that met his standards, set it in the cart, and then pushed down to the eggplants. “He hasn’t been home for days, not since he went to babysit Lata.”

           “I mean, everything’s fine, right?” Torako made a face at one of the cucumbers for sale, and set her sights higher up the pile in the hopes that it would be better quality. “Do we know that?”

           Behind her, the cart’s anti-grav boosters hummed a little as the cart was moved. “Actually, Kanti sent me a mail this morning while I was at work. She wanted to know if she could get into contact with him through me, because the usual methods weren’t working.”

           “More babysitting?” Torako snagged one cucumber, and then two because she couldn’t remember how many they had in the stasis fridge. “So soon? That’s odd.”

           “Mmm, no, not babysitting.” Bentley, when she turned around, had moved on from eggplant to squash, phone in his pocket for the moment. “She just wanted to talk with him. Apparently, Lata’s learned several new words in the space of a night, and that she has a new friend named Tommy and that she and her Uncle now have a Big Secret and she Can’t Say What It Is.”

           “So, she’s understandably concerned.” Torako put the cucumbers in the cart.

           Bentley nodded, picked up a smaller sweet-squash, and turned around. He held it in his hands, and looked down at it while leaning against the produce display. “Honestly, I am too. Maybe a little about Lata, but…”

           “This isn’t like him, I get it.” Torako leaned over the cart and stroked Bentley’s cheek with the back of her fingers. “We can try calling him on Friday, maybe? It’ll give us time to double check the house, prep, all that.”

           Bentley leaned into the back of her hand and let out a soft breath. His shoulders slumped. She leaned in closer and pecked him on the forehead. As she did so, Bentley whispered, “You sure we can’t do it tonight? Before dinner? I’m feeling a little anxious about it. What if something’s happened?”

            “He’s a strong guy, he can take care of himself.” Torako pressed her forehead to his. She could smell his shampoo—coconut milk, hint of cinnamon. “At least, he can for another day. Nothing can get him down for long.”

           “Except himself,” Bentley murmured. He pressed back, probably shifting his weight from his heels to his toes. “That’s what worries me.”

            “I know,” Torako said. She pulled back a little to look Ben in the eye and lowered her voice. “But things are…pretty tense. With the situation, you know, and I don’t—I don’t want a mistake on our end to ruin things for us. I know the wards have worked before, but…We’ve come so close in the past. I don’t want that. We don’t have enough time before your aunt comes over to…make sure. That calling him would be fine.”

           Bentley’s mouth twisted. He looked away, squash still in both hands. His brow was wrinkled, and the skin at the edges of his eyes was tight. “I know,” he whispered. “I don’t like it, but I know.”

           Torako stroked his cheek again to get him to look at her. “I get it, sweetheart. I don’t like it either. But we’re—we’re not in college. We’re not as young anymore, we’ve got to take things a little more carefully.”

           Bentley laughed. “We’re twenty-seven,” Bentley said. “It’s not like we’re fifty.”

           “Still,” Torako said with a little grin. “I’d rather be cautious. I don’t want you going anywhere, no more than I want Dip to.”

           He reached out and punched her lightly in the shoulder. “Well, good thing I don’t plan on going anywhere. You don’t either, right?”

           Torako reached out and ruffled his hair. Bentley squawked and tried to hit away her hand with one of his. “You’re stuck with me, Benny-boy. What’s next on the list?”

           “Fish,” Bentley said. “And some chicken. Ready to go over to the meat section?”

           Torako waggled her eyebrows. “Only if I get to know it real well first.”

           Bentley sputtered and smacked her, squash still in one arm. She cackled and danced out of the way.

           “That was a good one, and you know it!” she crowed. She missed Dipper backing her up, but she could handle it on her own for a bit. Besides, Dipper was missing out—Bentley’s embarrassed, indignant face was the best.

           “I should never take you shopping!” Bentley said, putting down the squash. “Never! You’re a menace!”

           He still followed her to the meat section, though.

-

           “Immortality sucks, you know that?”

           Grocknar the Destroyer opened one of his three eyes. He did not look very impressed, but Dipper didn’t let that stop him from continuing.

           “I know it’s not actually immortality,” he continued, aware in a very dim way that as all things end, so too would he, “but it may as well be. I exist so much longer than…than them.”

           Grocknar the Destroyer had just come back from giving some poor kid a nightmare about centipedes crawling up her body and devouring her bite by bite. He was pretty exhausted, which was why he hadn’t moved like all the other nightmares had once they realized Alcor the Dreambender was in a Mood. Dipper didn’t even know how long he’d been sitting there with his nightmare sheep before he started speaking.

           “And when you pair the immortality with omniscience…” Dipper trailed off. He reached down and tugged grass out of the ground, one strand at a time. It always grew back. At least the grass looked and acted the same when it did that.

           The nightmare snorted and turned onto his other side, back to Dipper. Dipper was the boss here though, so Dipper didn’t care what his minions did. He just kept pulling grass, mentally pulling all his thoughts into order.

           “I keep seeing them die,” he confessed to Grocknar. “I keep seeing all the ways they can die, and I was able to push it aside at first because it didn’t happen too often, but—”

           But then Philip died. Philip died, and Dipper had never told Bentley but he’d seen that possible death of Philip’s. He’d seen Philip trip and fall and die for absolutely no reason. And Dipper shook it off, because Bentley was eighteen and had just gotten back from that nightmare school tour and he needed comfort in his father. He didn’t need to be told Dipper had seen Philip die—like he had seen Philip die at eighty-seven, of stress due to overwork, or peacefully at a hundred and four, or in a magical storm at sixty-two. So he’d put it aside, and then forgotten about it, until days after Philip’s funeral when Dipper had the sudden realization that he’d seen Philip die like that. He never, ever wanted to tell Bentley.

           “After that, I tried so hard to keep it down, but they came more and more often and I keep thinking what if? What if it actually happens like that? I can’t—I can’t save them. Not from something like that, not without something big in return.” Dipper dug his claws into the imaginary earth of the Mindscape, envisioned what the granules of dirt would feel like and willed the sensation into being. He kept staring down at the ground. “And now I just keep thinking—is it worth it? They’re here for such a short time, and it hurts so much when they leave. The more people I know, the more it hurts.”

           He clenched his hand so hard the pressure could turn earth into stone. He imagined that too, made it happen. When he pulled his hand out of the earth, Dipper opened it to see an unassuming rock, brown and rough and completely solid. “But—but Bentley said it’s not fair to just rely on him,” he said. “So I can’t do that. I can’t hurt him, and if I’m not there, I’m not hurt when he leaves too. Win-win, right?”

           Dipper didn’t see it, too engrossed with being God of the Mindscape along with his relationships with mortal beings, but Grocknar the Destroyer opened his other two eyes and then rolled them all. Dipper did hear him baah, though.

           He dropped the rock and looked over at Grocknar. He scowled. “Really, Grocknar?”

           Grocknar stared at him over one smoke-wool shoulder.

           “I am not being dramatic! This is completely legitimate thinking!”

           The nightmare had the gall to baah him in the face. In the face. Dipper sputtered.

           “You—you insolent—really? Seriously? You went there?”

           Grocknar shook his head in an equivalent of “well, if the shoe fits,” and Dipper stood in a huff. In a fit of pettiness, he waved his hand and removed the grass from the ground around them, as far as a mile out.

           “I’ll show you dramatic,” Dipper hissed. Grocknar made a noise of discontent and finally stood up. He stared Dipper in his eyes, and they glowered at each other for who knows how long.

           A summons tugged at Dipper. Dipper had originally brushed all them off—especially small ones like this one—but he decided that he needed a distraction. From Grocknar, but from everything else too.

           “I’m going,” Dipper said. “Because I have a job to do, an actual job that keeps all of you safe because it builds my power levels and I don’t eat you unlike other demons. No need to thank me. You’re welcome.”

           Grocknar bleated out something along the lines of “I wasn’t going to thank you, good riddance.” Dipper bristled, made the ‘I’m watching you’ gesture, and then blipped off to answer his summons. Like a good demon. Emphasis on Good.

           Dipper closed his eyes as he materialized, and then boomed out, “W̕h̷̡͘ó ̷̀͜ d҉aŗęs͞ ͘҉̶ s̴u̕͜mm̴̀o҉̕n̡ ͢ Alc̴or ̨҉̧ t̀͘h̛̀e̸̢  ͡Ḑré́͠a̡̕͡m҉̀͠b͘͢e͟n̢d͏͜e҉͟r̡?”

           “Woah, dude, that is so wicked,” a young person breathed. Dipper cracked one eye open and stared at the kid that summoned him. Their hair was pulled back into braids, ribbons tying each end in a haphazard cacophony of color. Dipper opened the other eye and stared a little more, feeling his metaphorical heart sink.

           Of course the first summons he answered was that of a reincarnation.

           Dipper scowled. “What do you want, Soos?”

           “Cool nickname but nah, I’m Olla,” she said. Her accent was very British. She snapped her fingers at him and grinned wide. “Last name is Sussally, though, so maybe Soos would catch?”

           Dipper inhaled deep. “What. Ìs̴ ͏i͡t?”

           “Like, okay dude,” Olla said, scooting their desk chair over. It hovered over the floor, complaining a little at the food wrappers on the ground. “So, some ancestor of mine apparently did this, so like, you’re open for homework deals, right? Because Tech class is still kicking my ass and we’re ending term. I’m screwed if I don’t get help now!”

           “And your parents are…” Dipper asked. He screwed up his mouth into a scowl and sat mid-air, reclining as elegantly as possible.

           “Haha, Mom’s not really big on Tech stuff? She’s into wards. Big into wards. No room in her head for other stuff, you know? All her brain power is,” Olla made a sound that was maybe supposed to sound like an engine, and wiggled her fingers. “occupied, you know? And Dad’s away on business. Busy busy dude, over in Kabul. Doin some kind of construction business for his boss, right? So I don’t have anybody.”

           “Friends? Teachers? The police?”

           Olla hummed and kicked her legs. Her toes brushed just shy of the air contained by the circle, and Dipper watched them with an absentminded hunger. Like, he wasn’t consumed by it, but also he wouldn’t say no if somebody offered him a bite.

           “Nah. Too late. Homework due tomorrow. Left it too long, you know? I tried to get it, but none of the answers turned out right. Secondary’s pretty hard, and this year is A-levels.”

           “So you summoned a demon.” At least the candles were scentless.

           Olla shrugged. “Hey, dude, desperate times.”

           Dipper stared at her. Olla didn’t know desperation—but she would, he knew, because he saw her in five years, just shy of twenty-four years old and homeless as England suffered its worst economic downturn in two centuries, and she starved on the street with the other homeless people until she tried to interrupt a scuffle between two people over a discarded slice of pizza, thin and sad and two-days-in-the-snow, because then one pulled a knife and stabbed first her in the gut then the other in the throat and she laid there, bleeding out and wishing that—

           “So, you know,” Olla said, blind to his inattention. He shook himself out of it and concentrated. “I figured that great great whatever-greats gramps Cass did it, so why can’t I?”

           Dipper’s mood soured further. Not only was this Soos, but her ancestor was a Cassie reincarnation. Of course. Of course! What was next, her father was Candy? Mother, Pacifica? Maybe Stan was her brother! Ford her Uncle! Lionel could be her second cousin twice removed. Why not?

           “Like, I figure, a bowl of ice cream a question is a pretty good deal. They’re long questions. Nobody was really clear on how Gramps Cass did it—not like he kept a record, you know? Whaddya think, dude Alcor? Bowl of ice cream,” she held up the bowl in question, reaching back to her desk, “filled with like what, three scoops per question. I got like ten of the suckers, so that’s like thirty scoops. That’s so many scoops.”

           Dipper blinked in interest. His stomach—kind of—gurgled, especially after days of no deals plus eating Torako’s sleep paralysis with 0 reward whatsoever. Maybe he could deal with Soos and his army of reincarnation relatives. “How big is the scoop?”

           Olla held up the scoop in question.

           “Holy shit,” Dipper whispered to himself. Olla nodded solemnly. Dipper stared at the bowl of the scoop, which was probably the size of his fist. Dipper could definitely deal with Olla and her probable army of reincarnation relatives. Especially for Soos. Soos was great, whatever reincarnation, even if he was maybe going to die at fifty flat, caught in a malfunctioning elevator that just wouldn't open, until she was so starved that she died on the way to the hospital.

           Dipper closed his eyes, and counted to three. Then he used the promise of a deal (tilted way in his favor, because that was like five, seven tubs of ice cream right there) to push the flashes of omniscience down. “What flavor is the ice cream?”

           Olla’s face lit up. Her eyes were wide, bright against her skin. “Oh dude, I’ve got the best flavors! Turtle Tracks, Loch Ness Mint, Platypus Sweet Potato, Cookies and Cream, you name it! We love ice cream. I mean, I’m gonna have to tell Mom that I used a bunch to summon you, but she’ll understand. Probably.”

           Not like Dipper was going to complain about parenting and listening to one’s elders in the face of a deal like this. “All right kid, shake it and you got a deal.”

           Olla grinned wide and stretched her hand out. Blue flames lit up their hands. Dipper felt that heady rush of a deal course through him, and shuddered with the force of it. It felt so good. And it would feel better when he got his ice cream, so he held out a hand and gestured ‘gimme.’ “Payment?”

           Soos’s reincarnation laughed. She dragged a freezer bag out from under her desk and opened a tub of Platypus Sweet Potato. Dipper tracked her hand as she took the ice cream spoon and dealt him one, two, three heaping scoops of heaven. If heaven existed, Dipper was sure it would be ice cream.

           (more seriously, he sees himself with all the people he has loved, with Mabel and Mira, Henry and Lata, the same soul split into all the different faces it’s taken, and everything is good, clear blue skies in Oregon where the summer never ends, it never ends and nobody grows old, nobody suffers, and he is normal again, but Dipper knows that will never happen)

            “So lay it on me,” Dipper said, taking the spoon Olla gave him because eating with his hands has not been very well received in the Pines-Lam-Farkas household, “what do you need help with?”

           Olla reached over for her school pad, propped between two thick books that look well-loved, and turned it on. She handed it to Dipper, who held it between his thumb and index finger while looking at the question.

           “That’s easy,” he said after five seconds. “The first answer is the Lili’uokalani Sequence, named after Ilana Ming’s favorite historical monarch. There you go, answer given, write it down and we’ll go to the next part of the question.”

           “Not so fast.” Olla took out a physical pen and paper and settled into her chair, looking at him expectantly. “I don’t just want the answers. You have to explain. Ilana Ming made this sequence? What sequence is it? What does it do? Why do we use it?”

           Dipper stared at Olla. “You…” he said, “don’t need all that info to answer the question?”

           Olla rolled her eyes. “Dude, I know that. But, like, I need to remember it so the more I can connect it to, the more I’ll remember? I know my brain, you know.”

           He couldn’t help it. He laughed, smile a little too wide and laughter too reedy, but he did it anyways. “What’s your favorite subject then, kiddo?”

           “Like, books, of course. English lit. I mean, I dunno that I want to do it, like research it, for a living—teaching seems super cool though—but like, you looked around my room at all, dude? I guess ice cream is pretty distracting though, so you get a pass.” Olla waved one hand around as she spoke.

           Dipper looked around, and sure enough, there were books everywhere. Most of them were fiction, but there were a couple non-fiction scattered around. There were a couple of old Twin Souls books in the corner—but Dipper told himself they weren’t there, and there were plenty of other good books in the room that he could ignore the awful presence of the Hell Books. As it was, though, he was never introducing Olla to Torako. Never.

           Batoor, on the other hand, would benefit from an English conversation partner, so maybe Dipper should offer to get them in contact with—

           Dipper shut that thought down hard. Maybe he was making an exception for Soos and delicious ice cream, but that didn’t mean he was going back to everybody. Not yet. Not until he had everything figured out. Not until he figured out if it was worth it.

           (he thought of Bentley and Torako and hoped, really hoped, that it was)

           “All right then,” Dipper said. He swiped to a new note-taking tab and started to write out the sequence. “When Ming did her stuff, she was looking for a way to more smoothly integrate magics into technology…”

_

           It turned out that Torako was right about not having time to summon Dipper before Meung-soo came over at six thirty; they had just finished setting the table with all the food when Meung-soo showed up, nervous and fiddling with her jewelry.          

           “Come on in!” Bentley said, stepping aside and letting his aunt over the threshold. “We just finished everything, Torako’s really excited to meet you.”

           “I’m excited to meet her too,” Meung-soo said. “I’m sorry your other partner couldn’t make it.”

           Bentley swallowed down the disappointment he felt at Dipper’s absence. “It’s okay, he just ended up being busier than any of us expected. We thought he’d be back in town, but he’s not around.”

           “Oh,” Meung-soo said. She took off her shoes in the entryway, then stepped into the dining room. Bentley shut the door behind her. “What does he do?”

           “A little of everything, honestly,” Torako called from across the kitchen island separating the kitchen from the dining room. “He’s selling stuff right now I think? Honestly, he picked up the job so fast he didn’t have any time to tell us about it. Hi, I’m Torako, it’s nice to meet you! I’d shake your hand, but they’re wet so give me a moment and I’ll be right there.”

           Meung-soo laughed, one hand partially covering her mouth. She had a really nice laugh, Bentley thought. He felt a little warm and giddy, the emotions slowly pushing aside his worry and upset about Dipper.

           “I’ll do that,” Meung-soo said. She smiled at Bentley. “Where should I sit?”

           There were four chairs at the table. Bentley pointed at the one that wasn’t Dipper’s, and said, “Right there, if that’s all right! Can you eat with chopsticks?”

           Meung-soo laughed again. “Of course I can! Anjan grew up in Korea and insisted we be able to, even if Ma was Mexican and Mama was, in her words, a Jamaican-European mutt.”

           The grandparents again. Bentley kept smiling anyways. “Oh! Do your names come from any particular heritage?”

           “Korean,” Meung-soo said, standing by the chair. “But Soo-jan and I were raised Catholic, like Ma wanted. I eventually left the church, but Soo-jan practiced a little. Did Philip ever raise you in a religion?”

           Bentley shook his head. “No. He explained them to me whenever I was interested, and took me to whatever services I was curious about, but nothing was ever enforced. Torako?”

           “Buddhist, with a sprinkling of Islam from Dad and Christianity from Momma Mai. Don’t really do much of any except for watching the New Year’s broadcast from Kyoto, though. We’re not super religious.” Torako walked up to Meung-soo and stuck out her hand. “Torako Lam, nice to meet a relative of Bentley’s.”

           “Meung-soo Ellig,” his aunt replied, setting her hand in Torako’s. They shook hands. “It’s good to meet you too. I’m glad you’ve been there for Bentley; as a fellow introvert, I know it’s hard to make friends. Especially ones that last.”

           Torako shot Bentley a grin. “Well, I’m pretty hard to say no to. I was really persistent in High School, and I’ve tempered it a bit but I’m still hard to shake. Aren’t I, Ben?”

           “It’s true,” Bentley said. “Please sit down! Would you like anything in particular to drink? We’ve got some wine, or something non-alcoholic if that’s more to your tastes.”

           “Non-alcoholic if you don’t mind,” his aunt said. She sat down. “Do you have some tea?”

           Bentley thanked whatever power that was out there (that wasn’t demonic) that they had thought to pick up a bottle of barley tea. “Yes, actually. Torako?”

           “Water! What’re you getting?”

           Bentley flicked her shoulder as he passed her on the way to the fridge. He pulled out the tea, then reached into a pocket in the right that cooled rather than chilled, and withdrew a bottle of white wine. “Well, I figure that since I’m not on call tonight, I can have a glass.”

            “You’re a little shit,” Torako said. Bentley laughed and pulled down two regular glasses and one wineglass. “Really,” she continued as Bentley poured their drinks, “I should be the one running away. Bentley looks sweet, but he’s a vicious bugger.”

           “Oh?” Meung-soo said. “I wouldn’t have guessed that!”

           “I live with Torako and Tyrone,” Bentley said. He looked up and caught Meung-soo’s eye before cocking an eyebrow. “It’s a survival trait that was bred in me. I have to be nasty sometimes, what with the shenanigans I put up with.”

           “Yeah, we were pretty awful in undergrad, weren’t we,” Torako mused. She leaned on the table, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. The light from the fake window up above, reflecting weather from the sky outside, lit her up and surrounded her in a warm glow. It didn’t quite reach Meung-soo, but it glinted off her earrings and the metal hoops around her wrists, inlaid with wardic spells he didn’t know the meanings of. Bentley thought about the dusty art supplies somewhere in the office room’s closet. He thought about crafts, or painting, for the first time in ages. Maybe he would dig them out on Saturday or Sunday.

           “I think most undergrads are pretty awful,” Meung-soo said. “They’re still children. Just…transitioning into more responsibility.”

           Bentley picked up all three drinks in both hands. “Not that graduate students are that much better. Look at Torako; she’s still in school.”

           “Hey, I’m better!” Torako protested, taking her water from him. Meung-soo reached over to do the same, and Bentley sat down.

           “Says the woman who tried to keep my face red the entire time we were at the grocery store today,” Bentley said. “Starting with penis jokes and not really straying outside that realm of humor.”

           Meung-soo choked. Bentley felt embarrassed for a moment for letting that out, and Torako guffawed. “You’re doing plenty fine for yourself there!”

           “Shut your face,” Bentley muttered. “You’re stupid and your opinion doesn’t count.”

           “So,” Meung-soo said as Torako stuck out her tongue. “What’s for dinner? It looks delicious.”

           Bentley praised his aunt for her diversionary tactics. But not out loud, because he’d embarrassed himself enough for one evening. “I did a few dishes! There’s cucumber salad, and tomato with mozzarella drizzled with soy-sauce, steamed sweet-squash sprinkled with cinnamon, fish-chicken pinapple-ginger stir-fry with noodles, and then fruit dessert afterwards.”

           “I can’t say I’m much of a vegetarian,” Meung-soo said carefully, side-eyeing him with an expression Bentley found hauntingly familiar but was unable to place on her face, “but I won’t say no to a good meat dish, and it looks very appetizing.”

           There was silence for a moment. Meung-soo turned bright red, and then Torako smacked the table twice and pointed at Bentley. “Oooooh! OOOOH!”

           Bentley stared at Meung-soo. He mentally rescinded his praise of her. “Why would you do that,” he asked, tone flat.

           She buried her face in her hands. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” she said.

           “You’re my aunt,” Bentley realized in horror. “My aunt made a dick joke at me. Why is this my life.”

           Torako cackled louder. “You’re stuck with her! I love her already. Meung-soo, I love you. Can we keep you?”

           “I’m sorry,” Meung-soo said between her fingers. “I’m in a committed relationship, and while I’m flattered by the attention, incest and women aren’t…really my things.”

           Bentley wanted to slide under the table. This time, he covered his own face in horror, and tried to drown out the sound of Torako laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe. He almost wished she would choke.

           At least Dipper wasn’t there, Bentley thought. It would have made things about ten times worse.

           After that, dinner passed in a manner that was less inundated with sexual innuendo, thankfully. The food was good, the company was better, and they were on dessert when Meung-soo asked Bentley if he’d be willing to see her off on Saturday.

           “Of course! Which port?” Bentley gathered all their dishes and set them on the kitchen island to be cleaned later. “Is it Hames Memorial?”

           “If that’s HMM, then yes. I’m set to leave at eleven, but with security and everything I need to be there by ten.” Meung-soo sipped at her tea. “We could meet up for breakfast, if that’s fine? All of us?”

           Bentley looked at Torako. “Does that sound good?” He was only dimly upset with the prospect of having to wake up early. It’s not like he could see his aunt every day, after all.

           “As long as I’m not called in to work, sure!” Torako said. She swirled the water in her glass. “I’ll put it down to a tentative yes.”

           “They’d better hire you after all of this,” Bentley said. He sat back down, held his wineglass in one hand. “What kind of intern is on call?”

           “The demonology kind, where all my coursework is literally this internship,” Torako said. “But yeah, I’d be pretty salty if they didn’t at least offer, with this last case especially. I hope they pay overtime. I keep forgetting to ask.”

           “When do you graduate?”

           “Mid-may, thankfully,” Torako said. “I’ll be so happy when I’m actually employed. Sure, I get some insurance through the school, but job insurance is like ten times better. Just another month! I can do this!”

           “Good luck then!” Meung-soo said, smile wide and eyes creased shut. “Let me know the date and I’ll make sure to send something. Are your parents coming out?”

           “Of course they are,” Torako said. “They’re getting a hotel, but they’ll be there for the ceremony and it’ll be great!”

           Bentley knew that another thing that would happen was Torako’s parents pestering her about coming home, about how there were plenty of demonology jobs in the CIF, even if that included listings not on Minte de Daos. It was safer there. Demonology laws were tighter. She never could explain that that’s why she couldn’t go home, that she didn’t want to go back. Bentley…wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

           “I’m so glad,” Meung-soo said. She opened her mouth to ask something else, then looked at Bentley and her expression shuttered. Bentley could guess what the question was, and was relieved when she changed the subject. Torako’s parents might have come out for him last year, but it hadn’t been the same. “Oh, I’m sorry, what time is…”

           “8:30,” Torako said. The light above had dimmed halfway through dinner, prompting their lights to slowly turn on. “Busy night?”

           “I just have a very early meeting tomorrow,” Meung-soo said. She stood up. “If it’s not too rude of me…”

           “Of course!” Bentley said, standing up as quickly as he dared. “You’re here on business, you don’t have to feel obligated to spend all your time with us. Really, meeting you has been…it’s been so nice.”

           Meung-soo stared at him, almost like she wasn’t seeing Bentley. Then she smiled, eyes soft with heartache, and reached out to hold his cheek, the bracelets sliding down her arm. He let her, a little stunned.

           “Thank you, Bentley,” she said, softly. “It has been my pleasure as well.”

           He smiled back as she dropped her hand. “I’ll see you Saturday, though! We’ll say goodbye then.”

           Meung-soo stepped back and laughed a little. “Of course! I’m sorry for being so sentimental and silly. We’ll see each other again.”

           Bentley and Torako saw her out the door, then retreated to the kitchen to do the dishes. They spent the first few minutes in silence, bodies moving around each other on autopilot, comfortable in their spaces and comfortable with the routine of cleaning.

           It was when they were halfway through dinner dishes, Bentley drying the serving bowl they had used for the cucumber salad, that Torako said, “I like her.”

           Bentley grinned at Torako. “Right? She’s really nice. She’s trying.”

           “What has she said about Philip?”

           Bentley set the bowl on the counter. “Not a lot, and nothing one way or the other. Apparently, they disagreed about some stuff after Mom died, and that’s why there’s been radio silence on her end. Anyway, most of it’s been about my mom, and some about my grandparents. Her parents.”

           “The ones you never met,” Torako said. She set a few sudsy spoons in the sink for him to rinse off. “The ones who never sent you like cards or anything.”

           “Yeah.” Bentley shrugged. “But I think she loved them, and they loved her, so of course she’ll talk about them. She really loved my mom too.”

           Torako hummed. “You think that’s why she got in contact with you?”

           Bentley laughed a little. “I don’t have to ask to know that’s why.” He dried the spoons, opened the cutlery drawer, and set them in there. “But…I guess that doesn’t mean I’m not glad to meet her.”

           She didn’t say anything back to him, just bumped her hip into his and kissed him on the top of his head. “I’m happy then,” Torako said. “I’m happy for you as long as you’re happy.”

           They continued to clean in silence, broken only by the occasional, off-tune strain of hummed song from Torako. When she was just finishing up, Bentley said, “I…I can’t say I don’t wish I had somebody of Dad’s, though, you know?”

           “I get that.” Torako reached over with sudsy hands and rinsed the last dish before giving it to him. “But, I guess if nothing else—you have us? You have me. And Dipper, when he comes back.”

           Bentley swallowed. “If he comes back.”

           “He will,” Torako said. “Even if I have to summon him and drag his ass back here myself. Which we’re doing tomorrow night, remember? After we check all the wards.”

           “All right.” Bentley took a deep breath, and tried to push any fears about Dipper’s nastier tendencies out of mind. “All right, tomorrow.”

           “Also, speaking of wards, just of a different flavor,” Torako said, reaching over him to snag the pile of plates, “do you know what the ones on her bracelets were? You saw them, right?”

           “I keep forgetting to ask, or remembering at a bad time,” Bentley said. He handed Torako the bowls, watched her stretch to set them on the shelf. “If I had to make a guess, I’d say they were memory enhancers?”

           “You can read wards?” Torako’s eyebrows shot up.

           “Oh no,” Bentley said, shaking his head and holding his arms up in an ‘x.’ “No, I can’t. Meung-soo just mentioned how her memory was much worse than my mom’s, but she kept remembering things I’d said about sigils even though that’s not her field at all.”

           “Makes sense,” Torako said. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “That does mean you need to be even more careful about what you say around her, though. If she’s augmenting her memory with a wardic spell, then who knows what she remembers?”

           Bentley nodded. “Yeah. I like her, but…” She hadn’t even met Dipper. He wasn’t sure yet that he would ever introduce Meung-soo Ellig to Alcor the Dreambender.

           “All right then, good talk, good talk,” Torako said, patting him on the back. “What should we do tonight? Watch a couple movies? Make some nifty new shirts that we can throw in Dip’s face when he comes back?”

           Bentley dimmed the lights in the kitchen as they moved to leave it. “Well, who says we can’t do—”

           Torako’s phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered the call before it had even rung a second time. “Torako, what’s up?”

           Bentley leaned against the kitchen island and watched her expression shift from serious to shocked to determined.

           “That’s—okay, right, I’ll be right over, Officer Nathan. Do I need to—got it, it needs to be broken. Salts? You have all the materials? Right. Right. See you ASAP.” Torako hung up and moved to the front door, calling over her shoulder as she went. “They found proof of a victim, relocated the poor kid to demonic curse-breaking in the hospital general. They’re going to need all the help they can get, because it sounds like a doozy.”

           “Kid?” Bentley asked as she pulled on her jacket.

           “Yeah. What fucker would do that to a kid? Seriously?” Torako turned around and gave him a short kiss on the cheek. She went to leave, but at a sudden, chilling thought, he pulled her back and pecked her on the lips.

           Torako blinked in confusion. “Hey, what’s that for? That’s rare. You usually don’t like that.”

           “I just love you,” he said. “I just…be safe, okay?”

           “Hey, I’m not tackling this on my own,” she said, ruffling his hair. “It’s in a contained area with a whole bunch of other people working to solve the problem.”

           “I mean, if they were nasty enough to go after a kid, who knows what they’d do to the people in charge of the investigation? They’re still out there.” Bentley zipped up her jacket, pulled her close. “Just come home, okay?”

           She hugged him tight. “I will. I’ll keep an eye out and tell the others to too, okay? I love you.”

           “So much.” Bentley whispered into her jacket. Reluctantly he stepped back. “Okay. Do your job, even though you’re just Intern Torako Lam.”

           Torako saluted. “Aye Aye, Head Practitioner Farkas! Reporting to duty!” She winked at him, kissed him on the forehead, and then was gone.

           It was just shy of nine o’clock. Bentley looked at the clock, then at the television set, then at the bedroom. The house was so dark. So quiet. Too quiet. Bentley reached over, and locked the door behind Torako.

           He made himself a hot cocoa, drank it while watching knitting tutorials. He finished them. Then, he washed the mug, showered, changed, and went to bed early with his nightlight on and curled up under the covers on a bed that felt too big for him alone. Bentley slept.

_

           Bentley dreams. He dreams that Dipper comes home, normal, all smiles and laughter until he reaches Torako, and then suddenly she is on the ground crying, her arm ripped off at the elbow instead of just broken. He dreams that Dipper opens his mouth, wide, wide, wide, darkness in its maw and Bentley cannot stop Dipper from swallowing Torako whole. Dipper keeps laughing, and when Bentley hits him, demands to know why, why, why, he turns to Bentley and runs a razor-sharp nail along the wide contour of Bentley’s cheek.

           “B̖̫͊̽́e͑̉̂̄̿̎c̸̞̔̔ͨͤͪ̊̓à̛̜̙͓͕̜̓̀ͣ̾̌ü̫͇̦͎͍̪̒ͬͬ͡s̻̻̻̮̫e͆̇ͪ͠ ͯ̈́y̮̯̙͉͓̯͚͐̾͋̌o͍̥͇͔̅ȕ’͐r̨̹̫e̦͉͖̱̭̜͗ͅ ̖̣̪̽͋ͧ̑ͭ̈́m̳̮̦̤̰y̒ͯ̓̍҉̟͙͔ ̞͉̪̀p͎̮̔̋̄ͦ̊ͫ͞r͛̅̓ͭ̂̔e͖c͈͈͈ͥ̋ͩ̐͟iͭ̿̿̿͏̗͉̲̙o̴ͧ̿̉̌͆͐ͤú̹̾ͤ͊ͨ͛͜s̳͌͐ͤ̃ͮ̚͡ ͚̜̬̰͓̒̌͂M̺̜͙̬͜i̛͚͔z̿͌a͈̜̟̟̘̚r̼̣̠͎͂̀̃̿ͭ͛̏,” Dipper says, in a crackling croon. “A̶̷n̕d͝ ̶y̡͟o͝͝u̷͝ ͏a̡͏re͜ ̛m̨̡͏į͜͝ņę̀,̵҉ ͢mine,̶͜ M͍̫͓̪̜̟̼͕̝̄̽ͫ́̔ͭ̍̈̿̏͆̑͆̋ͥ̐͌̀̚Ḯ̵̡̠̖̻̘̲̝̮̭̻̠̰̈͌ͯ̿͋͒ͦ̇͋̾Ṅ̵̗͖̟̫̪͇̬͓̤͓ͦ̅̓̍̉̽͑ͯ̕͠É̳͔̻̻̈ͧͧ̔́͜͠͝.̴̧̰͍̮̬̦̒ͥ̎ͮ̌́͠͞”

           Dipper leans forward and kisses Bentley, hard, his teeth shredding Bentley’s lips and swallowing his screams the way he’d swallowed Torako, his nails digging into Bentley’s shoulders as he struggled to get away and—

           Bentley dreams. He dreams that his father is at his desk, at home, is alive and well. Bentley walks forward and hugs his father from behind, love bubbling up in his chest, and whispers, “I missed you so, so much, dad.”

           His father continues working. He doesn’t even acknowledge Bentley is there, and the lack of attention makes Bentley pull back a little. “Dad?”

           “Oh, you’re finally home, are you?” Philip says. “Finally could be bothered to come back, then? How magnanimous of you.”

           “Dad?” Bentley steps back. Philip continues to work. “I—I came back as much as I could. It’s just—school was so busy, I was so busy. And I didn’t want Torako to pay for my ticket every time I came back, so I had to work. I’m—I’m sorry.”

           “Those are just excuses,” Philip says. He opens a book, the rasping of its pages loud in the abnormal silence of his office. Where was his music? Bentley always remembered music, but there’s just a loud buzzing sound in the back of his mind. “You were glad to be away from me. Away from your stupid dad who was obsessed with stupid things that alienated him from his family, from his wife’s family, from his friends and from his own son. I bet you were glad when I died.”

           “No!” Bentley steps back forward, his fists clenched. “No, I—I could never be happy about that! I was heartbroken. I still am heartbroken! Dad, I love you!”

           Philip finally turned around. He smiled at Bentley, eyes flat and cold behind his glasses, flickering with static and without reflection. There are orange lilies sprouting from his chest, bright, brighter than anything. “Oh, Benny-boy,” he said. “Don’t lie to yourself. You know better.”

           Bentley opens his mouth to refute, to say that he really, really does love Philip, but—

           Bentley dreams. Bentley stands in front of Torako and Dipper, who are holding hands, staring down their noses at him. They’re frowning, like him being before them is an unpleasant surprise.

           “Guys?” Bentley asks, voice shaking. He doesn’t know why, but Dipper—Dipper makes him remember nightmares of being kissed, of his desires being ignored and his fears being dismissed—and Bentley steps away from them both.

           “What did I ever see in you?” Torako asks, cocking an eyebrow. “You’re not even pretty, and you’d never love me back the way I do you. You’d never give me what I want. Why did I even stick around?”

           “You stuck around for me, darling,” Dipper says, tipping Torako’s face towards him. “I had to stay around my Mizar, so you stuck around for me. I’ll give you what you want. I’m pretty. I can even try to love you. Isn’t that so much better than that thing over there?”

           “Tora? Dipper?” Bentley feels himself crying. “What are you saying? Why are you—”

           “We’re not saying anything you don’t deserve,” Dipper says. He looks at Bentley with accusing eyes. “You can’t live up to the Mizar name. You’ll never live up to it—you’re not as outgoing as her, you’re not as vivacious, you’re not as colorful or bright or anything. You’re not even the right gender,” he sneers.

           “That doesn’t matter, though!” Bentley says. “You told me, it doesn’t—”

           “You’re not Mabel,” Dipper cuts over him, smooth like plasma through steel. “You never will be. At least Torako is Torako to me. She’ll always be Torako to me, won’t you darling?”

           “And you’ll always be Dipper,” Torako says, running the pad of one finger down the side of his cheek. She ignores Bentley, and Bentley can’t decide if that’s better or worse than the absolute derision in her gaze earlier. “My Dipper. My Alcor. I’m so much stronger than him, so much more outgoing. I can be your Mizar, if you want.”

           Dipper purrs, low and dark, and holds Torako closer. Her eyelids flutter lower, half-mast, in a way that Bentley has only seen when she’s playing chicken with Dipper and never for long. “Oh, Torako—I wish you were Mizar. Then I would never have to put up with that thing.”

           Bentley takes a step back as they start to kiss, then another, his heart in his chest as they shut him out entirely. “Guys?” he asks, except his voice is so small he can barely hear it. “Guys?” He—

           Bentley dreams. Bentley does not wake.

Bentley didn’t wake.

_

           The ceremony was long, and vicious. Alû’s claws were sunk deep in the kid, a young cyclops (Ethan, his name was Ethan) whose parents had no shady past and no known enemies. It took Torako, Officer Pillage, and Officer Hsiksa five hours to break the connection, and another half hour to make sure that nothing of its influence was left on the child. He would be traumatized for a long time, and Torako sat with him while his parents and the police talked therapists, talked PTSD and potential sleep-deprivation disorders. Ethan couldn’t do more than shake and stare at nothing, but Torako made sure that she was holding his hands, that he had a physical presence nearby to know that he wasn’t alone.

           He was only nine years old, and Torako was so, so angry, and tired, and frustrated with how reactionary everything they did was. She kept thinking, on the commute home, of ways they could have been more proactive: paired with nonprofits or government agencies to strengthen anti-demon wards, issued pamphlets to families and community members on recognizing the signs of demonic sleep paralysis, anything. More stringent patrols to capture the cultists, stronger penalties for summonings of this nature, more collective responsibility on the part of citizens. Anything. Anything.

           It was almost three AM by the time Torako got to their apartment. She opened the door—odd, Bentley hadn’t locked it?—and slipped off her jacket. Then the hair on the back of her neck, on her arms stood up on end, and she froze. Slowly, she thumbed on the flashlight application on her phone, and pointed it up at the corner formed by the ceiling and the far wall.

           There, Bentley’s sigils were ash-black, dead, stark against the white paint behind them. Torako inhaled deep and sharp, because those should be invisible. That they weren’t meant the sigils had been broken. That they weren’t meant that something had gotten in, something not-Dipper, something demonic, but what could have gotten—

           Magical creatures had been disappearing. The cultists had used those creatures as sacrifices to summon Alû once. They were still out there. There was literally nothing, nothing, stopping them from summoning Alû again. She could hardly breathe. She dialed Officer Nathan and put him on loudspeaker as she began to slowly walk through the house.

           He answered on the third ring. “Torako? What are you calling me for, was there a complication with—”

           “Officer Nathan,” she said, noticing how high her voice was but not caring. “Officer Nathan, my apartment was broken into and the sigils are black.”

           Officer Nathan was quiet for a moment, and then—“Fuck,” he said. “Fuck. Okay. Was Bentley home? Was Tyrone?”

“Bentley was,” Torako said. He wasn’t on the couch. Wasn’t in the kitchen. She moved back to the bedroom, where the door was closed and it was never completely closed, she was so scared.

“If it was Alû, it will fine, you can pull him out of it—”

“Officer Nathan, I think somebody was in my home.” Torako’s breathing was harsh. She reached out to open the door, but didn’t want to just in case—“The bedroom door is shut, it’s never shut, never, not when Bentley goes to sleep because his print is coded not to, what do I do, what do I do?”

“Take your sleeve and open the door,” Officer Nathan said. “I’m coming over. I’m staying on the line, but I’m sending a message for the others to convene at your place.”

“Okay,” Torako said. She could feel herself starting to cry. “Okay, I’m opening the door.” She slid the sleeve of her jacket over her hand and pushed the button to open the door. It couldn’t read her finger, so it just—opened. No silly pre-programmed fanfare, no slow-motion, nothing.

The lights flickered on. The room was empty. The bedsheets were mussed up, the nightlight was on, but Bentley wasn’t there.

Bentley wasn’t there.

“Torako? Torako, is he paralyzed?”

“He’s not here,” Torako said, voice shaking. She couldn’t stand. She dropped to the ground, stared at the empty bed. “He’s not here. He’s gone, he’s gone Officer Nathan, he’s gone.”

“What do you mean—”

“He’s not here!” Torako said, voice shrill and loud. “I fucking mean he’s not here at all, there’s nobody here the house is empty except for me!”

“Did you check the other rooms in the house?” Officer Nathan asked. “Check the bathroom, the office, he might be there—”

“The lights would be on and they’re not, they’re not, they’re not he’s gone Officer he’s gone!” She was crying, crying fuck she never cried she hated crying.

“Torako, I know you’re scared, we’ll be there soon. Just—stay as calm as you can, stay with me Torako, stay with me.”

She couldn’t. Torako dropped the phone onto the ground and held her face in her shaking hands, and tried to control her breathing. But she couldn’t, and by the time Officer Nathan found her, she was bent over, forehead to the ground and hyperventilating into her own hands.

Bentley was gone.

[ibookbm]

21 Motivational Books that Will Change Your Mind About Life, Money, and Yourself

My least favored feeling is feeling stuck.

I may be stuck with non-public growth, stale in my relationships, clean out of ideas at paintings… the list is endless.

The worry of closing stagnant may be crippling.

I’ve felt that way many, frequently. Each time it looks like I’ll never overcome it like I’m permanently drained of motivation.

Know what I suggest? Perhaps you’ve resigned yourself to living a miserable, dull lifestyle. Maybe you even agree with you don’t deserve better than that. When you feel so bad to see you later, it’s hard to assume life in some other manner.

I’ve been there too. Many instances.

In reality, I’ve made such a lot of journeys to Auckland and back that I’ve proved to myself that my time there isn’t everlasting. Some of my trips are surely longer than others, however, I constantly return.

And because I realize I constantly go back home, I’ve made it a dependency that each time I’m in a “valley,” I remind myself of all the alternative valleys I’ve already been in. I remind myself that this valley is no specific than the others, although it looks like it's miles. I remind myself that I have felt like this before and that I have overcome it before too.

You don’t need to face the valleys alone. In truth, it’s higher no longer to face them alone. When we’re by myself, that’s while the crushing negativity can creep in… all of the self-doubt, the concern, and the fear.

We’ve all were given little “voices” inner our heads. Sometimes they’re fine, but on occasion they’re negative. When you tell yourself you “can’t” otherwise you’ll “never” or you “don’t deserve it”… the ones are the voices. And the instances while the one's voices are the loudest? Well, those are the valleys.

To get out of the valleys, you have to shush the terrible voices. And the exceptional way to shush ’em isn’t to try and get rid of them — because they’ll constantly return, announcing something different next time. No, the great manner to shush the voices is to crowd them out.

How do you crowd ’em out? The answer may surprise you.

Read.

Every time you study, you get entry to to a fresh perspective — and you get to pick out that perspective every unmarried time.

Every time you examine, you pay attention to other voices except the ones to your head.

And on every occasion you examine, you're making your world bigger.

You allow your self to grow and enhance your existence… one word at a time.

So in which need to you start? I can help with that! Below is an in-depth listing of 21 motivational books you can use to fill your mind with effective voices, empowering thoughts, and inspiration to create a life you love.

Let’s dig in!

The Subtle Art of Not Giving an F*ck through Mark Manson

I wager that identify grabbed your interest, huh?  It does have a chunk of shock cost — but it also backs it up with reliable advice on how you could decide what to care about… and what not to. Pretty ambitious thinking, right?

Think and Grow Rich by way of Napoleon Hill

This is one of those books that’s a piece older but makes each person’s “Best Motivational Books of All Time” listing. Napoleon performed dozens of interviews with the most successful and richest human beings inside the early twentieth century and drills down into the commonplace tendencies between them.

Awaken the Giant Within via Tony Robbins

Tony Robbins is one of the names most synonymous with self-help books. And for a proper purpose — he’s written six first-class-selling books approximately economic freedom, private development, and more. I particularly like this e-book due to the fact he stocks what he’s discovered approximately the pleasant ways to assist humans to wreck thru to new degrees in life.

The Success Principles with the aid of Jack Canfield

This is the *best* book for those who sense caught with wherein they're in life. I’ve been there, and this book helped me get out of my hunch. With short chapters on each subject matter, Jack teaches you a way to boom your confidence, address every day demanding situations, live with ardor and reason, and make your goals actual. You’ll be again on track in no time.

Spirit Driven Success by way of Dani Johnson

Dani Johnson went from being homeless to a millionaire in TWO years. Two years, folks. She’s an ordained minister and teaches the way to “release the door to biblical wealth and prosperity secrets.” I was so inspired by way of her story and knew I needed to add it to this list.

Tools of Titans with the aid of Tim Ferriss

Over the remaining years, Tim has interviewed the high-quality of the fine inside the international on his podcast. He’s taken the whole thing he’s discovered from the ones 2 hundred+ interviews and packed it into this GINORMOUS inspirational ebook. But don’t let the scale intimidate you — think about it as a giant resource for fitness, wealth, and happiness.

Rich Dad Poor Dad by way of Robert Kiyosaki

Robert explores the mind-set which you don’t have to earn a ton of cash to be wealthy. He’s responsible for converting how hundreds of thousands of humans consider cash and investing. This is one of the fine private finance books obtainable.

Lean In by way of Sheryl Sandberg

Ever heard of Facebook? (LOL!) Sheryl Sandberg is the COO of the social media empire, and he or she’s created a name for herself using coaching women how to take manipulate in their careers and be proper leaders in their fields. She indicates “unique steps women can take to mix expert success with personal fulfillment.”

How to Win Friends and Influence People with the aid of Dale Carnegie

Here are some other vintage-time traditional that you’ll locate on many “Best of” lists. It has bought tens of millions of copies over time and illustrates how to interact with humans effectively. Communication = the important thing to achievement in ANYTHING.

Losing My Virginity with the aid of Richard Branson

Richard Branson is the founder of Virgin Atlantic Airways, Virgin Records, and more pinnacle groups. He’s one of the most iconic marketers of our day. This autobiography tells the tale of his loopy-exciting existence and the way he writes his very own regulations in the enterprise. It’s a clean take on the traditional “self-help” e-book.

Big Magic through Elizabeth Gilbert

The writer of the wildly a success Eat, Pray, Love is back with some other e-book on the concept, creativity, and conquering the fears which can be conserving your lower back. She’s awesome inspirational and when you finish analyzing the e-book, you’ll need to start taking motion stat.

The Obstacle is the Way with the aid of Ryan Holiday

You recognize what I say: Being happy isn’t about having 0 issues — it’s being capable of clear up the troubles we do have, no matter how big or small. And that’s why I love this book so much. It suggests you how to show problems into successes.

Loving What Is: The Four Questions That Can Change Your Life through Byron Katie

Byron Katie created a manner known as The Work that enables you to notice your issues in a different mild. This ebook expands on that method through particular examples of people running through their issues and understanding the underlying notion tactics at the back of them. It’s considered one of the leading motivational books on private transformation.

The Now Habit by using Neil Fiore

Are you a procrastinator? Always placing things off and either doing them at the last minute or no longer doing them at all? I was once much like that until I read The Now Habit. Now I get my booty in gear and get things carried out so that I can revel in my unfastened time faster — without feeling guilty.

Mindset: The New Psychology of Success through Carol Dweck

You men recognize how tons I do not forget mind-set to be an integral part of everybody’s success. Well, this e-book is THE ebook approximately mind-set. I got so much out of it that I even based part of my Money Mindset Transformation workshop on the ideas taught via Dr. Dweck in this book.

The Dip through Seth Godin

I’m sure you’ve heard the announcing “Winners in no way end and quitters by no means win.” But… on occasion, winners DO give up and quitters DO win! But how do you realize whilst to cease or whilst to push via? Seth teaches precisely that during The Dip.

RELATED:  How This New Dad is Proofreading His Way to Freedom

The Millionaire Next Door via Thomas Stanley & William Danko

Being a millionaire shouldn't mean you’re flashy or have pricey things. In reality, you could have a millionaire dwelling proper next door and no longer even comprehend it. This book walks you through the seven “guidelines” all millionaires live via — and they’re likely no longer what you anticipate!

7 Habits of Highly Effective People through Stephen Covey

Stephen Covey is some other noticeably regarded writer inside the motivational international. This ebook got here 25 years ago, but it’s nevertheless one of the most recognizable and encouraged personal growth books accessible.

Psycho-Cybernetics by way of Maxwell Maltz

No, this book isn't always approximately robots 😉 It’s a shorter, less complicated manner of saying “steering your mind to inefficient, a beneficial purpose so you can attain the best port inside the world, peace of mind.” It’s a reasonably unknown e-book compared to others in this list, however, Tony Robbins is a fan — and so am I.

The War of Art via Steven Pressfield

Here’s any other wonderful e-book approximately unleashing your creativity and pushing via roadblocks standing for your way. If you’re a wannabe writer, this e-book is for you — Steven Pressfield was over forty years old when he first was given published. You’re in no way too vintage!

Change Anything by Kerry Patterson & Joseph Grenny

Have you ever tried to make a change in your lifestyles (cross on a food plan, begin the exercise, and so on.) but couldn’t follow thru? There’s a cause for that, and this ebook dives into how you can trade your destructive behavior and replace them with better behaviors.

Looking for pointers for setting up your freelance business? Check out this resource page in which I talk approximately my favored equipment and resources for constructing your website, walking your freelance business, and even keeping healthy!

Our Take This listing has to get you out of the valleys to your subsequent trip to Auckland. 🙂 Just keep in mind that truly analyzing one of these books (or maybe they all) won’t create exchange all with the aid of itself. Motivational books aren’t magical within the Muggle international. Mere records are powerless without implementation. So with every ebook, you study, extract the “golden nuggets” — the matters that circulate you to action — and get to paintings!

What are your favored motivational books? So what do you believe you studied? Are you searching forward to a journey to the library or bookstall? Have you given your finger a workout from clicking away on Amazon? I hope so! If you've got other books you’d want to advise, permit me to understand inside the remarks! I’m always looking for more excellent books to study.

[funkzpiel]

AND THE TAG READ SIMPLY: PRETTY - CH9

Words of comfort and affirmation bubbled to his tongue – He’s caught, we have him. Don’t worry. He’s at MACUSA, he’ll never hurt you again. But one look, and Newt realized that the context of Graves’ question was not ‘please say he’s not here.’ It was ‘please say he’s coming home soon.’

“He’s… away,” Newt said lamely, eyes flickering to glance at Graves now that the man felt confident enough to speak with him. Graves was leaning far enough forward now that his shoulders were visible, pale and naked. Newt felt his cheeks begin to burn at the implication, and even more so when he caught sight of the thick leather collar that hung snuggly around Graves’ throat – Grindelwald’s symbol hanging delicately next to a small gold tag that read simply: ‘Pretty’.

FANTASTIC BEASTS KINK MEME FILL Grindelwald is captured, they track down Graves, but instead of finding a locked up and tortured Graves they find Graves naked and in a collar, napping on a soft bed without a hint of recognition in his eyes. Turns out Grindelwald messed with Graves’ mind, removed all his memories and made him believe that he’s Grindelwald’s pet.

Includes: Gellert Grindelwald x Graves, Newt x Graves, Non-Con, Rape, Stockholm Syndrome, Bondage, Pet Play, Forced Pet Play, Collars, Non-Con Body Modification, Animal Ears, Animal Behaviors/Qualities, Mind!Fuck, Memory Loss/Alteration, Master/Pet, Dubious Consent, Angst, Literally Graves Believes He’s A Dog, I AM TRASH

CHAPTER 9

It was as Newt was toweling Graves’ hair dry that the man broke the gentle haze of their peaceful morning. Newt had managed to convince the man into another pair of ill fitting clothing without much of a hitch and was starting to feel rather optimistic about their day until that moment. He currently had the man perched on the edge of the tub, head bowed so he might better towel him off.

“Tina,” Graves finally said, “She was sad.”

Tina…? From earlier that morning. Oh.

Newt let the towel fall still for a moment, surprised, before he started to rub the man’s scalp a little more vigorously again – mindful of his ears.

“Well, um… yes. I suppose she might have been,” Newt trailed off as he searched for the words to explain Tina’s state of mind without explaining everything. “Maybe she’s had a rough start to her day. It happens, Percy. I wouldn’t worry—“

“She was sad,” Graves clarified, his eyes stormy in a way that made Newt’s heart still. “When she looked at me.”

“Oh,” Newt breathed, his expression breaking ever so slightly as the director picked up on his hesitation and bowed his head a little more beneath the towel, hands trembling in his lap. “Percy…”

“Did I… did I do something bad?” He asked, and Newt could see it in the lines of the man’s shoulders and back that he was bravely preparing himself for something. His ears were tucked tight to the thick hair of his head, practically unnoticeable; his tremble, however, was unmistakable.

“No!” Newt said immediately, letting the towel slide to hug Graves’ neck and dipping down so that he might catch Graves’ downcast gaze. He didn’t. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. Tina is just…” Newt licked his lips before finally settling on the right words and said, “A close friend of Tina’s is missing. She’s been trying to find him. She misses him very much. A lot of people do. And you… you happen to look like him.”

Graves slowly looked at him then, searching his face for something.

“Do you know what might help?” Newt asked, suddenly inspired by a thought.

Graves’ ears perked.

“Next time you see Tina, chat with her. Seeing you happy and cheerful will remind her of when her friend had been happy and cheerful,” Newt explained. “And that’ll surely make her smile, even if only for a little while.”

“Talk about what?” Graves asked, confused. Newt chuckled and stood, his fingers brisk and efficient as he gently guided Graves’ wet hair into some semblance of order.

“About anything, really. Tell her about the creatures you’ve helped or the enclosures you like best. Tell her she looks pretty or that you like her coat. Ask her about the magic she knows,” Newt suggested. “The sky is the limit.”

Graves pondered that for a moment before nodding, eyes big and serious as they looked up at Newt.

“I can do that,” he said.

Newt smiled.

“She’ll love it. Now come along,” he said as he quickly left the bathroom, gesturing for Graves to follow. “We have a case full of creatures depending on us for breakfast!”

Graves followed him out, hot on his heels.

The day passed slowly after that, but all at once, it seemed over.

They had spent much of it just as Newt thought they would – wandering throughout the enclosures and attending to his impromptu family of creatures. And Newt couldn’t tell what made him happier – seeing the light that shone in Percy’s eyes as they interacted with the creatures or the way that all of them took such a liking to the man. Since the moment he introduced Percy to Dougal, the little seer hadn’t let him go. Literally. Instead he led the director by the hand everywhere, showing him this and that about the enclosures with a patient kindness that made Newt’s heart swell. Pickett had taken up residence in Percy’s hair as well, weaving little flowers through the growing strands behind the director’s ear amidst happy chirping.

It was as if every creature was highly attuned to the sheer hurt that had been done unto the auror and now each was doing its best to give him comfort in their own way.

The only creature he hadn’t seen in a while was the Niffler, the strange little bastard. He had spotted him once – his little butt wiggling this way and that in his nest – before the creature had scampered off again, no doubt to one of his many other nests. Searching for something, it seemed. But before Newt could dwell on it, he was distracted by another creature and all thought of the Niffler’s strange behavior was out of his train of thought entirely.

The Mooncalves had gathered at Percy’s feet immediately, all pressing in on him, happy at his return. They chirped and purred as he wound his fingers into their fleece and fed them, promising to visit later when they tried to follow him to the next enclosure. And Percy greeted every creature with an eager fondness that made Newt feel like the man had been doing this at his side for decades rather than days. He just fit here so perfectly.

It stung…

Newt sat on a rock that perched out from the field, Dougal nestled beside him, and watched as Percy chased a particularly rambunctious Mooncalf around that had managed to follow them out of its enclosure. It’d trot just out of Percy’s grasp and gurgle at him cheerfully before taking off again, the man hot on its heels and grinning. Happy.

Dougal’s hand closed around his, drawing his attention.

“What is it, friend?” Newt asked. He followed the little creature’s large gaze up and over his shoulder. With a twist he looked back, only to smile broadly. Even from his spot he could see Tina exit his shed and begin the trek over to him. He waved, only for his smile to falter when he wave back appeared to be halfhearted. He felt his chest clench.

Dougal held his hand a little tighter then released it before disappearing all together. Newt frowned, suddenly wary.

“Tina,” he greeted her from his perch. He waited for her to sit and when she didn’t he sighed and slowly rose to his feet. “Something’s happened… hasn’t it?”

She bit her bottom lip, her eyes following Mr. Graves as he ran in the field. She blinked rapidly and Newt felt his stomach sour.

“Madam President wants to talk to you,” Tina said, eyes back on Newt. “Alone. She’s in the shed.”

“Ah,” Newt said, his own gaze traveling to the innocent view of his little shed in the center of his case – small and unimposing, but suddenly filling him with so much dread.

“I can watch him,” she said, drawing Newt’s attention.

“Best we tell him,” Newt said, then cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. “Percy!”

The man had just been about to catch the Mooncalf when Newt startled him. Also startled, the Mooncalf ran from enclosure – no doubt to rejoin its herd. Percy watched it go with a peculiarly sad look before finally turning to look at them. His expression flickered once he caught sight of Tina. Ears perked at the sight of her.

“There’s a guest who wants to have a word with me in private,” Newt said. “I’ll be just a moment. Can you keep Tina company while I’m gone?”

Graves nodded, and with a small smile, Newt turned to give Tina’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze before heading to his shed. Just when he reached the doorway to his little shack he turned back, just to be sure, only to find that Graves had finally approached Tina and appeared to be starting a conversation, if slowly. Newt smiled gently, then braced himself and went inside.

He found her standing in front of one of his more cluttered shelves – her fingers a mere breath away from brushing its contents as she read the labels of each bottle she found there. At the sound of his arrival she merely said, “You own many illegal items, Mr. Scamander.”

“To help, not to hurt,” Newt said.

She glanced at him then, neither accusing or forgiving, and said, “Gellert Grindelwald believes his motives noble as well, Mr. Scamander. Just because you believe it is for a good cause does not make it so or any less illegal.”

Newt shrugged.

“Did you come here to arrest me?” He asked.

Picquery sighed then pulled her hands tight to the small of her back and turned to fully face him.

“No. I did not. Apologies, Mr. Scamander. I am more than a little…weary, right now.”

“Of course,” Newt said with a curt little tip of his head. “May I ask why you did come, Madam President?”

Picquery paused for a long moment, as though searching for the words, before finally regarding him and his question.

“Percival Graves is a good man,” Picquery said. “He was my most dedicated auror. At every turn of this administration, he has been its backbone. It was Graves who kept this community safe, both by his own hand and in how he trained and handled his people. He was first to his desk, last to leave. First to take a bullet, last to beg. I’ve seen the man go days without rest in order to help one of his own. I’ve seen the scars of his time in war; heard the stories. These are just some of the qualities that make him a great man… but do you know why he is a good man, Mr. Scamander?”

“I can’t say that I do,” Newt said softly, eyes on Picquery’s cheek when finally she turned to look at him.

“Because when he could have stood atop someone’s throat in order to get what he wanted,” she said, her eyes lost on a distant thing that Newt just couldn’t quite grasp. “He offered that person a hand instead.”

Newt watched her for a long moment, chin tucked but eyes focused.

“You miss him.”

Picquery’s gaze slid to him, cool and crisp and yet distinctly human.

“Very much,” she said. “I didn’t realize it until he was… until he was gone, but I should have seen the warning signs. If not in Grindelwald’s farce, then in my own behavior. Graves has always been a trusted advisor to me. I see the world in black and white, Mr. Scamander. It is something that has benefited me as a leader. But there are times when the world doesn’t need black and white decisions, and in those moments, Graves served as my shades of grey. When he suddenly stopped providing compassionate input I should have known…”

Newt remained silent, unsure of what to do with himself otherwise.

“Grindelwald has…beaten our system. We’re going to try again, but it is unlikely we will get the information we need before the Ministry of Magic takes him back to England to be tried.”

“And what does that mean for Mr. Graves, should you fail to get the information you seek from Grindelwald?” Newt asked hesitantly.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, I’d like to see him,” Picquery said, her back tall and proud, but her eyes cool, distant embers that smoldered weakly – dying. She had come to say goodbye, Newt realized, and stood a little straighter.

“Madam President, I –“

She raised a hand to still his voice, her eyes boring into him, and for a moment, he saw her struggle for words. But when her gaze fell back upon him, she composed herself so quickly and so rigidly it make the little hairs on the back of Newt’s neck stand on end. He shivered.

“Please, Mr. Scamander.”

“Of course.”

She followed him out of his little shed. He uttered a soft “watch your step” as he led her through his enclosures – uneasy to have a woman of the law as clinical and Picquery in the sanctuary he had created. But she made a point of not looking too closely and for that, Newt was grateful.

Newt felt something warm and tight clench in his chest as they approached the field where he had left Tina and Graves, his eyes on the pair sitting side by side, chatting away comfortably. He smiled and for a moment, his eyes burned ever so slightly. He can still remember the stricken look on Tina’s face when they had found Graves; hurt that she couldn’t get close, couldn’t help. To see them now, shoulder to shoulder – he startled when Picquery suddenly spoke.

“See, Mr. Scamander?” She said softly, firmly – the littlest smile on her lips, her eyes knowing. No doubt commenting on the notes he had sent her just a night or two ago. “I think you’re making far more progress than you give yourself credit for.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, eyes fond as he watched them.

“Oh, looks like they’re done,” he heard Tina say, turning to catch sight of them. She waved at them, smiling, and Newt waved back. Shortly after Graves turned around too, eyes bright and cheerful—

Only to fall, his expression breaking suddenly like shattered glass, the moment he laid eyes on them. It set every warning bell off in Newt’s body, and without thinking twice he felt himself reaching for his wand, already spinning on one foot to regard whatever foe must be behind them for Graves to react that way, only to find nothing but the emptiness of his case and a few creatures ambling by in the distance.

“W-what?”

“B-but I wasn’t bad!” Graves whimpered, and Newt whirled around, confused. With a feeling akin to his heart dropping out at a freefall, he realized that Graves’ eyes were not trained on some foe behind them; he was in fact looking at them. Or to be more precise, Newt realized – the Madam President.

Beside him Picquery froze, confused and at a loss.

“I wasn’t bad,” Graves whimpered again, scrambling back from his perch beside Tina and tumbling slightly into the grass before finally catching his balance. He stopped in an awkward stoop, and Newt’s stomach twisted when he realized it was no doubt because he knew he shouldn’t be standing on two feet according to Grindelwald’s rules, but also knew that running was faster than crawling. He stayed like that, hunched over and trembling so fiercely Newt could see it – all large eyes and pressed back ears and absolute terror.

Tina sprung to her feet and took a step forward to help him, calm him, but it just made Graves take a few more steps away from them.

“Everything’s alright, Mr. Graves,” She said, pleading. “That’s Madam President. She’s a friend. Don’t you remember her?”

“I remember,” Graves said, and it was the closest to a growl Newt had ever heard leave from ‘Pretty’s’ lips since the day he had managed to coax him out of that little closet.

“Mr. Scamander, what is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Newt said, bringing himself lower to the ground, hands out. “Percy, it’s just us. There’s nothing to be afraid of. No one here will hurt you.”

“Then why is she here?” He asked. He glanced between them and whined. “I wasn’t bad. I wasn’t bad. M-Master said I wasn’t bad. I wasn’t bad, was I?”

Graves was nearly crying now; frantic – each breath coming in harsh, whistling gasps through his nose that left Newt’s lungs burning in sympathy.

“Master?” Picquery asked.

“You said I wasn’t bad. Tell her I wasn’t bad,” Graves pleaded, eyes locked on Newt, and Newt felt his stomach fall through his shoes under the weight of the implication. Master. He took a step back, the breath knocked from his lungs, and reeled. “Master, please! I don’t want to go to the room!”

“Mr. Scamander?” Picquery asked, brow quirked.

“I didn’t tell him to call me that,” Newt said in a rush, eyes wide and pleading and absolutely lost because everything was slipping out of his control so quickly – how could he have possibly thought he could help? He was a magizoologist, not a doctor. For fuck’s sake, he probably made it worse.

He realized his mistake in not acknowledging Graves too late.

Graves’ breath hitched in his chest, and Newt looked over just in time to see the man frantically shaking his head and backing up – eyes so wide Newt could see the whites of them. His clothing was starting to pull apart at the edges into frantic little whispers of particles and movement, and with a sickening lurch, Newt realized what was about to happen.

“Percy, no!”

He locked his eyes on Newt and disapparated; leaving the three of them standing there, stunned and staring at the place he once stood.

“I thought he couldn’t do magic,” Tina said, shocked and confused and panicked. “I thought you said he didn’t even recognize it!”

“He can’t,” Newt said, trying to focus on their questions even as his mind was reeling. “He doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean his body doesn’t remember how to do it. No doubt he did it on instinct, judging by how terrified he was. Muscle memory.”

“And I thought no one could apparate in or out of your case?” Picquery asked.

“No one can, it’s warded and charmed against it,” Newt said. “But you can apparate and disapparate between the enclosures inside the case. Just not in or out of the case itself.”

“Then where did he go?” Tina gasped and twirled on the spot, frantic.

“Likely somewhere safe,” Newt said numbly, heart still breaking at the thought of Graves’ terrified pleading – all focused on him, as if Newt could save him. He crossed his arms around himself and gripped tightly, eyes averted; unable to stop replaying the memory in his head.

“And where might that be, Mr. Scamander?” Picquery asked.

“I have a good idea, but I think it’s best I go alone, considering…” Newt said softly, trying to ease the blow – but Tina flinched regardless and in Picquery’s eyes, he saw her coldness grow. “I’m sorry.”

“Find him,” Picquery said finally, gesturing to Tina to follow her. “We have to return to our guest. And for the love of magic, Mr. Scamander, ensure that the director doesn’t use any more magic.”

That caught Newt’s attention. Finally, he looked up to hold her gaze.

“Why? I would have thought you’d be pleased he was still able?”

Something in the woman’s eyes made Newt’s blood turn to ice. He shuddered, suddenly much more desperate to find the man.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” she simply said, then turned and walked back to Newt’s shed. Tina stopped beside him as she passed for a brief moment – her hand soft and tentative as it reached for his, but he couldn’t help but pull away. A stricken look crossed her face and Newt felt his guilt grow.

“You are making a difference, Newt,” she said. “Please don’t give up.”

And then she too left him, alone in the middle of the field Graves loved, with nothing but his artificial wind and the sound of his creatures to comfort him. When he was sure both women were gone, he fell onto his haunches, wrapped his arms around his legs and pressed his face into his knees. His shoulders quivered. His lungs ached. His heart felt like a stone in the ocean, sinking further and further away from him.

He gave himself five minutes to wallow in self pity. Five minutes to break. To collect himself. And when those five minutes were up, he lifted his chin atop his knees to find Dougal standing in front of him – waiting patiently.

“Hello, Dougal,” he said. “Are you here to help me find Mr. Graves?”

Dougal nodded.

“Do you know where he is?”

Another nod.

“Alright then,” Newt said and wearily rose to his feet. He had a good inkling on where the man had gone, but regardless he let his little friend gently wrap his long fingers around his own and lead him deeper into the case where a large rock spun round and round, high into the air and close to the artificial moon he had charmed to hang above it. As he passed the other exhibits, everything was eerily still. The Nundu was laying across the edge of its enclosure – eyes on the Mooncalves’ exhibit, a sad purr rumbling low in its throat. It didn’t even bat at him as he passed. The Occamy were peering out from their nest in a sad huddle. Even the Dung Beetles had ceased rolling their dung.

Newt could feel the weight of a dozen eyes following him as he let Dougal lead him on until finally they were at the edge of the Mooncalves’ enclosure. Even from the bottom most level of their area Newt could see them all amassed atop the little mountain he had made them. They were all congregated beneath the large tree at the highest point of their enclosure, and as he slowly climbed to meet them, he could hear their soft and worried chirping. The same noise they tended to make when one of the little ones in the herd fell ill.

Sure enough when he crested the top of their little mountain (more like a hill, really, but Newt tried), he found them practically laying one atop another in a ring around the tree and at their center was a man – a familiar man – unconscious at the base of the tree and covered in worried Mooncalves.

“Percy!” Newt gasped. Dougal released his hand as Newt rushed forward through the herd of Mooncalves to reach his charge. Around his neck, the collar was smoking as if smoldering although thankfully it did not appear to actually be burning Graves’ skin. And the tags that hung from it glowed a hot, molten color as slowly they cooled in the chill night air of the enclosure. Graves himself looked lax as a doll, curled on his side as he was. There were dried tracks of tears on his face, his skin pale and blotchy. Newt fell to his knees beside him and quickly gathered him into his arms. He whimpered, in pain.

“Merlin’s beard, what happened to you?” He asked, eyes wide as he felt the man in his hands tremor weakly. “How did you even disapparate—“

He fell short, the question lost and trailing away as his eyes caught sight of something that had decidedly not been there before. The seam at the back of Graves’ pants had been split clean open and through that gash of torn fabric protruded a long and distinctly bushy tail of jet black fur. With trembling fingers he followed that tail up to the base of Graves’ spine where it melded seamlessly into flesh and bone.

It was real. There was a real honest to God tail attached to Graves’ body and suddenly Picquery’s words came rushing back to him.

“And for the love of magic, Mr. Scamander, ensure that the director doesn’t use any more magic.”

Grindelwald was not the one fueling Graves’ collar or its various enchantments.

Graves was.

In the execution chambers, Grindelwald suddenly opened his eyes. Slowly his lips spread out into a cruel and wicked grin, and he chuckled – drawing the ire of one of the dozen aurors watching him.

“Shut up, you bastard,” one of the aurors spat. “You’ll have plenty of time to laugh when you’re dead.”

“Soon it will be me standing on that platform and you sitting in this chair, boy,” Grindelwald said quite cheerfully. “And when that time comes you’ll realize the error you made.”

“Oh yeah? And what, pray tell, is that?”

Grindelwald smiled.

“You’ll see.”