#and my glasses need cleaning and my boots are scuffed to hell

[fastofthekillones]

21

I'm just going to pin this post and use it to find weird tags that I have inexplicably written on something, mostly for my own gratification, but if any of you wonderful weirdos wanna look, feel free

[mxvladdy]

THE WAY YOU FILLED YOUR FIRST REQUEST SHOOK ME?!?!?!? YOU BLESSED US!? Would you mind also imagining how Mammon, Luci and Belphie would feel with a MC who's guarded with themselves and their feelings to avoid hurt, so they try to keep these brothers at a friendly arm's length as they don't believe the brothers don't really care about them? It would make me so happy, thank you so much!

EEEEK! Sorry for the wait. It took forever and a day to get enough time to seat uninterrupted and then try to edit ;.;

I hope you like it! Apologies if I didn’t get the prompt just right!

Mammon

He didn’t hide his disdain for his human protection duty when you first met. The fact that you kept him at an arm's length was a devil’s blessing. Good! He is a busy demon after all, he doesn’t have time for some human. At first.

Then he caught the feels and it’s all downhill for him at his ‘cool devil’ act. Not that you ever NOTICED.

He tries to flirt with you. Before you, he thought he was good at it too.

He’s never had someone so civil with his advances. You smile and laugh politely at whatever complement he throws at you. You might even give him a few back in a teasing, but clearly friendly manner.

You stress it heavily whenever he comes on too heavy with his advances. You stamp down whatever feelings he evokes and try to keep your line clean and precise in the shifting sand of your relationship.

He takes you out one evening after school, determined to get an actual answer from you over some made up snack he lied about. You don’t think anything of it, happy for an excuse to hang out. You walk and talk, not taking notice of his steadily reddening face as he keeps making swipes at your hand each time it brushes his.

You make an off-handed (get it) remark about the closeness and offer to walk behind this was bothering him.

He is miffed and throws out all semblance of “coolness”. Just flat out confess. Face flaming hot from embarrassment and sweaty palms now shoved into his jacket.

It was a blink and you’d miss it kind of moment. Mammon’s cheeks start to heat gradually. A staunch look of panic growing behind his eyes.

The words just slip off his tongue. His lips forming a sentence you were dreading. You didn’t quite catch it all; his declaration lost in the wind of the open market. You try to catch his gaze, to make him repeat himself clearly, for what purpose you didn’t know. You don't particularly want to hear it again, yet it would give you time to compose some kind of response.

He refuses to look at you. No matter which way you bob and weave beneath him, he dances around you. His face always looking in the opposite direction of yours. His gaze permanently pointing at his feet. The uneven cobblestone beneath his scuffed boots was suddenly very interesting it seemed. "I'm sorry? I didn't catch that." You ask once more, grabbing on to the crook of his elbow.

He buries himself deeper into the flipped collar of his coat and whispers it again. "I-I like ya, ok? Like like like ya know?" He stumbles over his thoughts.

Now how in the hells were you supposed to dodge this? It had been easier to evade his blatant affections when even he wasn't admitting to them. "No, you don't." You step away with a dry chuckle. "Don't be silly." You back away shaking your head in denial. You were sure Mammon could feel your heart rate picking up. You need some space, more space than the street could give you. Somewhere away from your tall, sweet, white-haired problem.

"Oi!" He makes a grab for you as you turn to flee. He spins you around leaning down to meet with you face to face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"We are friends Mammon," You try to wiggle out of his strong, yet gentle grip. "You're just mixing up the feelings." Bullshit. With him touching you, your joint pack acted like an amplifier. You very much felt what he thought of you. The yearning from his newfound mental clarity mixes with the panic of your rejection. It makes a bittersweet taste bloom in your mouth, so hopefully yet reserved.

He was not so lucky. Your feelings felt like ash on his tongue, a sour tang of fear and self-doubt building on his sense. You were afraid of the inevitable, or what you presumed to be the inevitable.

  You were supposed to be friends then disappear forever once the school year was up. Him, down here, and you back to being just another nameless soul in the human realm. No need to get the storyline all tangled. "Hey-hey," Mammon speaks in a rush. "It ain't like that, really." He coos shuffling you closer till you are wrapped tightly in his soft leather jacket. He pours more of himself into the pack, opening himself up in ways he never thought capable of from his demonic form.

"I'm stupid." You speak into his chest. The warm reassurance of his unspoken pledge soothing you. It lessens the tight feeling of uncertainty that you had grown accustomed to.

"Ah- now, ain't that supposed to be my job?" The taste in his mouth dissipates slightly as you let out an indignant huff. He flinches as you poke his side hard between his rib cage.

"Told you to stop talking down on yourself Mammon."

The demon hums noncommittally keeping you close. He rocks you both from side to side, oblivious to the throngs of other pedestrians forced to walk around you two. "Guess I forgot. Maybe you could remind me? O-on a date?"

He smiles down at the little sliver of your face and eyes peeking up from the darkness of his jacket. He could damn near feel the smile trying to break from your forced scowl. "Just one?"

"Heh- don't bet on it."

Lucifer

Welcome to the ultimate game of pleasantry chicken. The two of you know this dance by heart, but your footwork isn't synching up.

Lucifer is trying to keep this whole debacle as professional as possible. You are an esteemed guest and pact holder for all of his brothers and himself. This should be business as usual. He totally has his emotions and growing frustration at your lack of interest in him in check.

Yup. He's fine. He's great; glad you two have such an unspoken understanding of your standing in his company and in the house. The same book, same chapter, same bloody page.

You are a good friend. Just. A. Very. Good. Friend.

He breaks first. Not that he will admit it. But the weekly coffee breaks become a bi-daily thing as he tries to court you. He draws these evenings out now. Have you finished your schoolwork? No, allow me to tutor you. Perhaps you would like to listen to this new vinyl with me tonight? It is a complete demon rendition of Wagner's Die Meistersinger. A classic, you’ll love it.

You take it all in stride. Thanking him innocently enough and going along with it. You buffer every little turn of phrase and slightly off-color hint of what he wanted from you with grace. So tactfully done he begins to doubt himself. You couldn’t be misconstruing his intentions right? He hasn’t doubted himself like this in a long time.

Diavolo catches on quickly to the kicked puppy look Lucifer tots around in your presence. He’ll tease, but try to help. He’s a decent wingman truth be told. “How has Lucifer been treating you? I haven’t seen him this happy in ages. He is a great friend to have, yes?” Kinda backfires when you agree that he is indeed a good friend. Oops.

He’ll crack one night over a glass (or bottle) of something strong he pulled from his study. You had slipped into his room unannounced asking for a quiet place to read before bed.  The interruption to his musings leads to him running his mouth and pile driving his pride into the ground.

He can’t say no to you anymore. He really should. You were hell bent on keeping him at an arm's length, so he should too. Lucifer watches you like a hawk from behind his desk. His ungloved fingers swirling the dregs of his drink. The cognac inside of it looking up at him, his scowl reflecting in the rich red liquor. Don’t judge me. He scoffs at himself, was he that far gone that he was arguing with his glassware? Should have switched to the bottle hours ago.

“Luci?” You say again waving a hand in his face. “You forget to sleep again this week?” Your smile was warm, a little twinkle in your eye drawing a heat to his collar that had nothing to do with the spirits. You sit on the edge of his desk in your sleepwear. The baggy shirt and sweats reeked of his brothers.

“No.” He lies pushing his desk chair away. “Did you need something?”

You shrug hopping off the desk. “Not really. Wasn’t feeling movie night. You ok if I hang out here? It’s nice and quiet.” You slink off to the couch in front of the fire before he could answer.

“You could not do this in your room?” Lucifer snips. He tosses back the rest of his drink and rises to his feet. He grimaces at the burn spreading across his throat. “I��m sure it is quiet in there too.” He catches your eyes looking over the back of the lounge. While everything lower than the bridge of your nose was blocked by the black velvet he could feel the frown growing on your face.

“Well, yes. But I still want some friendly company. Just not rowdy company, I thought you wouldn’t mind...”  

Devils. There was that word again. "You assume to know me?" He cannot hide the venom lacing his words. The liquor had dulled his senses enough that he could not hide his rancor.

“I’m-” You leave the chair coming around it to give him your full attention. This wasn’t like him. Not anymore at least. But you were used to the odd mood swings that plagued your companions. "I don’t assume anything about you Luci. But if you want to talk-"

“I don’t want to have some idle friendly chit chat.” He could feel the tantrum coming. “Have I not proven myself capable of-” His jaw snaps shut with an audible click that echoes across the spacious chamber.

“Of?”

A noticeable blush grows on his pale cheeks. “More.” He sighs deeply, he feels light-headed at the admission. Whether it was from the drinks or from going against his nature and swallowing his pride he couldn’t tell. “Am I not enough to be more than a friend to you?”

That takes you by surprise. You had speculated that he harbored feelings for you. Diavolo all but cementing the idea in your mind. But, this was Lucifer. It felt like just yesterday you were at each other's throats, before he recognized you as something other than a threat to his family. You wanted to respect that little bit of trust he had given you. “It’s not like I never thought about it.”

“But?” He perks up slightly hearing the unspoken word in your inflection. He could see your apprehension yet there was a shimmer of something else underneath. Something he could work with.

“I was- I am scared.”

“Finally, a reasonable response from being around demons.” Lucifer snorts.

“Hey! You know that’s not what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. Explain it to me.” He invades your space waiting to see what you would do. Run or stay. He would have his answer either way. You don’t move, instead, you wrap your arms around yourself. Guarding yourself yet standing firm. One of the many reasons why he admired you.

“I feel like we just became friends. I didn’t think you felt the same and I didn’t want to mess this all up.” You confess. “I just thought it would be easier this way.”

Lucifer absorbs your words quietly, nodding at the logic behind them. “Messes are not something I generally like true, but," He reaches for you, careful of your defensive stature to lead you back to the couch. “If you are willing to iron out the bumps with me I’d like to see what we can make of it.”

If it meant he could have you he would take as much time as you needed.

Belphegor

It takes him the longest to notice that you were trying to keep him at arm's length emotionally. It was hard for him to see at first since you still readily accepted his invitations to snuggle and hang out.

He thought he was very blatant with his desire for you and your affections. The head pats and evening is the planetarium or his attic.

The fact that he had apologized for that little murder mishap. He thought that was a big bright neon sign. Yet you always seemed to try to invite someone else along to chill or leave quickly after an hour or so. As much as he loved his twin and tolerated his other brothers he was trying to get you ALONE.

He starts trying to see you outside the house now too. Lunch in the cafeteria? Pffft. You are going to eat and nap with him in the courtyard. After School activities? Could you help him with some council stuff instead?

Yes, he will go out of his way to do work if you are involved.

You are still too closed off though. You act around him like you do around any of the other brothers and it drives him crazy. You are just so friendly and cordial with everyone. How come he is the only one that becomes a flushing mess now?

He becomes your second shadow, almost as bad as Mammon. You start to get an inkling of his intentions when he starts wanting to sleep in your bedroom at night instead of his or the attic. You let him but offer up the couch or split the bed with a pillow.

He snoops when he gets desperate. Did you like someone else? Was that why you were constantly acting like his advances were just him being overly friendly? He doesn’t find anything, you act like this around everyone else too.

He gives up. Stops interacting with you entirely. He is 99% sure he can sleep through the next century without being bothered. Maybe he’ll get over you by then.

“Belphie? You up here?” The demon in question opens a bleary eye to his locked door. He should stay quiet, leave you hanging. Give himself some vindictive pleasure in snubbing you.

“Hai~” He rises from his nest of blankets and pillows. “Hold on.” Unlocking the door he opens it ajar. You smile around the large stack of books and binders in your arms. “What is that?” Please don’t say homework.

“Work you’ve missed sulking up here.” You confirm his worst fear. “Satan and I thought we would spot you a bit though.” Belphegor watches you struggle for a second to pull a folded piece of paper out from the middle of the stack. “We got most of the answers done for you. Now you just have to fill the worksheets in with your handwriting.” You wave the paper expectantly.

Hearing his brother’s name makes him sour immediately. How long had you been hanging out with him now? “Thanks, leave them at the door then.” He goes to shut the door and return to his dreamless slumber but it’s blocked by your foot.

“Ouch.” You wince hopping back on one foot.

“Idiot! Are you hurt?” He wrenches the door open crouching down to take a look at your sock-covered foot.

“Nothing I can’t walk off. Though my arms are getting sore- weak human muscles an’ all.” You hint wiggling the stack in your arms. He takes the work this time, still eyeing your foot. “Relax, I’ve stubbed my toe with more force than that before.” You whisk by him, using his brief moment of distraction to slip by.

“Did I invite you in?” Belphegor eyes you with a frown. He kicks his door close and dumps the pile of papers on his already over-encumbered desk. Hmm. How many days had he missed?

You ignore him plopping down on the still warm sheets. “Nope!” You pop the ‘p’ with a grin. “But that has never stopped you from sneaking into my room. So fair trade all around.” You pat at the bed, clearing inviting him to join you. “Come on. I’ll help you finish that work then we can chill.”

Oh, now you want to hang out. He felt a rush of bitterness wash over him.  “Don’t you have something better to do?” If this keeps up he’ll need another nap, alone preferably. “Doesn’t Asmo need a shopping buddy or something?”

“What’s gotten you all worked up?” You frown, hurt by his accusatory tone.

Belphie shoots you a wounded look. "We never hang out anymore." He sulks. "Alone, I mean. I'm tired of you always inviting Beel or someone else with us."

He glances over to you idly thumbing at one of the books on his desk. It's frustrating. This game of touch and go he accidentally got himself into. Ugh- why did this have to be so hard. "I want to spend more time with you. Just us, so why are you always avoiding that?" 

"I.” You look down at your feet dangling off the side of his mattress. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I just felt like- like things were going off the rails between us.” You weren't oblivious to his advances.

He cocks his head in confusion. "Mmm? What are you afraid of?" You read a flicker in his eyes, a haunting memory of cruel fingers around your neck darken his gaze. "Ah-"

"No! No that's not it!" You panic waving your hands up. Of course, he would immediately go to that. "I'm just worried. I know you like me, and-just what if things don't work out? What if you realize what a mistake this could be?"

Your admission gives him pause. So you knew this whole time? Not surprising; he wouldn't fall for someone stupid. "So, are you admitting to liking me back?" He feels giddy when you nod, covering your heating face with your hands. " Well then, what’s the problem? It’s not a mistake if we both are making it.” He grins slyly. “How can it not work out if the feelings are mutual.”

“But what if you are mistaken?” He wraps you up into his arms, flopping you both over onto his messy bed. He takes one of your hands and places it on the top of his head all while burying his nose in your neck.

“Please,” He yawns, feeling his body grow heavy. “I don’t waste my energy on ‘mistakes’.”

[daydreamed-snippets]

Part One Part Two

Personnel in crisp cream uniforms walked the brightly lit hallway with a purpose; either conversing with each other, gazing at datapads, or rushing off to who knows where. Supervillain nodded to some in passing; taking the time to pause with others. Sidekick squeezed in closer, stepping on the back of their boots, grazing their shoulder against supervillain’s arm in a pathetic endeavor to just hide. No one warned them about the trepidation that tugged at their soul, nor did anyone prepare them for the general neurosis of it all. The lights overhead strained their eyes, and the cloister of people moved like an insect hive, an incursion on their senses. They could feel a headache forming. Their various cuts and scrapes burned. Their knees hurt too, body still twitching from electrocution.

And they were all staring at them.

Keeping their head lowered, eyes affixed elsewhere, sidekick could still see all of them through their peripheral. Supervillain’s ‘team’ consisted of far more people than the association originally thought. They tensed as each gaze befell them; probably taking in their tattered costume, unkempt hair, and the collar around their neck.

Eyes curious, judging, questioning.

Shame itched at the back of their neck, screaming to be scratched, but they kept their hands in front of them where they could be easily seen. At least the supervillain wasn’t parading them around, so there was that. The leash was lax and discrete enough so long as sidekick didn’t resist.

But who were they to resist now? They were powerless. It was done and over. Supervillain won. Teammates had no idea where they were if they were even looking for them at this point.

Cramming their eyes shut, they tried to hold onto those little ribbons of faith that gleamed at them through this emblematic darkness. Usefulness dictated importance, which in the Hero’s Association meant a role working with the team. Here it would be no doubt ensure their survival. Usefulness drawing the line between life and death.

They wanted to live, but being of use to the enemy churned their stomach. Policy made no room for turncoats. An informant maybe, but they had no mercy for traitors.

So be an informant.

What was the layout here? What were the dimensions of this hallway? How many doors did they pass? Count the number of people, sidekick. Gather information, no matter how scant. Be docile to the enemy, but pragmatic to the team.

Sixteen. They already passed sixteen people. Good. The Hero’s Association would see just how useful they were once teammates rescue them out of this sterilized hellhole. They will rescue them.

Sidekick bumped into supervillain again, a warm, solid presence, and supervillain turned, looking down. “I’ll let you hold your leash, puppy, if that would make you feel better. At any rate, you keep stepping on me and I don’t want my boot scuffed." They made a motion of unwinding the wire from their wrist and handing it over. But when sidekick moved to take it, the supervillain drew back. "But remember,” they said, voice holding a dark promise. “If you choose to bolt know that I have hundreds of people under my command in this annex alone.”

Sidekick gulped.

Hundreds? Hundreds? So this wasn’t just an assortment of random villains and a handful of henchmen? This was an organization in of itself. One that could rival the Hero’s Association.

Holy shit.

In dismay, sidekick nodded numbly and the wire was placed in their hands. They murmured a thank you before realizing it, and the supervillain started again, sidekick stumbling to follow.

Let it be knowledge to tuck away at a later time. No matter how small, knowledge always proves to be advantageous.

They walked a few more meters and when supervillain stopped again. This time sidekick followed suit keeping a healthy distance between them, shuffling a bit, and looking dubiously at supervillain. They keyed something in a pad—out of sight—and a door swished open.

Their breath caught and, sidekick raised their chin. Here was their cell. They’d probably rot in here, or spend a majority of their time recovering from torture and wondering when their next session would begin.

Hope against hope, they wished it would be clean at least. Were they ever? The association gave no indication on cell parameters, or any information really save for the unpleasantness of it all. Sidekick wasn't delicate but they were averse to pain in general. They were told it made for a bad hero.

Sidekick hesitated, realizing that they should say something smarting. Brave. What would teammates say if they were in this situation? Something wisecracking and sarcastic. But then again, whenever sidekick opened their mouth the supervillain always had some observant retort. Something comment to off-balance them, and set them on their toes.

They opened their mouth anyway.

A hand on the small of their back maneuvered them through the threshold.

Supervillain stepped in as well, and the door slipped back sealing shut, leaving them in complete darkness. Walking past them, their captor roused a computer interface with a verbal command, and the area rustled to life.

Sidekick’s eyes widened at the sight.

This wasn’t a cell. These weren’t even quarters. This was a well-furnished apartment with a full kitchen, dining room, and living area. A hallway split off to their right, where sidekick assumed the bathroom and bedroom lay. No windows, but large light therapy lamps joined regular ones behind traditional furniture and on end tables. A sudden contrast to the hard lines and surfaces of the garrison hallways, an apparent appeal to a softer aesthetic.

What the?

“It’s late,” supervillain called making their rounds, checking on something sidekick was unaware of in the adjacent room. “You will take a shower, and have something to eat before settling in for the night.” Their words held no room for argument.

What kind of game was this? Sidekick leaned back against the door willing for it to open. Policy stated all enemies would treat captors roughly. That they would have no regard for their corporeal needs. Unless this was all a ruse. To get sidekick to trust them, to get them to join the supervillain’s team.

"Don't worry, your collar won't zap you if it gets wet. Medic isn't that sadistic. Not without permission." They came back into the room, eyes sliding back to sidekick with a hidden glint. “I could always bathe you myself, puppy…”

Ducking their head, sidekick shook it vigorously at supervillain’s knowing chuckle. Directing them down the hall, supervillain steered them towards the bathroom: a single shower, sink, and toilet. Newly cleaned. Immaculately decorated. They turned on the shower, showed sidekick how to adjust the temperate then left after unknotting the wire, unleashing their collar. The door remained propped open, a subtle warning not to close it.

A glance down the hallway to assure themselves that the supervillain had indeed left, sidekick shed their costume, tearing a bigger hole in the sleeve in their haste to behind obscure glass and out of the open. Granted, it wasn't like there was much preventing supervillain from entering again.

Still, they glanced back before quickly stepped into the shower, relishing the hot water on their stiff muscles. Blood and grime pooled on the tile floor, circling the drain. It shouldn't have surprised them how much there was. The team called them in to act as a diversion as much as an escape route. Sidekick was hit, but not hard as the wires spread paper-thin cuts along their arms and legs. It was not really that bad if you compared it to broken bones and missing limbs.

It stung like hell though.

The only soap available was one held in a dark grey bottle. Uncapping it, the scent of muted fern and something like vanilla filled their sinuses. Fresh. Admittedly soothing. Bringing it to a good lather, they quickly scrubbed themselves, breathing in the aroma more and more until it clicked. This was the supervillain’s scent they were covering themselves in. In fact, everything smelled like this. Everything in this part of the garrison smelled like it the moment sidekick stepped into the room.

It was maddening.

It was intoxicating.

Sidekick finished up quickly, shutting off the valve, and stepped out, wrapping a towel hanging on a large ring around themselves. It shouldn’t be intoxicating. It should be revolting, or at least off-putting.

Their costume was missing, they soon realized a little too late. In its place a crisp cream uniform, the same as the ones they’d seen everyone else don. Supervillain did sneak in when they were showering, probably when their back was turned. Color filled their face again, as they caught the reflection of themselves in the mirror. Neck red from maltreatment, and a bit too pale.

Taking no chances for their captor to return, and truly appreciate the view, they pulled on the uniform quickly, combed fingers through their shoulder-length hair, and called it a day. What did it matter how they appeared? They couldn’t go home. The team abandoned them, and the supervillain was being… odd. Nothing mattered and all the rules were bent.

They padded out and took a seat in the dining area where a chair had been pulled out for them.

“This will be soft on your stomach,” supervillain said, placing a plate before them before easing into the other chair. “I don’t want you vomiting on my carpet, puppy.”

“I don’t—” sidekick glanced up, searching the plains of their sharp face. The circles under the supervillain's eyes were more than noticeable, in the temperate light they were etched in stone. Supervillain made a noise for them to continue. “I don’t like being called puppy.”

“Give me your real name, and if I like it better than puppy, I’ll stop.”

Their already clenched jaw ground tighter; a compromise they were unwilling to make. Picking up the spoon, supervillain held it aloft, food tucked neatly on it, and directed it to sidekick’s lips. “I need you to eat puppy, so I can go to bed. I don’t want to your pathetic mewling in the night.”

Sidekick’s teeth ground together.

“Have you ever used your portals to injure anyone?” The change in subject was sudden, and sidekick’s lips slackened. “Have you ever cut someone in half before, or even just a limb?” Sidekick looked away, nervous fingers playing with their sleeve. They couldn’t help but tremble. The answer was a resounding no, but they be damned to articulate it.

“Have you ever killed anyone with your portals?” The question brought the sidekick’s attention back, and they tried to fix the supervillain with a dead stare.

They should have known by now it was impossible to win a battle of wills when they looked into the supervillain’s eyes. There was a darkness there so deep, it moved. It took shape. Haunting. Plotting. Sidekick could practically see the desire to devour them completely reflected in those stirring pools.

“I’ll take your silence as a no,” they said evenly, after a beat. “Have you been given combat training?”

Yes, the basics, sidekick thought, but nothing which could defend against a supervillain.

“Have they given you any training besides making you housebroken?”

“I’m not—!” The opportunity supervillain had been waiting for came, and they shoved the spoonful into sidekick’s mouth with a look that dared them to spit it out. They chew slowly, stomach in knots but it was good.

“Let me guess, you’re not a dog,” supervillain supplied lazily. “Eat.”

“I have had training. In multiple areas,” they picked up the spoon with a shaky hand, stomach rumbling. “But I’m not going to answer your questions. If captured, policy states that I am not to give out anything besides my affiliation to the Hero’s Association. I am not going to give you any information," they let out a shaky breath, a spoonful of food in their cheeks, "not even under extreme coercion. Teammates would never forgive me, and the Hero's Association has a zero-tolerance policy."

“What kind of ‘heroes’ organization punishes you for breaking under torture?”

Sidekick’s voice squeaked. “That’s not what I said. They’ve… been good to me.”

“In what way?”

“I-I’m not answering that.”

Supervillain relented, and sidekick ate in tense silence.

Once finished, the supervillain led them to the living room. A small cot pulled out from one of the couches. After dressing it, supervillain pulled out a chain from one of the end table drawers and clipped it to a ring recently drilled into the wall. They then handed sidekick a glass of water and tucked a small pill into their hand.

“No, I—”

“It’s melatonin, and it will help you sleep. It won’t put you to sleep.” They poured several into their hand and tossed it into their mouth as they wandered to find water. “You’ll need it," they called. "You’ve been shaking since you got out of the shower. Get some rest.” Their footsteps became more distant as they went down the hallway to the bedroom, bed creaking as they entered it.

The lights clicked off and the sidekick was left in darkness.

They shrugged into bed, pulling the light sheets over themselves while kicking off the comforter. A cold sweat claimed them, and they stared at the ceiling for the better part of three hours, thoughts churning, churning, churning.

So what if they’d never hurt anyone with their powers before, that didn’t mean they weren’t a threat. That didn’t mean that the supervillain could treat them like a patsy. It didn't mean that they were incapable.

They could do it if they wanted to.

They could do it to supervillain if they wanted to.

Why, they were just sleeping in the next room. Sidekick could hear deep breathing and the stutter of a dream-filled sigh. There was no need to use their full power to slip a link in the chain or to silently creep over to the room. They could make a sliver of a portal for half a second, and endure the buzz from their collar.

Sidekick set their plan in motion.

After the mini-portal, they blacked out for a second and woke with a gasp. Part one done. They were free, chain hewn in two. They probably had moments before anyone noticed, so they needed to move quickly.

Have you ever used your portals to injure anyone?

Supervillain's words came back to them, as they wandered the hallway, honing in on the dark bedroom. They stepped through the threshold, a thought sparking of how they were invading. How a bedroom spoke of intimacy, a cozy and solitary space.

A single red light blinked from the ceiling corner. Sidekick's eyes were already well adjusted to the dark that they could see supervillain's outline on the bed, lying on their back, arms spread out defenselessly.

They could picture it now. Sidekick fails the demon supervillain. Sure they might die in the process, but it would serve the association. It would cement them in the annals of heroic feats.

Have you ever killed anyone with your portals?

Moving to the side of the bed, sidekick’s hands hovered, not yet touching. Faltering in their pursuit. Where was that rage their felt earlier? Where was that appetite for vengeance? It was there, they could feel it under the surface, but it was a poor substitute for bloodlust. A poor replacement for the mindset needed to end a life.

Could they do it?

"Why don't you go back to bed like a good little labradoodle? You don't have to stomach for this."

Sidekick almost jumped at the sound. Hands reached up to boldly clamp onto their wrists.

"Let me go!"

"I warned you, puppy."

They lunged for the supervillain's throat, the heat back again. Volatile, it roared to life. Erupting, unpredictable, but sidekick was grateful for its presence now. It wasn't bloodlust, but it possibly could be damaging enough.

Supervillain pulled them on top of them, and sidekick's legs swung around their body, hoping to get a better angle to grip their neck. "You think I'm going to cooperate with you? I will fight you at every turn. You will regret keeping me alive. I will gather enough intel that once I escape, teammates will be able to take you down."

"If they want you back."

The statement made sidekick pause. "What did you just say?"

"If," the repeated, slowly, the next words in a rhythmic manner. "If they want you back."

"What do you mean if?"

Supervillain's eyes drift up to the red light winking steadily at them.

Blood drained from sidekick's face.

"It records video, but no sound. Makes it easier to edit, I'm told. And I have people in my employment that can edit anything. They can and will make this little tussle we've having look like a lover's tryst." They let go of sidekick's wrists and trailed a pitying hand down their cheek. "What would teammates think of you once I send them this video of us in bed together? Would they jump to the conclusion that we've been joined this whole time? That our affair was the reason why you closed the portal? Did you choose to stay with me? Or would they assume that since you have such a weak constitution, that it only took one day for me to seduce you?"

"This was a trap. You knew," sidekick licked their lips, and supervillain's eyes followed the movement. "You set this up from the beginning."

"I set up fail-safes in case you chose this path."

"You tricked me."

"You disobeyed me," they said, voice hardening and a chill crept down sidekick's spine. They sat up, moving sidekick to their lap, and gripped their chin roughly, face inches from theirs. "I was nice before, and you squandered my kindness. Now you will face the punishment."

Wire detached from the ceiling like vines, wrapping themselves around sidekick before they had a chance to scramble off the bed and bolt. Their feet lifted off the ground. Once again they were suspended, drawn tightly to the four corners of the room. Supervillain didn't spare a glance at them as they got out of bed, and left the room, all but ignoring sidekick's screams.

[redgillan]

Under Pastel Skies - 2

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 2,024

Warnings: none

A/N: I’m just going to remind you that this sugar daddy fic isn’t about smut. I love smut but it’s not what I’m focusing on here. 

Bucky stood under the glass awning in front of the hotel, the neon green light illuminating the path to the automatic doors. He forced his eyes closed and listened to the sound of rain hitting the glass shelter.

It was just after 6:30 in the morning and he had been standing there for over ten minutes, trying to work up the courage to enter the building. He was sweating, trembling, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. Every sound around him seemed amplified; cars honking, people talking or listening to music. It was hell.

He desperately wanted to take a cab ride back to Brooklyn and hide in his apartment. Bucky had a strict routine -get up at six, eat, shave, shower, go for a walk, etc- and he needed it to keep his mind focused and his body healthy. Though lately, his therapist had encouraged him to stray from his routine if he felt like it. And he wanted to, but his body wasn’t cooperating.

Instead he just stood here, stuck between two choices that terrified him. He could go back home and hate himself for taking the ‘easy way out’, or he could take the plunge and enter the building. He had come here on a whim, but now that he was here he felt as if he really needed to see you. He didn’t even know if you were working.

He looked over his shoulder, he could almost see the metaphorical pack of wolves waiting for him. It would be easy to give in and let them take him. He could go back to his old life, his old habits, or he could jump off that metaphorical cliff and hope for the best.

Your chances are infinite. Anything can happen.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Bucky greeted the receptionist with a smile. He asked if he could have breakfast at the hotel restaurant and she agreed before leading him to the Bar Lounge.

The room was large, with row after row of square tables perfectly aligned. There were a few more private seats close to the bar and an oval buffet in the middle of the room. A woman in a dark grey suit scooped a small portion of scrambled eggs onto her plate next to two slices of toasted white bread. She raised her gaze to his and nodded in greeting.

The swing door that led to the kitchen burst open and Bucky turned his attention to the sound. You were carrying a large tank of orange juice to the buffet table, a pen tucked behind your ear and a piece of paper between your lips. There was a slight furrow between your brows as you set the tank on the table.

Your scuffed boots were gone, replaced by black ballet flats. Your pencil skirt rose up as you stretched to reach the highest part of the buffet. Bucky hastily looked away from your bare legs, not wanting to look like a total creep. Once you were done, you smoothed down your skirt and tucked your white shirt into your skirt.

Your hair was brushed away from your face and your lips were painted red, something dark and empowering, and it contrasted beautifully with your strict, uninspiring uniform, which only intended to erase any sense of individuality.

“Hi, how can I h- Hey, I know you,” you said, approaching him. “You’re Bucky.”

He bashfully looked at his shoes. “Yeah, hi.” He cleared his throat and raised his gaze to yours. “I was hoping to run into you. I, uh, I can’t stop thinking about our talk.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I was rude and brusque, and you were incredibly nice. I really feel like an ass.”

You chuckled. “It’s fine. Honestly, I was nervous, too. You should have seen me –I was a complete mess.”

“Could have fooled me,” he replied with a grin. “Though you did say that meeting me was like choosing between a pack of wolves or jumping off a cliff.”

“Gosh!” You facepalmed. “See? A complete mess!” You gestured to the table behind you. “Have you eaten yet? Sit down, it’s on me.” He opened his mouth to protest but you cut him off. “You paid for the taxi. It’s only fair.”

Amused, he shook his head and followed you to the buffet table. Everything looked and smelled delicious. He spotted several glass cereal dispensers filled with frosted flakes, Cap'n Crunch, Lucky Charms and good old Fruit Loops.

“We also have French toasts, pancakes, croissants, turnovers, omelettes, eggs, four different types of bread with margarine, butter, jam, Nutella, or marmalade,” you said without pausing for a breath, “freshly sliced fruits, a variety of yogurts, granola, oatmeal, orange juice, apple juice, Danish pastries, muffins and a great selection of teas.”

“And that’s it?” Bucky asked, his face breaking into a teasing smile. You liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners right before he smiled.

You pouted your lips while you thought. “Actually no, we also have scrambled eggs –which, frankly, I don’t recommend. They come in a plastic bag and we have to heat them up in the microwave. It’s a little gross. You can try the sausage and bacon though, unless you don’t eat meat.”

“And coffee?” He found your flustered reaction to his teasing absolutely adorable.

“Yes, of course,” you said, biting your bottom lip. “Sorry, I get a little excited sometimes.”

“I understand,” he nodded. “That’s a pretty great buffet, though I’ll stay clear of the scrambled eggs.”

You took a few steps toward the kitchen and turned back to him, a little apologetic cringe on your face. “Um, how do you take your coffee? Expresso, Americano, latte, cappuccino, macchiato, mocha, ristretto-” you paused to take a breath “-or iced coffee?”

A laugh bubbled out of him. He couldn’t help it, you were just too endearing. “Black,” he said, grinning. “I know I’m boring.”

“Oh, no! You’re not boring,” you rushed to say, then realized what he was doing. “Ugh, you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“A little.” His nose scrunched up as he said it.

You went to the kitchen to make his cup of coffee and Bucky began to browse the length of the buffet table. Scooping food onto his plate with only one hand proved more challenging than he expected, and he was glad that the lounge was mostly empty.

He could feel the lady in the grey suit’s eyes on him as he moved around. He set his plate on the bar, removed the glass lid, scooped up two hefty pancakes and stacked them on his plate. They looked pretty fluffy, it wouldn’t be hard to cut them with the edge of a fork. Then he replaced the lid and moved his plate closer to the maple syrup bottle.

He glanced at the woman who hastily looked away as if she hadn’t been staring at him the whole time. Annoyed, he kept looking at her while he poured maple syrup over his pancakes. He hated when people stared at him as if he were a freak. He narrowed his eyes menacingly and grinned to himself when she started fidgeting in her seat.

“You must really love maple syrup.”

Bucky paused at the sound of your voice, his features immediately softened. He looked down at his plate and realised he had drowned his pancakes in a gooey river of maple syrup. He must have spaced out during his staring contest with the business woman.

He had a strange look in his eyes, his expression a mix of confusion and anguish. Finally his eyes found yours and you smiled warmly at him, making him fight back a blink. You pried the bottle out of his rigid hand, and he let you take it.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice weak.

You weren’t sure what he was apologizing for but it wasn’t something you were going to analyse right now. “There’s a cup of coffee waiting for you. Best cup in Manhattan.”

He laughed, the crinkles were back. “You’re an angel.”

Bucky returned to his table and loaded his coffee with three teaspoons of sugar before he took a sip. He had always preferred sweet to savoury, and coffee was way too bitter for him.

There wasn’t much to do in the lounge. The television was behind him, the sound kept to a minimum. The lady in the grey suit left soon after and Bucky watched you clean her table.

You moved back and forth between the main room and the kitchen, going about your work and occasionally shooting him a smile. The food was good, not spectacular, but still better than his usual breakfast –two slices of toasted white bread with butter and a cup of coffee.

“Do you need anything else?” you asked, standing next to his table.

“Company?” he said with a hopeful look. “Please.”

You offered him a pained grimace when he gestured at the seat across from him. “I’m not allowed to sit. Sorry.”

It was hard to resist his puppy dog eyes but you needed to keep your job if you wanted to be able to afford your own place.

“Do you like working here?”

“It’s okay,” you shrugged. “I’m glad I have a job.”

“Sam mentioned you’re an artist.”

You shyly looked around you, you were the only two people in the room now. “I haven’t painted since I got this job,” you revealed. “I’m pretty sure my artist membership card has been cancelled.”

“Nope, those are for life.”

You laughed. “I hope so.”

You looked at each other before he asked, “Do you have any pictures of your work?”

You were genuinely surprised that someone wanted to see your work. Usually people offered a half-hearted ‘oh, that nice. I paint, too, occasionally” and changed the subject. You patted your pockets, searching for your phone, and groaned when you remembered that it was in your locker.

“I don’t have my phone with me but wait-” You took a napkin from the table and started writing. “This is my Instagram. I do a bit of everything, mostly landscapes and portraits.”

Bucky took the piece of paper and, before he could comment, a family of four walked into the lounge area. You apologized to him and walked over to the family, greeting them with a smile and asking them if they had a good night’s sleep.

The children looked like walking zombies until they spotted the cereal bar, and then chaos ensued. More people went down to breakfast and you didn’t have time to chat with him anymore.

He stayed a little longer, watching you help the kids pour cereal and milk into their bowls. A man who didn’t speak English very well asked you a question and you froze, trying to make him understand since you didn’t speak his language. Bucky smiled when you mimed the answer. The man laughed and gave you a thumb’s up.

There was something about you, something soft and caring, that made people at ease. Even when people started complaining that the platter of scrambled eggs was empty, you defused the situation so smoothly that they left with a smile on their face. It was the kind of person you were, kind-hearted and willing to help.

An angel.

When you looked in his direction again, Bucky was gone. You felt a pang of disappointment that he hadn’t said goodbye, but you had been so busy that even if he had been trying to get your attention, chances are you wouldn’t have noticed him.

Pouting exaggeratedly to yourself, you went to his table with your tray and a clean rag to collect the dirty dishes. You moved the unfolded napkin and what you saw underneath made you stop. You blinked, once, twice, three times, certain that you were hallucinating. You scooped up the bills and counted them.

$300

Your eyes were the size of saucers as you ran back to the lobby. You checked outside for Bucky but he was gone. You stood there, under the glass awning, with a bewildered look on your face, still clutching the bills.

Part 3

[omgrachwrites]

Save You - Sirius Black

Pairing: Sirius Black x Muggle!Reader

Summary: When your friend comes to you, bruised and bloodied its obvious that he needs to be saved.

Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of abuse

Prompts: “Can you please come and get me?” “Hey just look at me. Breathe.”

Words: 1379

Disclaimer: Both Sirius and the reader are sixteen in this fic!

A/N: This is for @kashishwrites​ 300 writing challenge, congrats again honey, I hope this is okay! Hope you guys enjoy, also Sirius is a bit out of character in this fic, he’s a lot more vulnerable so I hope that’s okay! I love you all! xxx

The pub was busy, busier than usual so collecting the many glasses from the patrons should have kept you busy, it should have kept your mind from wandering, in reality though, it was just the opposite. Your manager – and your friend – had seemed to notice that you weren’t your usual self tonight so he sent you on a break so you could catch a breather. You found yourself standing and shivering in the cold night air in the smoking area and you took a long drag of your cigarette as worry wriggled in your stomach like worms.

Every Friday night, your friend Sirius would come and just chat to you, you didn’t know much about him but you knew that he made your heart flutter every time you saw him. You only knew him from the pub, he’d started coming in so much in the last couple of months that you had struck up a sort of friendship with him. His stormy grey eyes were always wild and vulnerable; it looked like visiting the pub seemed to be an escape for him, from what you could not say.

He’d always come in at 8pm like clockwork, he’d never been late and he’d never not turned up, it was past 8pm and he wasn’t here. You were worried that something had happened to him, or maybe he had just got sick of coming to see you, maybe he had found someone better. You didn’t know what outcome would terrify you the most.

Sighing, you flicked away the stub of your cigarette and headed back inside, popping a strip of chewing gum into your mouth. You breathed out in relief as you walked back inside and you were instantly enveloped in cosy warmth. There weren’t very many cosy pubs on this side of London so you made the most of it.

“Are you okay Y/N?” your manager asked from where he was serving behind the bar and you shot him a smile though you still felt worried.

“I’m fine, really Nick,” you assured him, though he didn’t look like he believed you, but he didn’t argue the point.

You ignored his concerned glances as you resumed collecting glasses and chatting with the friendly regular customers, it was mostly older gentlemen but they always tipped well. About ten minutes later the pub doors opened, letting the freezing cold winter air gust into the warm pub. You shivered and on instinct, you looked up and gasped, covering your mouth as you felt your stomach jolt. It was Sirius but he didn’t have his usual teasing, lazy smile on his handsome face. Instead, his face was covered in blood and he had a black eye, it looked like he’d been to hell and back. You vaguely wondered whether he could have been fighting.

“Y/N,” he breathed, “I’m sorry to turn up like this but I didn’t know where else to go, I didn’t want to bother anybody.”

“Oh Sirius,” your heart broke as you walked up to him, “you don’t have to apologise for anything, I’m glad that you did decide to come here. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” you gently took his hand and led him into the staff roof, “sit down sweetie,” you smiled at him kindly as you rooted around for the first aid kit.

You began by cleaning his face as gently as you could with an anti-septic wipe; he winced as you cleaned off the dry blood. You didn’t want to pry but he looked so sad, just like a wounded animal and you wanted to help if you could, “what happened to you Sirius? You know that you can tell me, don’t you?” you asked in concern as he averted his eyes to the carpeted floor, scuffing it a little with his black army boots.

“My mum happened, she did this to me,” you felt a burst of white hot anger go through you like a knife. How could a mother do this to her own child? Sirius was so wonderful, “when I piss her off she responds with violence. I’m not perfect like my brother. I tell my friends it doesn’t affect me but she’s my mother, the woman who is supposed to love me unconditionally is the one who is throwing the punches,” you heard his voice grow panicky and tears slipped down his cheeks, you had to try and calm him down.

“Hey, just look at me,” you cupped his cheeks, wiping his tears away with your thumb and when he looked at you, you smiled, “breath. Sweetheart, you don’t deserve what she’s doing to you, you’re so amazing Sirius and I want to help you.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, “if anything happens to me, will you come and save me?” his voice was pleading and scared, he sounded so much like a little boy that it broke your heart.

You rested your forehead against his gently, feeling his warm breath wash over your face, “of course I’ll come and save you. I’m not going to leave you,” you stroked his blood soaked hair off his face.

He gave you such a devastatingly handsome smile that it turned your insides to complete mush, and you were okay with that. As you continued to clean his wounds you chatted to him, trying to distract him from his problems if only for a little while. You had persuaded him to stick around – you were so worried for him – until the pub closed. When it was ready for you to go home he promised you that he was going to stay with one of his friends, even though you told him that your parents would be okay with him staying at your house. You never wanted him to go back to his mum’s house.

As he left you made sure to give him your number in case he needed you for anything, “call me if you need anything at all Sirius. Please keep yourself safe and don’t go back there,” you handed him the piece of paper that you had written your number on.

His eyes were nervous as he took it from you but he quickly covered it up with a smile and he kissed your forehead, “thank you so much Y/N,” he shot you one last grin before he disappeared down the dark street.

It had been a couple of months and it seemed that Sirius was doing well, much to your concern he had gone back to his mum’s house but he said that everything was alright and that he’d really gone back to make sure his brother would be alright. You were stuck in your room doing homework when the landline that was connected to your room starting to ring. No one really ever called your landline.

“Hello?” you asked as you picked it up.

“Y/N,” it was Sirius’ voice and he was breathing like he was in pain, “thank heavens, I thought that I was using this payphone wrong,” his voice was thick and it sounded like he’d been crying, “can you please come and get me?”

“Of course,” you said instantly, “where are you darling?” as soon as he told you his address you hung up, gave your parents some lame excuse and took off into the night.

You walked off the London Underground to see him waiting for you, you got a shock when you saw him, he looked much worse than he had done when he’d come to the pub. As soon as he saw you, his face crumpled and he began to cry.

“Oh Sirius!” you gave him the most gentle hug that you could muster as he sobbed into your shoulder.

“I was an idiot to go back, I’m so sorry to bother you again, Y/N. I shouldn’t let her get to me this much.”

You shook your head as you stroked your hair, “don’t you apologise, I’m just glad that you’re okay,” you cooed, “but you can’t go back there darling. You just can’t.”

“Please don’t leave me,” he sniffled.

“I’m never going to leave you,” you promised as you gently brushed your lips over his in a feather light kiss as you held him close, afraid that he’d disappear.

--------------------

@kashishwrites​ @smiithys​ @siriusblackspam​

[speedypandaweasel]

One Big Adventure - a Wilford Warfstache and Abe story (Non-Ship) (2,914 Words)

Thank you for the request @canceltheact! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

If you would like to submit a request, see the information at the Masterlist and submit through the Q and A!

PSA - THIS IS NOT A SHIP oke, let us begin...

Dazed images fog up the minds of two *very* hungover men as they stagger their way up to the apartment. Abe fumbles his way through the door and over strewn clothes. He continues on and manages to put together the kaleidoscope of scenery that is right in front of him. To his left, a saggy sofa sits and a cheap TV dangerously hangs off the stripping wallpaper by a thread. To his right, a grimy kitchen is on display which even the worst chef in the world wouldn't waste his time in. The other man, however, is blabbering away, slurring his words like a car on an icy motorway. "HA!, I tell *hick* you Abe, I'm so glad I remembered you, you see *hick*, I can't even remember where I put my-" Aaaand he's gone. His body moulds into the cushions that poorly support his droopy frame, and his scuffed platform boots dangle over the side. Abe smiles, slightly soberer than before. Who would have thought that this stock still of a man, whose only aesthetics were the colour beige and veterans, would somehow have a goofy, lighter side to him? All the criminals he's met and caught among the years...

Hold up, has he met anyone? He can't remember any experiences where he HAS met any, so why did he think that? Hm, must be the Tequila talking. Abe hopscotches over the empty Wine and Martini bottles that are decorated across the stained carpet. Damm, William has not been taking care of himself. Mind you, neither has he so he can't really say anything. He arrives into the walk-in kitchen and opens a dusty cupboard. His tired eyes only meet with shot and tumbler glasses.

How much does this Man drink!? Shuffling used plates and greasy cutlery out of the way, he fills a scotch glass with water. Dowsing the liquid felt like heaven. His exhausted physique felt like a body that's been stuck in the desert for a considerable amount of time and didn't know it needed water to survive. Oh, now he feels the headache coming on.

Reader, you know when water tastes funny? It's because your brain hasn't been receiving enough H20 because you've been drinking too many energy drinks. Yeah, that feeling is exactly what Abe is feeling right now. CONTINUING ON!

The scotch glass watches from the draining board whilst the Detective plays the quietest game of the floor is lava, whilst the moustached man is making much more noise. He manages to reach a corridor which he thinks leads towards the bedroom and tiptoes down the tight hall to find a vacant room. On the way, he passes another room. It was Barnum's. His mind was split in two, Does he go in? Or stay out? Through the crack in the door, the catastrophe has indeed spread into his sleeping quarters. A mountain of flamboyant disco clothes gathers dust in front of his Chester draws, the bed's not made and more liquor bottles are having a social gathering on top. Oh William, you may be a murderer, but you need to prioritise yourself. He takes a last look at his passed out flatmate down the hallway, before shutting the guest bedroom door. Grey. It's all he's met with. Much like his exterior. He slips his shoes off and starts to unbutton his off-white shirt. he runs a hand down his chest and over the scar. How the Hell did he survive that? He can't be bothered to go into it right now, he's too tired. He snuggles into bed and does the infamous cold bed dance.

You know the one.

Abe gets out of the tempting bed once more and walks back into the living room. He creeps over to William, the man's mouth catching flies. He carefully takes his enormous shoes off and places them on the floor. Barnum's mismatch socks disappear underneath the blanket. "Night William."

~ A gorgeous smell of Breakfast wanders its way through the apartment and Abe groggily wakes up. His eyes peel open and with a yawn, he trudges through to the living room. Remembering from earlier this morning, he needed to position himself for his dance routine around the non-existent floor. "What are you doing my main man?" Barnum brightly asks, a hearty chuckle accompanies the question. Resided in the pristine kitchen, his big, strong hand holds a Skillet and two China plates are centred on the pebble grey marble island. Abe, however, is currently squatting as though he was playing a game of leapfrog with some imaginary friends. The Detective goes to jump but then is taken back at the sight. The apartment is now spick and span, no more Wine Bottles, no more strewn clothes. The windows are tied wide open and it overlooks the sketchy neighbourhood that they reside in. "How did you do this?" "Do what?" "You know, clean up this quickly?" Barnum checks his watch. It's 7:30 am "Oh well you see, I ironed a nice pair of jeans and found a lovely dandelion coloured shirt. Accompanied by some rainbow braces I think I look quite dashing don't you think so?" "No William, I-I mean the Apartm-AAH!" Abe clings his hand over his head, damm this- "Headache is killing you?" William slides a glass of water over with an Aspirin pill. "And no, I didn't clean the apartment, she did." Wilford looks- wait, why are you looking at me!? "Anywho, we need to get going my slightly hungover companion! But first, breakfast!" Wilford sets a serving plate down of a full English Breakfast: Sausage, an Egg, two cooked Tomatoes, Bacon rashes, Baked Beans and a slice of Buttered Toast. Wow. He didn't know William could cook? The two men got stuck in right away and the TV is turned on. Two bright and very similar faces appear on the screen "Badgers the secret Killer?... And now for the weather, Jim?"

The camera pans to, what they believe, is Jim. Their face resembles a deer in headlights. "I swear, they don't know what they're doing. It's hilarious!" The Detective says with a mouthful of Toast. Barnum laughs, wipes his mouth with a napkin and takes a swig of his Orange juice. "Right! I mean, who is their boss anyway?!" The men eat and laugh their way through their plates talking about what topics they would cover if they were reporters. After a while, they both recline back into their bar stools and the cook starts to tidy up the dirty dishes. "Oh, no, let me do it. It's the least I can do." "You're alright my man, I've got this. Besides, you need to freshen up!" "But whe-'" "First door on your left"

They share a light chuckle. "Thanks Wilford, I really appreciated that," Abe says before going back down the hallway, whilst Wilford rolls his sleeves up and starts to clean the less-silver cutlery.

He smiles. That's the first time he's ever said that to him. "No problem Abe."

~

The passenger door slams shut on the Detective's Vintage SUV and Wiford pulls out a gigantic map from his pocket. This map includes hundreds of paths scrawled with crayons and a hint of Martini can be smelt.

"Are you sure, you know where you're going?" Abe questions. Judging by what that map reads, they are going to get lost very easily.

"Of course I know where I'm going! I am Wilford Motherloving Warftsache after all." A pang of guilt hits the Detective, he genuinely can't remember who he was.

"Ok, Wil, you can drive."

After playing at least 3 rounds of rock paper scissors, or when Wilford won, Abe hesitantly let the murderer drive. God knows where though.

Wilford excitedly thrust the keys into the ignition. He couldn't wait for what the day entailed!

"Careful Willford, you're gonna break the keys!" Abe says through gritted teeth.

"Oh pah-lease! I know how to drive" he retaliates. His brown boot floors the pedal and reverses straight into the iron fence.

"Yep, it's working."

The Detectives face, now pale, grips tighter onto his seatbelt and his feet are glued to the floor. "Wil, of course it's working. Now, step on the ga- nope, that's the brakes Wilford."

Pedestrians quiver in fear as they see a horribly driven brown vehicle screech to a stop and then start again. They have to clamp down on their ears as the monster of a car drives past them down the alleyway, swerving left and right much like the driver's speech the other night.

The SUV survives to the end of the road and dents a stop sign perched, well once, straight on the kerb.

"Will, which route are we taking?" Abe asks as he takes the map from the driver's hands.

"It's the one marked Highway of Life, it's gonna be a good one, trust you me."

"Well, this has got off to a surprising start so why not go for an adventure?" Abe says. He's given up at this point.

~

"LIFE IS A HIIIGHHWWAYY! I WWAAANNNA RRIIDDEE IIT ALLL NIIGGHTT LOOOOONNGG!" The two pop stars start belting out of the car as Wilford drives them to their last stop. Who would have thought that two polar opposites positions of the law would be in the same car together, let alone blasting Disney songs out of the car.

Wilford's hair whips away from his face as the SUV's top winds down.

"LIFE NEEDS A BIT OF MADNESS EH ABE?"

"HELL YEAH IT DOES"

The Afternoon sun blazes down onto their blacked-out sunglasses and the Golden Gate bridge paints a picture for the Detective that prescribes him with a carefree attitude.

Life was his to choose and he was here for it.

~

The SUV turns off the Highway onto Richmond Street. The Afternoon sun glowing dimmer.

Just in time.

Now reader, if you haven't read my WKM Tumblr Song series, then you won't understand this next section.

The SUV passes bountiful shrubberies and picket fences. Cherry Blossom dust drift its way into the car and Wilford starts to tear up.

"You ok Buddy?"

"Yeah, I'm ok." After all his years of interrogation, Abe knows that that answer was a lie. Yet, he didn't want to push it.

The car comes to a halt and is parked underneath a summer coated oak tree.

"Why'd we stop?"

"I want to show you something."

Abe opens the vintage door and steps out. In front of him, wildflowers and grass sway on the cliffs breeze and small pink flowers grow on its edge. Overhead, a sea glistens with sunlight rays and pink and amber hues dust the sky.

Man, this is enough to make a grown man cry.

The cars driver door can be heard shutting and a shadow walks up behind him. An intimate silence roots itself between the two men.

"You may be wondering why I brought you here."

Abe nods, still looking forward, yet intriguingly listening.

The man sighs, "I used to come here all the time as a young lad. We used to have picnics and dance until dawn. We were so free up here. Away from life, away from Duty, and she was away from Him, that was all that mattered. "

His voice breaks.

"But things change, people change and suddenly, I couldn't do that anymore.

That's why I want you to see it."

Wilford wanders over to their spot and picks up one of the pink flowers sprouting through the grass.

"You may have thought of us as the scum of the Earth Detective. But there are two sides to every story."

The Detective joins the Murderer and puts a hand on his shoulder.

Wilford chuckles. The last time he was here, he was completely and utterly alone. He was like- like a freshly born fawn still trying to find his legs into this world that didn't make sense.

But now...but now things are looking a little brighter.

"If there is anything I can do to make it up to you, just name it."

"You can't do anything really, it's just the way this messed up world works."

The two friends sit down in the grass, making fresh new imprints into the cliff edge, next to two fading ones.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure" "How many people have I killed?"

...

That question lingers in the air for an uncomfortably long time. All that can be heard are the lapping of the waves below them and the occasional swallow talking in the trees.

...

"I don- don't know Wilford," Abe breaks the silence, "I should know, but I-I don't.

...

Abe looks at Wilford, his broken and tear-stained eyes manage to glance back before returning to look out at the sunset.

Abe must do something here. But what? He said himself that nothing can be done so what can he do?

He reminisces on the day they were reunited. So much anger, so much confusion. But Wil was so cheerful, not a care in the world!

Now look at him.

And it was all his fault. If only he didn't get involved...

A second flashes by and Abe does something he should have done the second Will did it.

He hugs Him.

...

"I'm sorry Will."

...

Moments cling on for seems like forever and the embrace is broken. The two tear-stained friends look up.

The afternoon sun has now gone beneath the horizon and is replaced with the all too familiar twilight scenery, which glows softly for miles and miles, each star a lantern that has been entrusted with keeping something special.

"There was another reason why I wanted to bring you here."

Wilford wipes his eyes with his sleeve. "Do you see that star, the big one?"

"Yeah" "That's the Evening Star. That Star is the reason why I have hope. And now I want to share that hope with you. I know we got off the wrong foot but since we're in the same boat now, I think it's time I opened up about where I've actually been."

Abe swallows, this man is truly broken, and he can't do anything about it.

"Thank you for trusting me." "We're not done yet. It's your turn!" "What?" "Make a wish." Cautiously, the Detective slowly stands up from his permanent grassy imprint and walks towards the cliff's edge. The man looks around and sees only patches of shrubbery and wildflowers.

And his newfound friend encouraging him to proceed.

He clasps his hands together and wishes hard. His eyes scrunch together as he becomes a child once more as well. His once tight shoulders have finally become relaxed. After so many years of searching for answers, he doesn't need to worry any more.

A single tear is swept away from the Murderers face as he watches on from the patch of grass. He remembers that feeling and the dream he wished for all those years ago. Yet now, his wish is slowly changing.

Granted, he can't remember who he was but bully does he know what he wants to be. And being here for him, at this very moment, is a wonderful way to start it.

Abe's hands fall to his side and he stares out onto the ever stretching view. His feet are glued to the spot and his mind is only fixated on that one goal. Wilford slowly joins his side, already having a hunch on what he dearly wants.

"What did you wish for?" The Murderer asks.

The Detective huckles, "Now if I told you, it wouldn't come true, would it?"

"Very true my friend."

Little did the men know that their newly found wishes were the same.

"Don't you mean, Best Friend?"

CRACK

The heartwarming moment is abruptly stopped by the sky blasting wide open and millions of sounds exploding across the cliff. The light breeze has rapidly sped up into a storm and is propelling thick gusts upon the two.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL NOW!?" Wilford yells at the hole, completely unfazed.

"YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS!?" Abe yells at his Friend.

"OF COURSE I DO, IT'S TIME FOR WORK."

"WORK!? SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE A JOB!?"

"WE ALL HAVE A JOB - WE'RE ACTORS! I'LL EXPLAIN EVERYTHING IF WE DON'T GET SPLIT UP."

"IF WE DONT GET SPLIT UP!? WHERE ARE WE GOING!?" "I HAVE NO IDEA! BUT THAT'S THE FUN OF IT! AFTER THREE, WE WALK IN."

"ARE YOU CRAZY WE'RE GONNA FALL!"

"TRUST ME, WE WON'T."

Wilford grabs Abe's hand and he stares at him. Abe stares back, fear-stricken. Finally, he nods.

"TOGETHER?" "TOGETHER."

"ONE"

"TWO"

"THREE!!!!" The two Actors charge straight over the cliff and into the blinding light.

~

Wilford finds himself in some kind of leather chair with neon lights surrounding him. A script in one and his prop gun in his other.

No pants on, no wonder he feels too comfortable.

He scans his scene and sees his co-actor, Kathryn, running her lines on the other side of the room.

A chair sits opposite him and behind that, a red T-30 minutes until showtime sign is displayed for him.

Abe, however, isn't needed on set yet. His adventure hasn't begun.

But both of their characters will have to cross at one point or another, it's just a matter of time. Yet for a fact, no one can edit their Friendship; Their Joint Wish.

Because, as they say, Life is a road that you're travelling on, when there's one day here, and the next day gone.

[realm-sweet-realm]

Like a Heart Needs a Beat, chapter 1.

Hello, everyone. This is part one of two of an Abby x Lacie story. The first chapter is pretty much just going to be pure fluff, and next chapter the ink-related angst will kick in.

This story, and the next two two-part shipping stories I write, will be “canon” to my version of events.

---

It wouldn’t have been the first time that Bertrum had dragged Lacie to one of the parties he hosted, but that didn’t mean that she had to like it. She got it, she really did- Bertrum thought she deserved to experience the finer things in life (some of which, to be fair, Lacie did enjoy), and didn’t get that no amount of exposure would make her enjoy this. Still, as she was now, forced into a suit once owned by Bertrum’s son and listening to Bertrum trade compliments that were really insults (or whatever they were. They had a strange way of communicating with each other that Lacie didn’t think she wanted to understand) with his client while dozens of men were flirting with each others’ trophy wives in the background, she felt out of place and a little irritated at Bertrum for insisting she come. It was as Joey and Bertrum were getting especially petty that Lacie just had to look away, and across the room, Lacie saw a woman who looked twice as miserable as she was and only slightly more in-her-element.

Lacie approached her. It was a pretty girl, despite looking like she was completely done with this party. She was wearing a grey suit, clearly tailored for her, and had short, curly hair, dark eyes, clear, dark skin. Her body was pretty nice, too. Yeah, Lacie was going to do this.

“Hey,” Lacie said, “You look like you could use some air. Want me to show you a place where we can get away from the party for a while?”

The woman slowly turned her head to look at her. “Sure. Why not?” she replied without changing expression. Lacie would have to hope that would change and that the woman wasn’t just a natural sourpuss.

Lacie smiled. “Come with me.”

Bertrum was a nice man. He allowed Lacie to step out of parties when she needed to, and even gave her one heck of a place to go when she did: Bertrum’s bird room.

Bertrum loved birds. Bertrum raised birds. It was his favourite hobby. The bird room contained two cages of small, pet-store birds, a larger cage for his doves, and a number of nests for his other birds- three chickens, two ducks, a goose, a swan, and (out of place as they looked amongst the farm fowl) two peafowl. It was easy to keep so many pets when you could pay people to look after them. The bird room opened up to an outdoor enclosure, but this time of day they were all in their nests.

“Pretty cool, right?” Lacie said. “Wanna feed em’? I’m the host’s plus-one. Don’t worry, he won’t mind.”

The woman seemed pretty impressed. “Sure,” she replied.

Lacie showed her to the plastic barrel of dried corn in the corner. The birds crowded them, eager, which made them laugh.

After they’d spent a while feeding the birds, the woman had cheered up significantly, and so Lacie tried to make conversation.

“So. My name’s Lacie. And you know why I’m here. What’s your name, and why are you here? And why don't you want to be here? Because it's obvious you don't.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Abby Lambert. Nice to meet you, Lacie. I’m here because Joey Drew begged me to be his plus one so he wouldn’t have to come alone. And... instead of telling people that I was his friend or his coworker, or lying and telling people I was his girlfriend, he made up this lie that I’d won a contest to get to go with him. That I was his biggest fan. I’ll be honest- that pissed me off. He didn’t think it was right for his image, I guess."

“Oof, that sucks. You know, I’m just one of Bertrum’s engineers, and I don’t know an eighth of the high society stuff he does, but he would still never do that.”

“Thanks. And thanks for taking me out for some air.”

“No problem.”

It was a few more minutes of feeding birds before Lacie decided to throw her shot. “If Joey wants to be a jerk he can stay here on his own. Wanna get out of here?”

Abby looked Lacie up and down, and suddenly Lacie wished she were wearing something a little more revealing than this ill-fitting suit- especially since Abby’s was accentuating every curve of her body. But Abby clearly liked what she saw.

“Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice.”

The two took a cab to Abby’s apartment, where they spent the night.

---

After the one-night stand, Abby had left Lacie her number. If one night was good, why not make it several? And then, Lacie had surprised her by asking her out. To an art museum.

“You like art, right? It’s not just a job? I mean, I wouldn’t want you taking me to a construction site.”

God, she was a dork. A muscular, handsome dork. Abby had to roll her eyes at herself for being so caught up on a woman, but she eventually broke down and asked Joey a few pointed questions during their lunch break a few days before the date. “So, Mr. Romantic- can you give me some tips about how to sweep a woman off her feet? I’m meeting someone tonight.”

Joey had smiled teasingly at her. “Oh, my. The ever-serious Abby Lambert is lovestruck!”

“You’re gross. It was good sex. That’s all.”

“Right. That’s why you came to me for advice. Well, I’d say just be natural. Be friendly, make jokes, find common interests, all that common-sense stuff. And then at the end of the night invite her over for some wine and radio, read her signs, and that’s when you start getting physical.” Joey suddenly went from smiling and talking with his hands to being much more serious. “Oh, and... I’m sorry about the other night. You know how it is... I respect you, the art department respects you, but I can’t trust random people to do so, and I can’t avoid interacting with people who won’t.”

He didn’t even have to say that it was because she was a black woman. It was the same reason why Joey had promoted someone else ahead of her as head of the art department- he hadn’t trusted that the others would accept her authority. But, after she’d handled the art department while her ex-superior was on vacation and there hadn’t been any problems, Joey had snatched the promotion right out of his hands and put it in Abby’s. Not fair to the ex-head of the art department, but Joey rarely was. Even if he wasn’t perfect, though, he was still one of the few in this day and age who would hand a high position to her under any circumstance, and one of the few she could discuss her relationships with.

“Maybe we should just not talk about that. See you soon, Joey.” Why think about that when Abby had more cheerful things to think about?

---

When Lacie showed up to the art museum, she was wearing a leather jacket, scuffed jeans, and heavy boots. She’d definitely stand out in a dainty place like this.

“So, do you know anything about art?” Abby asked as they went to the first section, which featured a number of surrealist paintings.

“Not a thing!” Lacie admitted, not at all ashamed. “Are you the type who likes to teach, or the type who just wants me to shut up and enjoy it on the level I’m at?”

“I... guess I wouldn’t mind explaining some things.”

“Okay. So, this one,” Lacie gestured at a painting of half-melted clocks hanging off of tree branches and the like. “It must represent something real deep, right?”

“Well, there’s more to art than symbolism, and surrealist stuff doesn’t have to have a deeper meaning. But... maybe it means that time just melts away when you’re having fun.”

It was midnight before Abby was back in her apartment. The museum had closed before they’d felt like any time had passed, and so they’d gone for a walk together in the city and stopped at whatever shops caught their eyes. It had been fun.

Abby’s apartment was the apartment of a chronically single woman in her thirties who had made it. It was clean and organized, but not too clean and organized. It had a large window overlooking the city in the living room, and near it, an eisel had been set up, with a half-done painting on it of a sunset over a city skyline. There was a rack of oft-used wine glasses in the kitchen, lesser-used exercise equipment in the laundry room. Abby’s bedroom contained her collection of houseplants, two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a closet full of suits her mom had tailored for her at a reduced cost.

Joey had always said that he never wanted to get married because he didn’t want to share space with anyone else. Abby had rolled her eyes and punched his arm for that. Joey was always coming up with reasons why he didn’t want a relationship, and none of them were true. Abby, on the other hand, had just assumed and accepted that it just wouldn’t happen. The chances were against it unless she made it a priority in her life, and she was focused on career and art. Could it really happen with this hooligan? It was hard to imagine letting her into this apartment- this apartment of a woman who had made it- on a permanent basis. But, maybe. Only time would tell.

---

Things went from there. They continued to date for over a year. Abby taught Lacie how to draw, and Lacie taught Abby how to fight. They started spending more nights than not over at each other’s places. Joey still didn’t know about it, because Abby knew how jealous Joey got when it came to relationships. Shawn on the other hand definitely knew, and teased the hell out of Lacie for it and later came to Lacie for help with his own relationship once he got into one.

Christmas that year, Shawn had scrapped together enough funds to visit Ireland. This was a problem, because Shawn and Lacie usually spent their Christmases together. As per usual, Lacie didn’t have the means to visit her home state of Alpaccia, so it looked like it would be a lonely Christmas for her.

“You want to come visit my family?” Abby offered as Lacie had been complaining about it.

“Yeah. I’d love that,” Lacie admitted. She hadn’t had a Christmas with a real family in... well, a long time, at any rate.

Abby’s family consisted of her mother and her two-years older brother, who had brought a wife and two kids. The father had died in the war while Abby was a child. They had a traditional Christmas together- old Christmas records, decorating a tree, staying up late to play cards and chat once Abby’s niece and nephew were in bed until they could barely keep their eyes open, and then watching the kids open their presents in the morning.

It kind of hurt Lacie to see such a beautiful family, but it was nice, too. It hurt because she remembered having to go off to her friends’ houses when her parents were too high to remember to feed her. She remembered having to make her own doctor’s appointments at the age of nine, and running off to live with her big sister at fourteen. But it was still nice to be there, just because it was.

As they were packing up in the guest bedroom, Lacie started crying, and Abby took notice. She’d never seen her cry before.

“What’s wrong?

“Nothing,” she said, and thankfully Abby had left her alone about it.

It was a week later, after Lacie had had some time to think, that she made her offer. “Abby, I want to start a family with you. I know we can’t get married in the traditional sense, but we can get a place together, find some man to give us a kid, and stay together for the rest of our lives. I could even buy you a ring if you want. Do you wanna do this?”

Abby was awestruck. “Lacie... oh my God, yes. Let’s do it.”

[msotherworldly]

Blame for Bethany

Title: Blame for Bethany

Fiction Type: Fanfiction

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Warnings: Minor swearing, mention of death

Prompt: “I’m not saying I told you so...”

“I’m not saying I told you so...”

“That’s funny, because it sounds like you are.” I smirked. The clink of tankards surrounded us. There was a low hum of voices, and the smell of nug shit. It was home sweet home—at least for him. Face turned only half to the fireplace, he looked older.

I frowned. How old was Varric? Admittedly, I didn’t know much about dwarf aging. I’d always assumed they aged as quickly as humans or elves, but...

“Get it off your chest.” He sipped his drink, eyes sparkling.

“Another day.” I sank into a chair.

He shook his head. “It’s bad to pent shit up, Hawke. I knew a fella in the carta who got by weeping into his pillow every night. It had a nickname and everything. Of course, when the other carta men in his squad found out, they filled his back with knives.”

“Thanks, Varric.” I waved the waitress for a drink. “You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

“That’s my specialty. But seriously, what’s eating you?”

“It’s just a conclusion I’ve had. We’ve survived the Deep Roads. I’ve made enough money that I barely have to work. And Mother seems happy. I thought it would go away, but it hasn’t.”

The dwarf raised his eyebrows. “Go on.”

“I think...I have to talk to her about this.”

“I’m going to say it again. If it’s bad, dump it on me. Your mother’s been through enough crap.”

“And deprive you of the chance of another ‘I told you so’ speech?”

Varric sighed. His chair creaked as he leaned back. “We’re not talking about an ogre this time, Hawke. We’re talking about your mother. Maybe give her some time before you hit her with something heavy.”

“I’ve given her time!” I laughed. “Varric, I’ve had this thought since I started work with Athenril. I’ve been carrying it around for two years now.”

“Do you need a shrink? I can recommend a good one I know. He works in Darktown.”

“He’s not a healer, is he?”

Varric grinned. “No, but I know a healer there who I’ve also recommended to see the guy. To be fair, he did attend one session.”

“But?”

“But it’s probably better if you don’t mention you’re a mage.” Varric’s face darkened. “Since that lovely therapy session, Briggs has a paranoia of being lit on fire. That tends to happen when you try to do therapy on a Fade spirit.”

“Maker.” I shook my head. “I think I’ll pass, Varric, but...thanks for the tip. Why Darktown?”

“If you talk to a therapist in Hightown, they might gossip. Any therapist there will likely be a noble looking for extra cash or a fun time, and well, you know your neighbours better than anyone. All they care about are scandals and social clout. If it got out that Marion Hawke was having mommy issues, it would be the talk of Hightown for at least a month.”

“I don’t have mommy issues.” I rolled my eyes. “But I see your point.”

“I’m not saying you do. It’s what they would say.” He winked. “Trust me, Hawke. I have a good read on people.”

“And a vivid imagination.”

“Exactly! If I say something is going to go wrong, it will likely go even worse!”

“And here I am, taking advice from the guy who loosed Anders on a therapist. Do wonders never cease?”

Varric chuckled. “I know you don’t listen. Hell, do any of you? But be gentle with her, Hawke. She’s had a hard time.”

I was halfway to Lowtown before I remembered my new home. I kicked a stone, and turned around. Would I ever get used to this? Even after three weeks, it felt strange to walk into Hightown and think I belonged there. In my rough leather jacket and scuffed boots, I felt as much like a ruffian as I’d always been. When I drew the key from my pocket, I had the unnerving feeling I’d stolen it from someone—or, as was more often the case, killed someone for it.

Smells of flowers and greenery washed over me. Mom had filled the manor with potted plants. Three shattered pots in the corner gave evidence that Sandal had managed to destroy half of them just as fast. The dreamy eyed dwarf looked out over the balcony; was he planning to swing from the chandelier again?

I dropped my satchel at the foot of my bed. When I emerged from my room, I was clean and dressed in finery. I drifted down the stairs, frowning.

“Is there anything I can get for you, my lady?” Bodahn bowed. “Name it, and I’ll be happy to oblige.”

“Just a bottle of wine, Bodahn, and a glass.”

“Right away, my lady.”

“It’s Marion.” I sighed as he ambled off. “There’s no need to be so formal.”

Mother sat by the fire, embroidery in her lap. Her wrists flashed with silver, and her hair was pulled into an intricate braid. To look at her, one wouldn’t have known at first glance that she had spent twenty years tilling earth or bathing a Mabari coated daily in mud. Still, I could see it—in the wrinkles around her eyes, and the whitening of her hair, I saw a harder life. Most of the nobles who were Mother’s age looked ten years younger.

“Mother.”

“Hello, dear.” She gazed into the flames. “Have you heard from your brother?”

“Mages and templars aren’t friends as a general rule.”

“He’s your brother.” She grimaced. “It’s just as well. He needed space. It could be a lucrative career for him.”

“Hunting people like me? That’s a ‘lucrative career’?”

“I’m sorry, Marion.” She glanced up, and smiled. “I’m just trying to make the best of things. He’s been discontent for a long time. If this brings him happiness, I’ll be grateful to the Order for that much.”

I pulled up a second chair. Bodahn left the wine on a small round table of polished wood. I filled my glass. The liquid was a deep red.

I studied the flames, seeing shapes, seeing houses, blackening ruins crumpling as darkspawn swarmed over them. Did Mother see the same thing, or was the fire a mere comfort?

“He might have joined the Order in Fereldan too.” I picked up a poker, and jabbed the logs. “After being kicked out of the army, that is.”

Mother chuckled. “I suppose it would have been a matter of time. Carver always did find trouble. I hope he’s settled down now.”

I frowned. “It would have been natural if...”

Mother glanced at me. “If what?”

If you had been strong enough to do what you should have.

I stood up, setting my glass down. My heart thrummed. I bit my lip.

Be gentle, Hawke. Varric’s voice was low and smooth in my head.

I wheeled to face her. “It wasn’t my fault that Bethany died.”

“I’m sorry I said that, darling. I never meant it. Not really.”

“Even after you apologized the first time, I still believed it was. I played it over in my head. If I had gotten to the ogre sooner, I could have knocked it down. If I’d thought to throw fire, I could have distracted it. But I wasn’t the only one there. If it was my fault, it was Carver’s fault, Aveline’s. We were surrounded. Everyone was just trying to survive.” I shuddered. “It wasn’t my fault that Bethany died.”

Mother reached for me.

“It was yours.”

Mother flinched as if I’d electrocuted her. Then she bowed her head. “You wish it had been me instead of her. If the ogre had grabbed me instead...”

“I don’t wish that.” I sat down. “But I was angry at you. When we were at Gamlen’s, what did you do? You stared into the fire and you didn’t move. You didn’t even take in washing to help us pay the rent. You didn’t try to sell fruit. You didn’t offer to stitch up clothes for a couple of coppers. You didn’t do anything! You left it to Carver and I. You’ve left it to us since Dad died.”

Mother’s eyes watered. She closed them. “After she died...after your father...each time, it was like another part of me, somewhere in my chest, had just been ripped away. I couldn’t even think. I was sad and angry, and I couldn’t see anything else. Then, when Carver left, I thought I was having a heart attack.”

“But he didn’t leave, not truly.”

“I realized that.” She took a breath. “When I realized he was just going to be on his own, with a job he might enjoy, I even felt a little better. I know you tried with him...but he needed to find his own way.”

“I didn’t want you to take Bethany’s place, Mother.” I took her hand. “I was angry because you could have prevented it.”

She met my gaze.

“I never wanted to go to the Circle. I liked the feel of grass under my feet. I savoured looking up, and seeing the sky. I even enjoyed the constant reek of filthy Mabari.”

She chuckled.

“But sometimes I wondered about the Circle. I thought of all the books there I could be reading. And I thought of Bethany, on those winter days when we had less to eat, being able to have her fill. They get three meals a day at the Circle. There was one winter where I even considered sending her off myself. It was a chance at a richer life for her.”

“But not you?”

“Not as long as you needed looking after.” I shook my head. “It’s just...if you had sent us, she would still be alive right now. She was capable. She would have survived the Harrowing. She might have even attained a position, become a senior enchanter. She might have written books, had friends...been safe.”

Mom slumped over. “I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“We could have stayed together. If you had been well, if Carver was there, I might have gone with her. And if Carver had joined the Order, he would have been able to send decent money your way. He would have kept us together with letters and stories. When he wasn’t watching over his sisters, he could have visited you, seen you were alright.”

“And all three of you could have been safe.”

“I shouldn’t have said this to you. Keeping us free wasn’t the wrong decision. Not really. You couldn’t have known the Blight was coming. If it hadn’t, all of us would still be in Lothering now. Poorer, but alive.”

“I’ve thought too much of myself.”

“Mother.”

“No, I have. You’ve played it through your head, too. You’ve watched Bethany die over and over. When you look into the flames, do you see it like I do? The homes falling, burning, being swarmed?”

“It’s all I see.”

“I wish I could look after you now.”

“But you don’t have to anymore. We’re set for life.”

“There must be some way I could be useful.” Mother pursed her lips. Her eyes glinted. “I have old friends from my childhood here. Many of them have their own children. Perhaps I could set up a meeting with some of them? I know Sir Laurence is very handsome.”

I laughed. “No, Mother. Thank you. I’m sort of already...seeing someone.”

“A noble?” Her voice was critical.

“Not at all. I have too much of my mother in me.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“He understands, Mother. If I married a noble, how could I be happy? I’d have to hide all the time. I’m so tired of hiding.”

“Is he...like your father?”

I nodded. “Like mother, like daughter.”

Her lips thinned into a severe line. She opened her mouth, and then she shook her head. She chuckled. “Well, it’s just as well I’m not like my mother. You can rest assured I won’t disown you. But be careful, darling. If you’re talking about who I think...well, he can be a bit wild.”

“You’re just upset he trailed that weird mud over the floor from Darktown.”

“Whatever it was, it had red stains!” Mother shuddered. “But it’s just as well. If you’re happy, I won’t get in the way.”

I stood up: I pulled her into a hug, folding her in. I was a head taller than she was. I stroked her hair. “I don’t mind looking after you, Mother. It gives me something to do.”

“Is Anders interested in children?”

Maker, I’ve said too much.

I blushed. “I...don’t know.”

“Well, grandchildren would give me something to do.” Mother drew away, beaming. “I could teach them how to curtsy, dance, sew, cook, sing!”

“After you were done teaching them not to light the house on fire.” I grimaced. “With their genes, it’s certain they’d all be mages. You could handle several apostate toddlers?”

“I handled two, didn’t I?” Mom puffed herself up. “I’ll figure it out.”

I bet.

“I love you, Mother.”

“I love you, Marion.” She pulled me in for another hug and stroked my hair.

[penaltybox14]

Decofiremen Interlude: Magic Trick

@zeitheist wanted a little more about Davey.  @darknight-brightstar @squad51goals

An interlude or: in upstate NY, family finds you.

"You know any card games, little fella?"

Antoine and Ellis are sitting at a table in the mess after what they call the settling bell, along with Jules and Betram.  They have bottles of birch beer and cola which Lieutenant Eddy procures at a bulk rate from one of the markets in the town nearby, and Ellis is shuffling a deck of cards that looks older than he is, so worn at the edges it might sprout a beard and run off to make its way in the world. 

Davey fingers his suspenders.  The same thick, dark, elasticized fabric as the big lads' have, the same plain linen shirt, the same blue trousers, taken in for him.  The wiry man with the big mustache that Capper calls Lufty Parker had to go into town to find him a pair of proper shoes - clawhoppers, Lufty and Capper had called the thick workboots from the County hospital.  Capper Birch had said, the damn things are built like rowboats, they'll bust his feet to sore hell.  So a pair of proper shoes, wrapped in parchment paper. 

When they'd got scuffed, out in the dirt yard with the grown boys, he'd tried to clean them as he had seen the others do, but he only got them gummy with polish and stained his fingers. 

Like this then, little fella, Jules Menlo had said, sitting on his bed and teaching him the right way - knock the mud off, give them a good brushing.  "Just a dab at a time, little circles with the soft cloth.  That's the way." 

So now he kept his boots done right, so they would shine just like the others' after morning mess.  This was what they called inspection, before the day began - shirts unwrinkled, trousers patched, shoes clean.  He was not called forward like the grown boys - the lads, that's what Capper Birch called them - but Ellis checked his hands each day, and reminded him to clean his teeth before he went to bed. 

They are soft toward him.  They are like father, some days - tall and distant, their hands growing callused on ropes as big as his arm, their muscles straining under rolls of hose that he thinks might unwind for miles.  They fight and they laugh and they push each other - sometimes upward, sometimes over and into the mud.  They are like father, who would tap his Latin declensions and his History essays and remind him that he needed to pay attention, and work hard, for these were things a man should know when he was grown.  Sitting at his little desk in the study, Davey had thought of being grown as a place very far away, where people had to wear starched collars all day and never get into trouble not even once.  Grown men, he was to understand, did not chase their sisters with snakes, or eat pie before it was cool.

"Mother said cards are troublemakers' games," he whispered, quite softly, feeling the eyes and the curiosity of these half-grown colts atop him like wet wool.  He twists a button on his trousers. 

"Hey, well," Ellis laughs.  "Mother's not here to scold you, is she?"

"No," he says, looking at the floor.  "Mother's dead." 

The grown-boys stop laughing at once.  He hears the soft clap of Antoine - Antoine's vitality is a force inside his mind, something like the light through leaded glass - cuffing Ellis about the head.

Betram, who plays the fiddle and is as tall and pale and thin as a cornstalk with flaxen hair like fledgling cupped in a hand, jiggles his foot on the boards.  "I have n' mother, either, little fella."

"You don't?" Jules Menlo, more hair on the sides of his face - black and tightly curled - than on his head which is close-cropped, who taught him to sew his buttons back on, puts his cola down.  "Well, how'd you get here, then?"

"Well, I for sure guess I did have a mother, but I n' know her, so I say I have n' mother."

"My maman went away," Antoine remarks.  "My uncle said she went to work in the mills, so I went looking for her.  Then I met Captain Monroe, and I came here."

They are different - the lot of them - from anyone he has ever known, but he doesn't know how, and it comes to him in pulses and then, swiftly, slips from his reach.  Davey won't tell them, but sometimes he walks into their dreams.  When they are children there, he plays with them.  When they are grown, he hangs back into the echo of bells and motors and barking dogs.  When he tells Capper Birch about this, he says that they are nice boys, and that he never had any brothers, but they would be nice brothers.  Capper tells him this is what the firemen call the Sear.  Capper says it comes from deep inside, Capper says it's sort of like a coal that's buried under ash in the fireplace but it's still hot, still glowing, and if you dusted it off and gave it some air and some paper and some kindling you'd get the whole blaze going again.  Says that men who have it are different, and that's why they come here.

But he is just a boy.  He's too young even to go away to school - or he was, before. 

Do you have the Sear, Capper?

Yeah, of course.

Do Lufty and Eddy?  And Captain Monroe, and Captain Kittredge and Captain Jackson?

Yeah, them too, we all do.

What about the grown boys?

No, not yet.

How come I got it, and the grown boys don't?

The fire brought it.

But I didn't want it, Capper.

"How bout for cards, little fella?  You know a hand or two?"

He shakes his head again.  He knows checkers, and father was teaching him chess, and he was almost learning it.  He used to play Go Fish with Lyddie, under mother's watchful eye.  He would do puzzles with mother and father, on winter evenings when the sun laid down early in her snowy blankets.  Lyddie was too restless for the puzzles, but Davey had an eye for them, so father said.  Father said, he just seems to know the picture without even a glance at the box.  Mother ruffled his hair and remarked on his cleverness, as the pieces just seemed to come to hand.  They were so beautiful and intricate - father ordered them from Salem, and they came in little boxes, hand-cut pieces shaped like bells and stars and mysterious islands in the Tropics.  Whenever they would solve one, mother would write the date on the box. 

The pieces just - just come to him, like the dreams of the lads in the bunkroom.  The puzzles and the parlor with the wind rattling the shutters is a soft place, a kind place where he was allowed to stay up late in slippers just to finish the picture. 

A few other lads in the mess hall are reading, or writing letters. 

"I bet you like magic," Ellis says.  "I bet I could teach you some."

He asked Capper if the Sear was a kind of magic.  Capper shrugged.  His brace had squeaked softly with his shifting. 

"Come on, come watch."  And Ellis fans out the deck.  "Pick a card, my son.  Pick any card."

So he does, cautiously, sliding one card from the deck, which feels electric, which feels like Ellis. 

"Now don't show me, just keep it to yourself."

Jack of hearts.  The knave, the knight. 

"Pop it back in, wherever you like, there."

Ellis shuffles the cards.  He feels them move, as if Ellis' long arms are the ocean and the cards the foam atop the waves.  Breathe in, breathe out, the cards move along like lighting down a branch, bolting the sky to the ground.  His jack is somewhere in there.  He looks for it, and finds the Sear escaping and climbing Ellis' arms before he can pull it back. 

The cards move and split and cut. 

"Now, is this your card?"

But the card is already moving.  "No - "

"How 'bout this?" Ellis says, his fingers flicking to his ear, and there, lo and behold, the jack of hearts.  Ellis is grinning.  The grin spreads to his own face. 

"Yes!" Then blinking.  "How'd you do it?  How'd you - "

Ellis holds himself primly.  "Magic!" He says.  "Now come on, we'll teach you Rat's Crew - no gambling, no magic, just good old-fashioned fast eyes and quick on the draw."

Jules has already pulled up a chair, and he kneels on it, for he is a head and more shorter than these lads, these grown-boys, these brothers.  The lamplight is steady, and their hearts around him, knaves the lot, are bright and beating and alive. 

I didn't want it, he told Capper.  I didn't want the sear.

It doesn't matter, Capper Birch had said.  It wanted you.

[winchesterbrotherstan]

Supernatural- Provenance (1.19)

b.. a. by.

Pairing: Olive Winchester (OC)

Summary: While working a case, a girl catches Sam’s eye, Dean and Olive butt heads, and Olive goes into attack mode.

Warnings: cursing, screaming, creepy little ghost, slit throats, olive is a monster, the usual

Word Count: 8163

I yawned, dropping my head onto the table of the bar. Dean was flirting with a pretty girl while Sam and I were elbow-deep in research. Sam made a face at Dean before gesturing to him. Dean only held up a hand, laughing at something the girl whispered to him.

“Dean!” I called, annoyed.

He rolled his eyes before coming back to us, dropping a beer in front of Sam.

“Alright, I think we’ve got something.” Sam sighed.

Dean glanced back over his shoulder. “Yeah, me too. I think we need to take a little shore leave, just a little bit.” He grinned. “What do you think, huh? I’m so in the door with this one.”

I rolled my eyes, biting back a snarky comment. Sam sighed.

“So what are we today, Dean? I mean, are we rock stars, are we army rangers?”

Dean’s grin grew, and I rolled my eyes again.

“Reality TV scouts, looking for people with special skills. I mean, hey, it’s not that far off, right?” He leaned toward Sam. “By the way, she’s got a friend. Possibly hook you up. Whatcha think?”

Sam sighed. “No thanks, Dean. I can get my own dates.”

“Yeah, you can but you don’t.” Dean made a face.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sam shot back.

“Hey! Dean’s just being a jackass. Don’t pay him any attention.”

Dean tried to protest, but Sam rolled his eyes. “Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. No prints, no murder weapons, all…”

Dean was distracted, staring back at the girl at the bar. I kicked him under the table and he turned back to me with lips curled, angry.

“Dean! Pay attention.”

“No prints, no murder weapons, all the doors and windows locked from the inside.”

Dean took a sip from his beer with a shrug. “Could just be a garden variety murder. You know, not our department.”

“Dad says different.” I spat, flicking through his journal.

“What do you mean?”

Sam pointed to the map on the page. “Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second one here in 1945, third in 1970.”

“Same MO as the Telescas. Throats slit, doors locked from the inside. So much time happened between the two that nobody checked for a pattern.”

“Except Dad.” Sam sighed. “He kept his eyes peeled for another one.”

“And now we got one.” Dean pouted. “Alright, I’m with ya. It’s worth checking out. Can’t we pick this up first thing though?”

I sighed, and Sam shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Good.” Dean patted Sam’s arm and circled the table to me. “Love you, kid. Even when you’re being a brat.”

I scoffed back at him, and he pulled me into a hug. “I love you.”

“Fuck off.” I spat, pushing him away.

He rolled his eyes and flipped me off as he walked back to the bar. Sam bumped his elbow into my side.

“What’s the deal, bug?”

I sighed and leaned against him with a huff. “Just not in the mood for his shit.”

“The flirting? Aw, bug, are you jealous that you don’t have all of Dean’s attention?”

I rolled my eyes again. “No, you big idiot. I’m just sick of him being a horny fucker all the time. It’s really annoying.”

Sam only snickered.

                                                          ***

I snuggled further into Dean’s side, kicking my shoes off. He was asleep, slumped in the passenger seat with a pair of sunglasses on. He went out last night with two girls and came back to the motel beyond drunk. He had thrown up countless times. I stayed up with him, rubbing his back and wiping the sweat off his forehead. Taking care of a grown man was frustratingly difficult when you only had one arm.

Sam walked around the car, knocking on the hood. I looked at him through slitted eyes. He put a finger up to his mouth before leaning in through the window and slamming the horn. I let out a squeak, and Dean jumped up, spooked. Sam got into the driver’s seat, cackling. Jinx howled, and Sam turned around to pat her head.

“Man, that is so not cool.” Dean grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“God fuck, Sams.” I hissed.

“I just swept the Telescas with EMF. It’s clean. And last night, while you were… well, out…”

I pushed my head further into Dean’s chest. “We checked the history of the house. Nothing strange about the family.”

“Alright, so if it’s not the people and it’s not the house, then maybe it’s the contents. Cursed object or something.” Dean mumbled.

“What?” Sam asked, leaning in.

“No, bubba, house is clean.” I groaned, sitting up.

“Yeah I know, Sam said that.”

“No, I mean it’s empty. No furniture. Nothing.” Sam shook his head.

I blinked, suddenly awake. “What?”

“Where’s all their stuff?” Dean squinted.

                                                         ***

I wiggled my nose, trying to move my glasses back into place as I followed Sam around, hand in his. I squeezed, a signal to wait for Dean as he picked a piece of finger food off a tray. Sam squeezed my hand back. Jinx was asleep in the Impala, and I was hoping it would stay that way. The last thing we needed was somebody with a stick up their ass calling animal control on her. We were out of place. 

This fancy auction house, with women in fancy flowing dresses and men in tuxedos. I kept myself behind Sam. We were in our scratchy canvas jackets, dirty flannels, ripped jeans and scuffed boots. Dean grumbled as he caught up.

“Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for WASPs if you ask me.” He plucked more food off another tray.

A man in a tuxedo popped up behind us, and we spun around. Sam pulled me closer to him as we forced matching polite smiles.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

Dean eyed him and cleared his throat. “I’d like some champagne please.” He spoke in a posh accent.

Sam’s jaw clenched, and I dug my arm into Dean’s side, ignoring the throb that radiated from my bones. “He’s not a waiter.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow, and Sam held his hand out. “I’m Sam Connors.”

The man blinked at him, not taking Sam’s hand. I popped out from behind him and squared my shoulders.

“I’m Olive Connors, and this is our brother Dean.” I nodded to Dean.

“We’re art dealers, with Connors Limited.”

“You are… art dealers.” The man repeated, eyeing us.

I sighed, and Sam squeezed my hand again.

It’s okay, just stay calm.

“That’s right.”

“I’m Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now, this is a private showing, and I don’t remember seeing you on the guest list.” The man cleared his throat, the look of disgust clear on his face.

“We’re there, Chuckles. You just need to take another look.” Dean snapped as he swiped a glass off a passing tray. “Oh, finally.” He sniffed the glass, raised his eyebrows, and walked off.

“Cheers.” Sam forced a smile as I yanked on his arm, trying to follow Dean.

“What is wrong with you?” Sam snarled at Dean.

“Hey.” I tugged his arm. “Relax. He’s just being a prick again.”

The three of us fell silent as we stared at an old painting of a family. Our heads tilted the same way, identical looks on our faces.

“A fine example of American Primitive, wouldn’t you say?”

The three of us turned up to see a very pretty girl about Sam’s age coming down the spiral stairs. Her dress was black and sleek, hugging her body. She gave off classy vibes, and I was immediately entranced. I blinked as her back turned to us. Dean slapped Sam on the back, and Sam ignored him.

“Well, I’d say it’s more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses. But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did.” Sam smiled.

“Guilty.” She smiled back. “And clumsy. I apologize. I’m Sarah Blake.” She held her hand out to him.

He took it, and my heart softened at the twinkle in his eyes. “I’m Sam. This is my little sister Olive, and our…” He sighed as Dean continued to stuff his face with food.

“This is our brother, Dean.” I grinned.

Sarah chuckled. “Dean. Can we get you some more mini-quiche?”

Dean shook his head, in the middle of chewing. I giggled.

“He’s okay, thank you.”

Sarah smiled widely as she turned back to Sam. “So, can I help you with something?”

“Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?”

Sarah grimaced. “The whole thing’s pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things so soon. But Dad’s right, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones.”

“Is it possible to see the provenances?” Sam asked.

Dean and I eyed each other, confused.

What the fuck does that word mean?

“I’m afraid there isn’t any chance of that.” Blake came back up behind us.

“Why not?” I asked, shuffling around to be in front of Dean.

“You’re not on the guest list. And I think it’s time to leave.”

“Well we don’t have to be told twice.” Dean spoke poshly again.

“Apparently you do.” Blake took a step toward us.

I backed up, running into Dean’s front. Sam reached for my hand.

“Okay. It’s all right. We don’t want any trouble. We’ll go.”

Dean rolled his eyes and walked off. Sam and Sarah stared at each other until I grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him along to follow Dean. I glanced over my shoulder to see Sarah staring right at Sam’s ass. I shivered, uncomfortable.

                                                         ***

“Grant Wood?” Dean spoke to Sam as they walked behind me.

“Yeah, Sams.” I called over my shoulder. “The hell was all that?”

“Grandma Moses?”

“Art history course.” Sam smiled. “It’s good for meeting girls.”

Dean shook his head as I unlocked the motel door. Jinx ran in, wagging her tail.

“It’s like I don’t even know you.”

We shuffled into the room and blinked. Retro 70s disco fantasy room. The Do Not Disturb sign was a silver outline of John Travolta. Jinx watched us as we took the scene in, all heads tilted.

“Huh.”

I shrugged and tossed my bag at the feet of the bed furthest from the door. Sam and Dean did the same, still staring at the room.

“Sams, what was… providence?” I stumbled over the word.

“Provenance.” Sam sounded it out. “It’s a certificate of origin, like a biography. Ya know, we can use them to check the history of the pieces, see if any of them have a freaky past.”

I frowned. “Huh.”

“Well, we’re not getting anything out of Chuckles, but Sarah…” Dean made finger guns at Sam.

I giggled, and Sam smirked at Dean. “Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin.”

Dean laughed, and I shook my head.

“No no no, pick-ups are Dean’s thing.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t Dean’s ass she was checking out.” I dropped onto the bed.

Sam narrowed his eyes at me, and Dean grinned. Jinx jumped onto the bed and barked in Sam’s direction.

“In other words, you two want me to use her to get information.” Sam sighed.

I shrugged. “Sometimes you gotta take one for the team.”

Dean grinned wider. “Call her, Sam.”

                                                         ***

I put my glasses on as I left the bathroom and turned the lights off. Dean was sitting on our bed, sharpening his knife. Sam was criss-cross on his own bed, rustling through papers.

“Hey, Sams!” I grinned. “How’d it go?”

He had gone out to drinks with Sarah while Dean and I stayed at the motel, showering and fixing weapons.

“She just handed the providences over to him.” Dean grinned.

“Provenances.” I corrected.

“Provenances?”

“Yeah.” I nodded, turning to Sam. “Okay, so?”

“We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers-”

“And?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows.

“And nothing. That’s it. I left, told her I had to get home to my little sister.”

I giggled, and Dean made a face.

“You didn’t have to con her, or do any… special favors or anything like that?”

“Dean.” I chastised, trying to keep the smile off my face. “Get your mind out of the gutter!”

Dean laughed as Sam rolled his eyes. I dropped on the bed, next to Dean.

“You know, when this whole thing’s over, we could… stick around for a little bit.” He offered.

“Why?” Sam furrowed his eyebrows.

“So you can take her out again.” I shrugged. “Duh.”

“It’s obvious you’re into her, even I can see that.”

“I think I’ve got something here.” Sam ignored us, holding a paper up.

I switched over to sit next to Sam, taking the paper from his hand. “What am I looking at here?”

“Portrait of Isaiah Merchant’s family, painted in 1910.” Dean read off the paper.

“Wasn’t the first murder in 1912?” I tilted my head.

Sam nodded. “First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms. He was murdered in 1912. Same thing in 1945, oh, and 1970.”

“Then stored, until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it.” Dean read from Dad’s journal.

“So, what do you think? Haunted? Cursed?”

Dean dropped the paper and grabbed his knife. “Either way, it’s toast.”

I grinned. “I’ll get the gloves.”

                                                         ***

Dean lept halfway up the metal gate, easily climbing the rest. He sprinted into the fog, then called back to us.

“Come on!”

Sam dropped onto a knee, helping me get a step up onto the gate. I climbed it faster than he did, anxious to be back on solid ground. I balanced on the top, knuckles white. Although I had gotten used to being down an arm, scaling fences became a lot more difficult. I had to rely mostly on the weight of my body against the fence and the soles of my boots. I took a breath before getting a grip and climbing down the other side. Dean helped me once I was halfway, and Sam jumped off, hitting the ground and rolling back to his feet.

“Stay with Dean.” Sam whispered as he went for the security alarm.

He fidgeted with the wires, and I watched with a smile on my face as he worked.

“Alright, go ahead.” He turned back to Dean.

Dean picked the lock with ease, pushing the door open. I led the way, flashlight low as we looked around. Dean tapped my arm and pointed up the stairs. I grabbed Sam and followed as he sprinted up the same spiral staircase from earlier. Dean went to put his flashlight in his mouth but I took it, handing him a switchblade.

He flicked it open and cut the painting from the frame. Sam helped him roll it up, and I pulled a hair tie off my wrist with my teeth and wrapped it around the painting. Dean tucked it under his arm and patted my shoulder.

Let’s go.

                                                         ***

“Ugly ass thing.” Dean spat as he struck a match. “If you ask me, we’re doing the art world a favor.”

Sam sighed, aiming the flashlight. “Dean, just hurry up.”

Dean dropped the match without a word, and the painting began to curl at the edges. We stood in a huddle, watching it burn.

“Alright. We can head back to the motel, take the night and then pack up and hit the road.” Dean wrapped his arms around himself.

I nodded, smacking at a mosquito. “Let’s go.”

                                                         ***

“Bug?” Sam’s voice was a whisper.

“What’s up, Sams?” I mumbled.

I was wrapped in Dean’s arms, buried under three different blankets.

“Can we share a bed tonight?”

I grunted as I shuffled out of Dean’s grip and rolled onto the floor. Sam sat up and pulled the blankets back.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

I nodded as I curled up in his bed, snuggling into his side. He threw the blankets back over us and sighed.

“You okay?”

He nodded, resting his chin on the top of my head. “I’m just not feeling great.”

“Upset?”

He nodded again, wrapping his arms tight around me. “Yeah.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry, Sams.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got you guys.”

I snorted and pushed my head into his neck. “We’ll find you a girl, Sams. Don’t worry.”

                                                         ***

“We’ve got a problem!” Dean rushed out from the bathroom.

“What happened?” I asked, clipping Jinx’s collar on.

“I can’t find my wallet.”

Sam didn’t look up from his duffel bag. “How is that our problem?”

“Cause I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night.”

Sam’s eyes went wide and his head snapped up. I stumbled backward, dropping onto the bed and struggling to breath.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No.” Dean shook his head.

“Dean! That’s got your prints all over it, your ID!” I ran a hand through my hair.

“Well, my fake ID, but yeah.” Dean nodded.

“We’ve gotta find it before somebody else does. Come on.”

                                                         ***

“How do you lose your wallet, Dean?” Sam hissed.

I rubbed the back of my neck as we rushed around the auction house, eyes scanning every possible surface. Dean threw his hands up and kept looking. I groaned, ready to duck and check under tables.

“Hey guys!”

We turned around to see Sarah with a huge smile on her face. We all smiled back, trying to act cool and collected.

“Sarah! Hey!” Sam’s smile came naturally.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, glancing at Dean and I, who were still looking around.

“Ah, we uh… we’re leaving town, and you know, thought we’d come to say goodbye.” Sam stumbled.

“What are you talking about, Sam? We’re sticking around for at least another day or two.” Dean grinned as he tugged me along.

Sam looked at us, confused. Dean fished his wallet out of his pocket and smiled at Sam. “Oh, Sam. By the way, I’m gonna go ahead and give you that twenty dollars I owe you.” He turned to Sarah with a smile. “I always forget, you know.”

Sam only blinked, and Dean held the cash out with a grin. “There you go.”

Sam snatched it, glaring at Dean.

“Well, I’ll leave you two crazy kids along, I gotta-”

“We should go check on the dog!” I grinned, patting Sam on the back. “See ya!”

I grabbed Dean by the hand and tugged him to follow as we scrambled away, toward the parking lot.

“Are you insane?” I asked, eyes wide.

“He likes her.”

“I know he does, De, but you almost gave us both heart attacks.” I hissed.

“Oh my God!” Sam shouted.

I whipped around, hearing my teeth crackle inside my head. Dean grabbed my wrist and yanked me back his way, shaking his head.

Relax.

“Yeah, and now you’re just going to sell it again?” I heard Sam again.

I blinked, swallowing the blood in my mouth. Dean let out a breath, and Sam hurried into view, grabbing us both by the wrists and tugged us along.

“We’ve gotta go, now.”

He dragged us to the Impala, dodging our questions. Dean slid into the driver’s seat, and Sam shoved me to sit in the middle of the front bench. Jinx yapped as Sam slammed the door shut.

“Sams, what happened?” I asked.

“The painting.” Sam hissed.

“What?” Dean made a face.

“The painting is back.”

I shook my head. “Sammy, that’s not funny.”

Sam glared. “I’m not playing. I saw it.”

Dean let out a breath. “What the hell?”

“I don’t understand, Dean. We burned the damn thing!”

“Yeah, I got that, Captain Obvious!” Dean spat.

“Hey! Both of you relax. We just need to figure out another way to get rid of the thing. Ideas?”

“Okay, alright.” Sam sighed. “Well, um, in almost all the lore about haunted painting, it’s always the painting’s subject that haunts ‘em.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family in the creepy-ass painting. What were their names again?”

                                                         ***

“You said the Isaiah Merchant family, right?” The proprietor asked.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Dean circled the table, a huge smile on his face as he flipped through an old book full of pictures of guns.

The proprietor put down a large book of newspapers clipping down on the table. “I dug up every scrap of local history I could find. So you kids are crime buffs?”

“Kinda.” Dean shrugged. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“Well…” He held up a newspaper article, pointing to a side article.

Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.

“Yes.” Dean piped up. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“The whole family was killed?” I asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“It seems that Isaiah, he slits his kids’ throats, then his wife, and then himself. He was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor.”

I shivered. Dad was a bit crazy, that was true, but there was no way he’d ever kill us.

“Why’d he do it?” Sam asked as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“Let’s look… uh,” He skimmed the page, “People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist. Wife, uh, two sons, adopted daughter… there were whispers that the wife was going to take the children and leave.” He made a face. “Which of course, you know, in that day and age… so, um, instead, the old man… well, he gave them all a shave.” The man dragged a finger across his throat and made gagging noises.

He kept his eyes on Dean as he laughed, and Dean laughed back, maintaining eye contact. He was flirting. I blinked, holding back a smile. Sam gave Dean a bitchface, and Dean immediately stopped, clearing his throat.

“Does it say what happened to the bodies?” I asked, rubbing Dean’s arm.

“I’m sorry?” The proprietor blinked, looking at me.

“What happened to the bodies?” Dean repeated.

“Just that they were all cremated.” The man shrugged.

I sighed, and Sam groaned. “Is that all?”

“Yeah.” He glanced at Dean, then back to Sam. “Actually, I found a picture of the family. It’s right here… somewhere.” He flicked through the book. “Right, here it is!” He pulled out a paper and showed us.

It was a picture of the painting. I sighed, and Sam asked him for a copy. The guy nodded before turning around and disappearing into the back room.

“Hey.” I smacked Sam’s arm. “Be nice.”

“What?” He squinted.

Dean was looking through the book of guns again, his demeanor sad. His shoulders were dropped and a sad look was on his face.

“Why’d you give him a bitch face?” I whispered.

“Because he was laughing at a dead family.”

I rolled my eyes. “You idiot. He was flirting.”

“With … a guy?”

I rolled my eyes again. “What, I can be bi, but Dean can’t be?”

Sam shook his head. “Olive, that’s not what I’m saying. I just… I’ve never seen him be forward about it.”

I snorted. “That’s cause you haven’t seen him without Dad in a while.”

Sam blinked. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

The guy came back with a copy of the picture and handed it to us with a small smile. “Here you go.”

I smiled back as Sam took it. Dean smiled at the guy as we left the store.

“Come on.” I held my hand out.

Dean took it with a soft smile and held the car door open for me.

                                                         ***

“What the hell?” I squinted, bringing the copy of the photo closer to my face.

“What?” Dean looked over his shoulder as he stood in front of the sink, washing the coffee mugs from earlier.

“The pictures are different.” I rolled from my stomach onto my back and sat up.

Dean snorted. Sam reached out across the beds and took the paper. Jinx whined, popping her head up as Sam stopped petting her.

“Holy shit. Olive’s right.”

Dean shook his head. “No way.”

“I’m telling you, De.”

“The painting at the auction house, the dad is looking down. This copy, the dad’s looking out. The painting changed, Dean.” Sam squinted at the picture.

“Alright, so you think that Daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?” Dean turned the tap off.

“Well, yeah, it seems like it.” Sam sighed.

“But if his bones are already dusted, how are we gonna stop him?” I asked.

“Well, if Isaiah’s position changed, then maybe some other things in the painting changed too. Ya know, it could give us some clues.”

“What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?” Sam began to pet Jinx again.

“Uh…” Dean stammered, staring at Sam with a blank look. “I don’t… know, uh…”

“He’s still waiting on the movie for that one.” I giggled.

“Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting.” Dean threw himself on the bed and crossed his arms behind his head.

I dropped onto my side and snuggled up to him, curling up and placing my cheek on his chest. He wrapped one arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

“This is a good thing.” I mumbled.

“Yeah, cause Sam gets more time to crush on his girlfriend.”

“Dude.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Enough, already.”

“What?” Dean asked.

“What do you mean, what? Ever since we’ve gotten here, you two have been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, alright?” Sam snapped.

“What, you don’t like her?”

Sam rolled his eyes and dropped onto his back, annoyed.

“Alright. You like her, she obviously likes you. You’re both consenting adults…” Dean trailed off.

“What’s the point?” Sam raised his voice. “We’ll just leave. We always leave!”

“He’s not talking about marriage, Sams.”

“You know, I don’t get it.” Sam turned to us. “What do you two care if I hook up?”

Dean sighed, calm as he talked. “Cause then maybe you wouldn’t be so cranky all the time.”

Sam glared, let out a huff, and looked back up to the ceiling.

I bumped my head into Dean’s chin and sat up with a sigh. “Sammy, we’re serious. This isn’t just about hooking up, okay? I mean, we… we think that Sarah could be good for you.”

Sam scratched his head, staying silent. Jinx whined, sensing the tension. I shot Dean a look.

Say something.

“And…” Dean spoke as he sat up, voice soft. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but… I’m sure this about Jessica. Right? Now, we don’t know what it’s like to lose somebody like that, but…”

“Sams, I know you miss her.” I whispered. “But she would want you to be happy.”

Sam said nothing as he listened, tears in his eyes. Dean sighed.

“God forbid have fun once in a while. Wouldn’t she?”

Sam gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, I know she would.” He sighed. “Yeah, you two are right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part.”

“What’s it about?” Dean asked.

Sam said nothing, and Dean huffed.

“Okay.” I laid back down, and Dean followed.

He wrapped his arm around me again and yawned. I closed my eyes as Sam flicked his phone open and cleared his throat.

“Sarah, hey.” Sam spoke, awkwardly. “It’s Sam.”

A pause, and I cracked my eyes open.

“Hey, hi.”

Another pause.

“Good. Good, yeah, um… what about you?”

I watched as he paced around the room.

“Yeah, good, good, really good.”

Dean huffed. “Smooth.”

I thumped my head against Dean’s chest. “Be nice.”

“So, uh, listen… my siblings and I were uh… thinking that maybe we’d like to come back in and look at the painting again, I…”

Dean shook his head again, then turned to me with a smile.

“I think maybe we are interested in buying it.”

My nose wrinkled up.

“Buy it and be haunted? No thanks.” I whispered.

“What!” Sam snapped, and I pushed myself up, eyebrows furrowed.

“Who’d you sell it to?”

I rolled over Dean and got to my feet, digging through the duffel bag. Jinx jumped off the bed and ran toward me, sniffing the bag.

“Hey, no.” I pushed her nose away. “Don’t do that.”

“Sarah, I need an address right now.”

                                                         ***

Dean slammed the brake and put the car in park. He moved slower than Sam, and I scrambled out past him.

“Sam, what’s happening?” Sarah asked as she jumped out of the car in the driveway.

“I told you, you shouldn’t have come.” He ran past her, bolting up the porch steps.

“Hello? Anyone home?” I asked as I pounded on the door.

Dean tried kicking at it, but it didn’t budge.

“You said Evelyn might be in danger. What sort of danger?”

“I can’t knock this sucker down. I’ve gotta pick it.” He groaned.

I sprinted back to the car and dug through the backseat. Jinx tried to lick my face, and I pushed her away again.

“Stop it.” I mumbled as I fished out the pick case.

“Here.” I shoved the case into Dean’s hands and joined Sam at the windows, which were covered in security bars.

“What are you guys, burglars?”

“I wish it was that simple.” I scoffed, hitting the window.

“Look, you really should wait in the car. It’s for your own good.” Sam tried to get her out of the way.

I rushed to Dean’s side as he got the door open.

“The hell I will. Evelyn’s a friend.” Sarah ran in after us.

“Evelyn?” Sam called.

“Evelyn.” I inched into the lounge.

She was sitting on a couch, half turned away from us. The painting moved, the dad’s position changing again. Sarah reached for Evelyn, and Sam tried to get her to stop. Evelyn’s head tipped back, and her slashed throat was exposed. Sarah let out a scream, jumping back into Sam’s arms. He led her out of the room.

                                                         ***

There was a knock on the door, and I shifted. Sam opened the door, and Sarah stormed in past him.

“Hey. You alright?”

“No, actually.” She crossed her arms over his chest. “I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn’s, alone, and that I found her like that.”

Sam let out a huff. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” She growled.

I sat up and yawned. Jinx was on her back next to me, kicking in her sleep.

“I’m about to call them back right now if you don’t tell me what the hell’s going on. Who’s killing these people?”

Sam glanced at Dean, who shrugged.

“What.”

“What?” Sarah looked at me.

“Not who. It’s a what. A what is killing these people.”

She looked at me like I was insane.

“Sarah, you saw that painting move.” Sam spoke softly.

She shook her head, becoming agitated. “No! No, I was… I was seeing things. It’s impossible.”

Dean snorted. “Well, welcome to our world.”

“Sarah. I know this sounds crazy, but…” Sam stumbled.

“We think the painting is haunted.”

She shook her head at me again. “No. You’re joking.”

The three of us sighed, faces dead-panned as she looked at each of us.

“You’re not joking.” She wiped fresh tears out of her eyes. “God, the guys I go out with.”

“Sarah, just think about it.” Sam tried to reason with her, and she took a step back.

“Look. Evelyn, the Telesca’s. They both had the painting, and there were others before that too. Wherever that butt-ugly painting goes, people die.” I shrugged.

“We’re just trying to stop it. And that’s the truth.” Sam sighed.

“Then I guess you’d better show me. I’m coming with you.” She pulled her purse over her shoulder.

“What? No! Sarah, no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous, and I… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Sarah snorted. “I’m sorry, how old’s your sister?”

I rolled my eyes as I moved to sit next to Dean at the table. “I’m fifteen.”

“Look, you guys are probably crazy. But if you’re right about this?” She sighed. “Me and my Dad sold that painting that might’ve got these people killed. Look, I’m not saying I’m not scared, because I am scared as hell, but… I’m not gonna run and hide either.” She took two long strides to the door and turned back to us, arms crossed over her chest. “So. Are we going or what?” She walked out.

“Sam?” Dean got his attention.

Sam looked up at us, eyes wide.

“Marry that girl.”

                                                         ***

“Uh, isn’t this a crime scene?” Sarah asked, looking around as Dean picked the lock.

“You’ve already lied to the cops once.” I shrugged. “What’s another infraction?”

Dean pushed the door open and stepped inside. I followed, and Sam and Sarah came in last, looking nervous.

“Aren’t you worried that it’s… gonna kill us?” She asked as Sam lifted it off the wall.

“Nah, it seems to do its thing at night. I think we’re okay in the daylight.”

I pulled the picture out of my back pocket and unfolded it, trying to flatten it out over my thigh. I compared it to the picture and my lips curled up.

“Yeesh. Sams, check it out. The razor. Closed in this, open in that.” I pointed to the razor blade in Isaiah’s hand.

“What are you guys looking for?” Sarah asked.

“If the spirit’s changing aspects of the painting then it’s doing so for a reason.” Dean explained.

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at this.” Sam pointed at something. “The painting in the painting.”

I huffed and looked around. Dean picked up a glass ashtray and held it up to the painting. I squinted.

“What is it?”

“Merchant.” He read.

                                                         ***

Jinx pulled hard on her leash, and Sam pulled back. She sniffed one headstone before jumping around to another.

“This is the third boneyard we’ve checked.” Dean groaned. “I think this ghost is jerking us around.”

“So this is what you guys do for a living?” Sarah asked.

“Not exactly.” Sam shrugged. “We don’t get paid.”

“Well, Mazel tov.” She sighed.

“Hey.” I hit Dean’s arm as I spotted the mausoleum. “Over there.”

I hurried over, leaving the others to catch up. I tugged on the lock, but it was solid. Dean moved me aside and slammed a knife handle into it, breaking it open. He stepped in first, and I followed. There was a bunch of name plates, and four urns in small glass boxes. I flinched as I noticed the dolls set up next to each urn.

“Okay. That right there? The creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Sarah shuffled.

“It was a… tradition at the time. Whenever a child died, sometimes they’d preserve the kid’s favorite toy in a glass case, put it next to the headstone or crypt.”

Jinx began to bark. A breeze blew in, and I shuddered as the cobwebs fluttered around us. Dean wrapped an arm around me.

“Notice anything strange here?”

Sarah giggled. “Uh, where do I start?”

Sam laughed, and I rolled my eyes at him.

“No, that’s not what he means. Look at the urns.”

“Yeah.” Sam noticed. “Only four.”

“Mom and three kids.”

“Father dearest isn’t here.” I sighed.

“So where is he?”

                                                         ***

I yawned, then giggled as Jinx did the same. Sarah and Sam were sitting on a short wall next to the office buildings. I was sitting on the ground next to them.

“So what exactly is your brother doing in there?”

“Searching county death certificates trying to find out what happened to Isaiah’s body.” Sam fiddled with his fingers.

“How’d he even get in the door?” She chuckled.

“Lying and subterfuge mostly.”

I snorted. “Dean’s really charming, actually. Especially when he wants to be. He can get himself wherever he needs to be.”

She nodded, turning back to Sam.

“You have a, uh… you have a right… no, uh, you know what…” Sam smiled at her. “Do you mind if I get it?”

“No.” She smiled.

He brushed it off and held it out on his finger. “Okay. Got it. Make a wish.”

Sarah laughed and then blew it away.

“Sam, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m gonna… take Jinx for a walk.” I rushed to my feet and pulled Jinx along.

We circled the block. Jinx wanted to sniff everything, but there was nobody around, and being alone freaked me out. I hadn’t been alone for more than a few hours, come to think of it. I grew up stuck to Sam and Dean. When Dean started going on hunts, Sam stayed with me. When Sam moved away, Dad and Dean would go on hunts, and I would stay with Bobby or Pastor Jim.

I circled back around to the front of the building, where Sam was in the middle of a heart-felt sentence, and Dean was standing with his hands in his pockets.

“Are we interrupting something?” Dean asked.

“No.”

“Not at all.”

Sam and Sarah spoke at the same time.

“Huh.”

“Oookay.” I let out a breath and shuffled back to Dean.

He bumped my arm as Sam asked what he had found out.

“Paydirt.”

“Oh, do share.” I grinned up at him.

“Apparently the surviving relatives of the Merchant family were so ashamed of Isaiah that they didn’t want him interred with the rest of the family. So, they handed him over to the county. County gave him a pauper’s funeral. Economy style.” Dean clicked his tongue. “He wasn’t created. He was buried in a pine box.”

“So there are bones to burn.”

“There are bones to burn.” Dean nodded.

“Please tell me you know where.”

                                                         ***

I flung dirt over my shoulder with a huff. It was hot, and I was sweaty and gross. I could’ve sat out on digging, Dean and Sam understood that doing that with a single arm was difficult, but I didn’t want to engage in small talk with Sarah. Dean took a second, and Sam crawled out of the grave, standing next to Sarah.

“You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this.” She noted.

“Well, uh, this isn’t exactly the first grave we’ve dug.” He chuckled. “Still think I’m a catch?”

She laughed, and Dean tapped his shovel against something hard.

“Think we’ve got something.”

“Wanna crack it open?” I asked Dean.

“Nah. Jump.” He tossed his shovel up to Sam.

I did the same, and Dean held his hands out to me, holding onto my forearm and elbow. I giggled as he smiled.

“Ready?”

“Are they… laughing?”

“She grew up in this life. We all did.” Sam sighed. “Olive tends to find joy in the very little things.

“Alright, come on.” Dean gave my arm a squeeze.

I anchored my feet down before hopping. The heels of my boots cracked through the wood. Dean gripped me by the middle and held me back up. Sam reached down and helped me out. I shook the dirt off my boots as Dean got himself back on solid ground.

I rustled through the bag and yanked out the rock salt. Sam poured the kerosene all over the coffin, and I dumped the container of salt in. Dean struck a match and watched it burn for a second.

“You’ve been a real pain in the ass, Isaiah.”

“Good riddance, bitch.” I grinned as Dean tossed the match down.

The coffin went up in flames.

                                                         ***

“Keep the motor running.” Sam instructed as we rolled up.

“I thought the painting was harmless now.” Sarah tilted her head as Sam got out of the car.

“Better safe than sorry. We’re gonna bury the sucker.” Sam shut the door.

“I’m going with you.”

“You sure?” Sam was taken aback.

“Hey! Hey, hey!” Dean called Sam. “Olive and I will stay here.”

“Go make your move!” I grinned, punching his arm.

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Sam! We’re serious!”

Sam flipped us off behind his back at he and Sarah jogged up the stairs. Dean flicked the station and turned the radio up. I giggled as a love song blared. Sam turned around and glared. Dean shrugged, and Sam pulled a finger across his throat. Dean sighed and turned the radio off. I threw my head back against the seat as Sam and Sarah disappeared inside the house. Dean sighed.

“He’s never gonna get laid.”

I rolled my eyes. “We can’t force him to go on a date if he doesn’t want to.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but a child’s loud laughter cut him off. We sat up straight to see the front door slam shut. We turned to each other for a second, and then busted out of the car, bolting up to the door. Dean pushed at the door, and I shoved it with my shoulder. Something on the other side, hopefully Sam, was trying to pull it open.

“Dean! Olive! Is that you?”

“Sams!”

“Sammy, you alright?”

Sam didn’t answer, but Dean’s phone rang. He flicked it open and put it on speaker.

“Tell me you slammed the front door.” He shoved the phone into my hand and began to work on the lock.

“No, it wasn’t me. I think it was the little girl.”

“Girl?” Dean echoed. “What girl?”

“Oh fuck, the girl in the painting!”

“Yeah! She’s not in it anymore. I think it might’ve been her all along.”

“Wasn’t the dad looking down at her?” Dean glanced at me. “Maybe he was trying to warn us.”

“Hey hey hey! Let’s recap later. Just get us out of here.” Sam pleaded.

“Well I’m trying to pick the lock, but the door won’t budge.”

“Well then knock it down.”

“Okay, Sams, let us just grab the battering ram.” I spat.

“Guys, the damn thing is coming.”

“You’re just gonna have to hold it off until we figure something out. Get salt and iron.” Dean instructed.

I slammed my shoulder against the door, and nothing happened. I shook my head as I took a breath. Dean paid no attention, again trying to take the door down. My teeth shifted inside my mouth, my jaw splintered, and blood came down in streams.

“Uh, guys, gimme a sec, don’t go anywhere.”

Dean walked around the porch, looking for a way in. There was a shout over the phone, and I clenched my fists, head spinning.

“Sammy, you okay?”

“Yeah, for now.”

“How are we gonna waste her?” I whispered.

“I don’t know. She was already cremated, there’s nothing left to burn.”

“Then how’s she still around?” Dean hit the door again.

“There must be something else.”

I opened my eyes and let out a breath. I could feel fangs in my mouth, digging into my bottom lip.

“Guys! Sarah said the doll might have the kid’s real hair. Human remains, same as bones.”

“The Mausoleum!”

“Dean, you’ve gotta go.” I shut the phone and shoved it into his hand.

He blinked, stumbling backward. I breathed heavily.

“What-”

“I’m in control right now. Go burn the doll.”

“What are you gonna do?”

I ran my tongue over my teeth and squared my shoulders. “Get in there and get Sammy safe.”

“Olive, you can’t-”

“I can take a ghost better than Sam can right now.” I huffed. “Dean. Go.”

He stared at me for a second before turning and dashing back to the car. The engine roared, and he peeled out of there in record time. I struggled with the sling before managing to fling it off onto the ground.

“Hang on, Sams. I’m coming.”

I sprinted down the porch and to the windows. I had to jump to get a good grip on the security bars. I slipped my legs in through them, anchoring my feet on the glass. I kicked as hard as I could, and the glass shattered. The alarm began to go off, and I flinched. It was worse than it would’ve been normally.

I tucked my legs back under my body and tugged at the bars with my full weight and strength. They broke at the connections, and I slammed my shoulder into them. They fell into the house, and I scrambled as I hit the floor, skimming across a layer of broken glass.

“Sammy!” I called.

“Sam!” Sarah shrieked from another room.

I followed the noise. A wardrobe was pinning Sam to the ground, and the little bitch of a ghost was staring Sarah down, razor in hand. Sam strained under the wood, trying to get it off. The girl raised her hand, and Sarah was thrown up into the air like a rag doll.

“Hey, kid!” I spat.

The ghost’s head turned to me unnaturally fast, and a rage filled her dead eyes. Sarah took the opportunity to scramble to Sam, helping him push the wardrobe off. The girl ran at me, blade up high.

“Olive!”

I took a swing at her, feeling metal slice against my forearm. Sam knocked me to the ground, away from the ghost. She stumbled backwards, burning up. Her figure reappeared in the painting. I hissed as Sam’s hand clamped down on my skin. His phone rang, and Sarah fished it out of his pocket for him.

“Sam, you good? Did Olive-”

“Right here, De.” I snarled, teeth bared as I tried to squirm away.

Sam grabbed me and held me down in his lap and yanked his flannel off, tying the sleeve around my arm. I blinked, coughing on my blood as my teeth began to go back to normal, bones cracking.

Sarah stared, and Sam sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall. I pushed off of the ground and onto my feet, heading right for the painting.

“Olive?”

I took it down and flicked out a switchblade. I spat the rest of the blood in my mouth onto the little girl’s face, then drove the blade right into her face.

“Rot in hell.”

                                                         ***

“This was archived in the county records.” Dean smacked my head with a paper.

“What is it?” I asked, snatching the papers away as he stood next to me.

Sarah and Sam turned their attention from the painting, which was being crated up, to us.

“The Merchant’s adopted daughter, Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption?”

I flicked the papers open and read off the paper with a snort. “Her real family was murdered in their sleep.”

“Think she killed them?” Sarah asked.

I shrugged, and Dean nodded.

“Who would suspect a sweet little girl? She kills Isaiah and his family. Old man takes the blame.”

“You’re right, his spirit must’ve been trying to warn people ever since.”

“Where’s this one go?” A worker asked as he patted the crate.

“Take it out back and burn it.” Sarah didn’t skip a beat.

We blinked at her, taken aback.

“I’m serious, guys. Thanks.” She nodded at them and they shrugged at each other before lifting the crate and stumbling away.

“So why’d the girl do it?” Sarah turned back to us and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Killing others? Killing herself?” Sam tilted his head and shrugged. “Some people are just born tortured. So when they die, their spirits are just as dark.”

“Maybe.” Dean huffed. “I don’t really care. It’s over, our time to move on.”

“Oh…” Sarah’s shoulders fell. “I guess this means you’re leaving.”

Dean and I glanced between Sarah and Sam. Sam blinked at us, then cleared his throat. Realization dawned on me as I grabbed Dean by the hand and smiled.

“See you around, Sarah!”

“Oh. Yeah, we’ll go wait in the car. Bye, Sarah.” Dean grinned, wrapping an arm over my shoulder and leading us out of the door.

She said nothing, and Dean rolled his eyes. I snorted.

“Not like I got sliced and almost dislocated my shoulder, but it’s fine.”

“And I’m the one that burned the doll, destroyed the spirit, but don’t thank me or anything.” Dean grumbled under his breath.

I shook my head. “Some guys just get all the glory, don’t they?”

Dean laughed as we leaned against the car. I stifled a yawn as Sarah let Sam out of the house, closing the door behind him. I sighed as Sam stood on the porch, hands in his pockets.

“Alright, come on.” Dean pushed me into the car. “Guess he didn’t wanna make his move.”

“Wait, wait.” I smacked his hand away and watched.

Sam knocked on Sarah’s door. She opened it, and he stepped in and kissed her. I smiled and slid into the car. Dean grinned.

“That’s my boy.”

“Go Sams.” I giggled as they continued to kiss in the doorway. “Think he’ll ask to stay?” I leaned against Dean’s shoulder.

He shook his head. “No. He won’t.”

Previous Ep: Something Wicked (1.18)

Next Ep: Dead Man’s Blood (1.20)

[griffinsandpeacocks]

GET UP & WRITE! July Speed Round. When it Hurts Like Hell

Dorian hated everything at the moment. He hated how he’d responded, but more he hated how Bull seemed to have shrugged it all off and moved on with as much ease as he had lifting a full grown man and throwing him out of a bar. Dorian couldn’t go back to the bar anymore. He’d see Bull there smiling and easy going as always. While Dorian was being torn apart by his own stupid mistakes. He shouldn’t have reacted the way he did... He could see that now. Yet in the heat of the moment he’d thrown away the only good thing he had going in this part of the world.

He sat before his therapist who his friend Felix had insisted he see in the first place, because of his father. Now he was going back because his father had shown up and in a fit of fear and anger he’d made sure to distance himself from everyone that cared. Well... Mostly, at least the ones that had been there, though the others were a little weary though obviously worried about him. He sat feeling like he should just leave.  It was vicious and eating him to see her hanging on Bull. He wants to make Bull hurt like he is but he won’t be that much of a bastard. He’d already drunk himself into several stupors in his flat. He felt worse than he’d been in a long while.

“Dorian, haven’t seen you in a while... You seem a bit rattled, what can I help with?” The man asks, he’s an elf and he has a deep compassionate soul and he’d actually gotten Dorian out of a fight once and Dorian was still shocked with the fact the small male only coming up just below Dorian’s shoulder, and he had a rather calm temperament, could move like he had that night. He’d been a viper and had struck like a hammer.

Dorian had gotten pinned down and was getting stomped on as they threw several slurs at him, none he hasn’t heard before. The elf had lunged out from a shadow grabbed a man by his arm twisted it back and kicked out his legs before spinning out from between the two last men and he’d backed to a wall watching with hawk like eyes before springing forward and jumping with a swing of his leg knocked one man in the head landed and the last had booked it. Back then Dorian hadn’t been able to say anything shock and pain had kept him silent. The elf had turned to him and helped him get to his bike.

“You can come back to my apartment where I’ll be able to patch you up or I can take you to your home. I warn you my roommate’s an utter flirt.” He had warned but Dorian had been shaken to the core. He’d heard them talk about his apartment before he’d tried to confront them. He’d decided to go with Lavellan, as he learned that was his name. At least, last name...

“I’d... Prefer it. They know where I live.” Dorian says and the elf had gotten a look on his face that screamed something unpleasant was going to happen to the men. He pulled out a phone called in the fight and where to find them and proceeded to leave the two cuffed together and to a near by dumpster. They left and went to a flat. The elf had had to help Dorian walk, after all he’d been tipsy when he’d walked out of the rather sleazy bar then he’d gotten the shit beat out of him. They’d come in to the apartment and Lavellan had gently sat the mage on a bar chair at a small counter in the kitchen.

“Bull, I have a pretty boy at the bar, you mind garbing the first aid kit? He was in a scuffle.” The elf says and the qunari the pops his head out almost startles Dorian into instant sobriety.

“Yeah, he looks a bit scuffed up.” He says and disappears a moment and Lavellan hands him a glass full of water and Dorian hesitates not wanting to get his blood everywhere.

“Don’t worry about it, Bull get’s blood on shit all the time. Being a bouncer doesn’t always end up with him coming home happy as a clam.” Lavellan says and takes the kit from the giant man with a smile and thanks. Dorian feels as nervous as he should. Tevinter doesn’t have very friendly relations with Qunari after all even after they major reforms they’d not made any real amends with the other race and would continue going into constant fights with them as the world aged and everyone learned to be somewhat civil with one another. Then again even with reform Tevinter hadn’t changed as much as the rest of Thedas would have liked. Hell Dorian didn’t much care for what they’d done himself. Still too many power mongering bastards all jockeying in the government and not enough that cared for the lower classes.

“Oh, a vint to boot, no wonder he got in a scuffle... You alright, they must’ve gotten you bad.” Bull says and Dorian coughs mildly shocked the other wasn’t going for his head.

“Ah, fine, they said a few things I’ve heard plenty of back home, and a couple things that I’ve heard more creative versions of, and besides, I might be a pretty boy but I’m not a stranger to getting ganged up on. The downside to being in the south is the fact I can’t just roast them.” Dorian chirps and Lavellan paused looking at him.

“We mages are just getting allowed to roam around without scrutiny twenty four seven down here in the south, please don’t get those bigots fired up again.” He says softly and Dorian winced shaking his head.

“No, I was making a joke in poor taste. Besides my magic field is heavily frowned on in these parts it’s best I not use it.” He says and Lavellan goes about taking a wet cloth and cleaning Dorian's face up a bit.

“What field?” He asks focusing on his patient as Dorian looks to the side blushing softly. He’s not used to this level of care and concern. Nor the open interest.

“Necromancy.” He says dryly expecting revulsion or sudden contempt as that’s all the south has been nor matter what he does to try to fit in. Instead the elf perk up.

“That field is rare in this part of the world, I’d love to hear on the theory... But another time, preferably when I’m not patching you up from looking like you’re the one risen from the dead.” The elf jokes and Bull chuckles and leans on the counter watching worriedly.

“So, what exactly got them on you?” He asks and Dorian shrugs wincing and Lavellan clicks at him looking agitated as he pulls back.

“Strip, what the fuck did they do to you?” The elf asks and Dorian can’t help being lippy.

“Typically you buy someone dinner or a few drinks before asking they strip.” And both laugh as Lavellan glares at the two taller males.

“Fuck you both. You winced obviously they fucked you up more than just scuffing up your face. Now, strip or I’m going to destroy your damn shirt.” The elf says cocking a hip and glowering at Dorian as he crosses him arms over his chest. Dorian nods and set the glass down and winced as he undoes a few ties and a couple buttons and lets his shirt drift off his shoulders so he balls it up in his lap. Lavellan winced and shakes his head.

“I need to do a quick call... I gotta let Cullen know I’m healing someone...” He turns and walks out and Bull even winced stopping Dorian from moving.

“Don’t move that looks bad, he’s just going to call a friend who is the one that checks up on him whenever his phylactery registers he’s using magic.” Bull says and Dorian nods. He wonders if he could have the man manage his as he’s certain the one he met just wants even a thin excuse to toss him out on his ass. He shudders at the though as so long as he’s here surely his father can’t get him. Bull looks at him curious but doesn’t press. Lavellan comes out with the phone held in his shoulder and in a tank top exposing the vine like tattoos that run from his face down to his hands and even down his chest and vanishing under his pants as the tank top is just thin enough to reveal the tattoos on the pale skin.

“Cullen if I do a vid call I can show you how beat up this man is. I don’t like it.” Lavellan says and there is a pause before he hangs up and recalls the man.

“Alright, I do trust you, Elrand, just show me and I can write this off as a needed use of magic. I need at least some photo evidence.” A voice says and the elf nods and walks up to Dorian and flips the phone around Dorian gives a sheepish wave as he’d seen the man in the back ground as he’d registered with the version of the Circle the South had. The man get’s an angry look on his face and shakes his head.

“I recognize him, Elrand, who did that?” The man asks and Elrand shrugs.

“I called Cassandra on their asses a better question would be if they’ll live once she’d done.” He says sweetly. Cullen grumbles and shakes his head.

“Help him out I’m already filling out the report. Is there anything else?” He asks and DOrian perks up.

“Could you take over for the ass managing my phylactery? He’s actually threatened if I so much as summon glitter he’ll have me thrown out of the country. Do you know how hard it is not to summon glitter when you’re as fabulous as I am?” Dorian jokes and all three with him laugh though Cullen looks none too impressed.

“I can look into it that particular officer is known to be... Well, a hard ass. I can only handle a max of ten cases but your lucky, a mage I had passed away last year and I’ve yet to pick up a new case. I can pull rank if, Lavellan can vouch I should.” The man says and Dorian looks between the screen and the elf.

“You’re friends I take it?” He asks and Lavellan shrugs.

“I’m a friendly enough person. Besides Cullen managed my case after someone tried mishandling it a few years back. I’m raised Dalish so initially I wasn’t registered as the treaties state we manage our own. I eventually moved off the Reservation and came to the city and agreed to get a phylactery as I studied to become a therapist. I almost got killed and had used my magic to help heal myself enough I wasn’t going to die, bastard tried to have me removed back to Reservation but both my clan and several officers threw a fit. Cullen was one of them. He’s seen some messed up situations as he was an officer during the Reform Riots. More than once he saw abused mages and on the flip side abominations torturing mages and officers alike. I’m not his official therapist but eh, close enough.” Elrand says smiling softly as Cullen looks to the side.

“Get to know him. If you say he’s worth it I’ll take his case.” Cullen says and hangs up. Elrand gasps and places a hand on his chest looking at Bull with mock surprise.

“He’s considering it, Bull! Dorian you must have charmed him!” He jokes placing his phone on the counter and getting to work healing the damages done hands glowing a faint green as he brushes over the scrapes and bruises.

“It’s a trait of mine, I’m just too charming to resist.” He mocks himself and Bull chuckles.

“Pretty boy, you’d get in over your head if you tried for Cullen, he’s to uptight to swing your way. A bit too damaged for most people too.” Bull sighs looking oddly thoughtful. Dorian winced.

“He went through the Riots... Couldn’t have been pretty I am hopeful the stories we heard were exaggerated but I have a feeling they were a bit closer to the truth than I would like.” He says and Elrand shakes his head.

“Cullen said they were horrific... He saw good officers torn to pieces and even good mages cut down. He still has nightmares.

“Can’t blame him... It sounds horrifying.” Dorian says and Lavellan nods. The elf heals the other mage and asks him if he still feels any serious pain and as Bull makes a snarky reply about toesies and grapes Dorian huffs.

“My toesies are perfectly fine, thank you.” He grumbles and Bull chuckles with Lavellan. The elf disappears into his room for a moment and comes out with a sweater and sweatpants. 

“Here put these on, I’ll throw your outfit in the wash so it’s clean by tomorrow. You said they knew where you lived so Bull or I am definitely giving you a lift home in the morning to be sure you get there and nothing will happen. You can change in my room and as far as it goes Bull might say you can sleep with him or there is the couch. It’s comfy, I’ve fallen asleep on it several times.” Elrand says and Dorian slips away and comes out with his battered outfit and Elrand nabs it and goes to a back room cackling as he tosses it into the washer and starts a cycle. That night Dorian sleeps better than he had for the entire time he’d been in the south. Having people near him helped quite a bit with the paranoia of being kidnapped back home. 

Over the next couple months he’d seen Lavellan as a therapist and often went to the bar Bull works at, Dorian’s more stable on his feet and has a job in the library. Then he’d gotten close to Bull and the giant ox had slowly gotten past all his walls and oddly made him happy. Incredibly happy. He was smiling and teasing and had become less guarded. He made quite a few friends and after he’d stopped seeing Lavellan as a therapist the elf had even joined in the fun explaining to Dorian he tries not to mix his patients with casual time. He understood but it was fun to get to know the elf. Elrand got close with him, his closest friend save Felix. Who was steadily fading away from illness he hasn’t been able to recover from. That no one had any idea how to treat fully nor cure. 

Dorian even slowly began to date Bull seriously rather than the relaxed almost friends with benefits set up they had going. It’s been a while he’s in a new place that’s better and less likely to result in anyone being able to easily break in. Even Cullen had taken over his case. Dorian was actually happy and was glad he’d left Tevinter. After so long hating his choice and wondering if he should have just bowed let his father do as he wished and just lived his life a simpering mess rather than face daily hate, he was sure his choice had been the right one. 

Then of course everything had to go horridly wrong. He’d just gotten news Felix had passed away and was planning on meeting everyone at the bar for some drinks and he’d wait for Bull to get off go home with him and chill with him and Elrand and watch some cheesy sitcom. Instead his father had stopped him as he went to the bar. Several men pop out and grab his arms. Dorian had gone to tell his father to fuck off but when he’s grabbed he lets a short burst of magic light up his fingertips in a triple burst. This was a silent help sos to Cullen. He wasn’t scared really, not at first. Not until his father had cut his hand and started a ritual. Dorian hadn’t recognized the runes but he panicked at that moment. 

“I’m not going to be your fucking puppet!” Dorian shouts and fire flares from his hands catching the two on fire he uses a focus blast and quickly bolts away he’s hit with a spell not that it truly stops him but he dimly recognizes it’s not a spell meant to harm. He’d gone straight to Bull, but the spell was taking affect he dimly realizes is was a terror spell. He isn’t clear on what happened only that he lashed out mostly at Bull who had been concerned and tried calming him down, which had set off Dorian in the worst way, before leaving and getting back to his apartment. He’d been called by Cullen but had still had the damn spell screwing with his mind he didn’t answer. It was late when both Elrand and Cullen came to his door. Dorian had thrown up and was shaking and though the spell had worn off he was still scared and shaking in his bathroom. Cullen had a key largely due to the possibility he’d need to get in to Dorian. 

“Dorian, what’s going on?” Elrand calls worriedly he’d shown up to see the group clearing out all shaking their heads talking about Dorian snapping like a dry twig. He was seriously worried even more so when Cullen had texted him saying he was on his way to Dorian’s apartment as he wasn’t where he used an sos. He’d come in and found Dorian and asked what happened. Dorian just shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about it. Elrand let it slide helped Dorian to get to his bed and checked him over letting Cullen know that Dorian had been cursed with a terror spell. Dorian remained shut in for his week long leave he’d been given due to losing his friend. 

He went back to work and tried to ignore the fact he’d screwed up his life in the south by playing right into his father’s tricks. He reacted hostilely when under terror spells, he’d lash out he should have gone home, should have done anything but go to Bull who would have just gotten the back lash. How could he even begin to explain to anyone he’d lashed out at that night? Cullen and Elrand were waiting to tell anyone anything until Dorian said they could. Dorian had gone out to try at the least to tell Bull he was sorry. He had left as soon as he’d walked in. He’d seen Bull with a redhead on his lap and left. He wanted to kill her. He’d gotten angry and knew he couldn’t handle being around anyone. 

He’d see that same simpering bitch hanging on Bull’s arm in public and he’d grow angry. He’d kept his mouth shut giving a fake smile and saying he was glad they were happy when he couldn’t slip away without appearing rude down the street and Bull would talk to him. He never meant it. He was in shock Bull had moved on so simply. Had Dorian shoved him away that harshly that he was just a concerning after thought now to the other man? 

Elrand waves his hand in front of Dorian bringing him back to the office of the elf and he coughs and swallows hard. 

“Ah, sorry, I um...” Dorian looked down and Elrand sighs.

“I don’t typically let my friends hire me, I make this single exception becuase I have a feeling you won’t open up about any of what’s eating you on the inside to someone you don’t know. So... let’s start with that nasty spell that sent you in a spiral.” Elrand says and Dorian shivers looking sick, Elrand being the dear he is pulls out a cold brew ginger tea and offers it to Dorian who accepts it with a soft thanks. Dorian takes a deep breath after taking a sip of tea. He just dumps all of it out. 

How his father had tried twisting him with blood magic, how he’d shown up and when Dorian escaped he’d hit him with the terror spell and he’d taken a nose dive. He’d tried to get to a safe place but the concern rubbed him wrong as when he was under a terror spell he’d get angry as he wasn’t quite immune to the effects but he could fight them but it makes him afraid like back in Tevinter when someone found out and was spewing hateful words and drawing attention that often resulted in him getting beaten to near death by a group of assholes. Elrand silently listens his eyes sowly darkening with rage. He stops Dorian as he explains the blow up at the bar.

“I heard about it... Now that I know what triggered it... Fuck... I want to kill your father and carpet bomb Tevinter.” Elrand says and Dorian shrugs.

“That’s the general consensus about my home.” Dorian says and Elrand hums.

″Gee, I wonder why?” He scoffs and Dorian chuckles though drops his head into his hand.

“I fucked up... Bull made me happier than I’ve ever been and I fucked it up.” Dorian is crying and Elrand can’t stand it.

“Dorian, Bull’s a play boy, all it’ll take is you talking this out with him and a small apology... Mostly for you though. You’re clearly guilty over this. You need to tell him what happened. Or... I mean I don’t want to suggest this but I can act as a medium. I can even have it at our flat so it’s a safe known space.” Elrand says softly unable to go and hug the human like he wants he has to maintain some professionalism. 

“Maybe... I just... I want to feel safe again... I want him to cry for me at least not just hop to some red headed floozy.” Dorian mumbles something Elrand can’t hear then he can hear him again “If he can’t at least he could lie to me.” Dorian whines into his hands. Elrand hums softly feeling angry on Dorian’s behalf. He’d not liked the man taking the panic induced break up as seriously as he had. Bull had been agitated but Elrand had been unable to say anything unable to break Dorian’s confidence. 

“This isn’t healthy for you, we need to have you two talk... He wasn’t as happy as he might seem. He was rather upset after but I was afraid I’d say something that relates to the event and didn’t want to betray your trust so... We’re going to head to the flat and sort this out, okay?” He asks hand holding Dorian's over the desk and Dorian looks up nodding make up trashed but he looks hopeful. Elrand shows Dorian to the restroom so he can clean up and call’s Bull to make sure the other was home.

“You’re home alone right?” He asks standing at the end of the hall so Dorian won’t overhear. 

“Yeah, was planning on seeing if that redhead from the bar was available.” Bull says and Elrand feels like he wants to kill someone. He really shouldn’t be possessive for Dorian it was pointless. Or he might just not like Bull going for the shallow girls... His own possessiveness maybe. 

“Don’t. You and Dorian need to talk about that night.” Elrand says.

“No. We really don’t.” Bull says flatly and ELrand feels his magic cackle around him as his temper peaks.

“Yes, you fucking do, you stubborn bastard. He wasn’t in his right mind, you know that! His father showed up and tried to fuck with him, if you know anything about Halward you will be fucking civil and listen to him. Or I’ll fucking saw off your horns you dammed ox!” Elrand spits and Bull goes silent.

“You’re worked up bad... Alright, boss. I’ll hear him out.” Bull says and Elrand calms down.

“Thank you, Bull... He... He needs you to listen. Please that’s all I’m asking. Just let him explain.” Elrand asks quietly as Dorian comes out and looks at him walking up.

“Alright.” Bull says and Elrand hangs up laces his arm with the altus and they walk out. Elrand joking and teasing Dorian to get his mind off things as he drives them on his bike. They walk up and Dorian starts to lag behind looking more and more like he might combust or break down into tears. Elrand tries to cheer him up the best he can saying he’d get the brandy out as soon as they got in. Dorian nods mutely and they enter Bull’ lounging in his leather lazboy and and Dorian keeps his eyes on the ground unable to work up much other than a sullen wave as he stands awkward more so than when they first met. Bull can see Elrand had gotten worked up from how off Dorian was so waits watching the elf dote on the mage seating him on the couch even though he had to bounce to do it making Bull chuckle. 

“Brandy.” Elrand says and goes to the open kitchen opening the cabinet he stores his booze in he pulls out the bottle and three glasses which he sets all on the coffee table before grabbing three steel cubes from the freezer and pouring them all brandy. He sits by Dorian, practically cuddled into his side.

“Alright, so, should I start this off or do you want to?” The elf asks and the human clears his throat taking a large gulp of the brandy making Bull focus more as Dorian only drank like this when he was troubled. He knew Dorian had a fucked past, he was a gay man from Tevinter after all. He didn’t know details though as Dorian kept all of it close to his chest. 

Dorian looks up catching Bull’s eye and it all starts pouring out, first a stumbling apology about lashing out then the explanation of why he came to the south, then what his father had pulled when he’d been trying to go to the party. Explaining what terror spells did to him and why and how he was again deeply sorry he had not meant to fuck up, he’d just wanted to get to safety but by then the spell was in full effect and he’d been a bastard. He looks down and covers his face shaking and Elrand is rubbing his back looking down not having touched his drink. He’s staring down at it with a clenched jaw, his eyes focused on the cube dancing in the brandy. Bull can tell Elrand is furious with Dorian’s father.

“This is all accurate?” Bull asks Elrand who looks up.

“He was hit with a terror spell, I wasn’t with him so I can’t say it was his father but I know what to look for when Dorian lies and I can tell you he did not.” Elrand says softly. Bull nods and sets the glass down.

“So you were out of it and never meant what you said?” Bull asks and Dorian reluctantly looks up.

“I don’t even know what I said, I can’t really remember what was going on that night. I heard some of it from a few of the others in text and I... I’m sorry. Cullen’s said he’s trying to find my father and get him put in prison or at least sent back but I just... I’m terrified and hate that I fucked up what made me happy becuase my father rattled me.” Dorian says voice now a rasp and his throat feels like someone wadded up sand paper and stuffed down his throat and his eyes are red and puffy from crying. Bull’s actually relieved. Dorian had been vicious but now that he knew... Dorian hadn’t meant to direct it at them, he’d been lashing out at the old memories the spell pulled up. 

“Dorian, you could have come and told me.” He says softly and Dorian snorts and shakes his head.

“I stew. I don’t deal with my problems I drink them away. When that doesn’t work I go talk to Elrand.” He groused. The elf laughs softly and hugs the human and sets his drink on the coffee table. He then looked at Bull and gestured him to come over and so Bull does. It’s a start and Elrand is happy that he’s managed to help them start back up and heal, especially for Dorian’s sake. He’d need the patient help Bull could provide. 

~

Word count: 4,811

[iximaz]

Blood-Forged ch3

Summary: Din takes his young charge to a new planet with a new plan to hide. It quickly goes sideways after he meets another Mandalorian who has never seen her own kind.

Characters: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin), Baby Yoda, enby!fem!OC

Pairings: Slow burn Din Djarin/OC because it turns out I’m a thirsty hoe

Warnings: Eh, right now it’s just in light PG-13 territory. Mentions of family death, some blood/violence/bodily harm. Will probably end up becoming smut later.

Word Count: 1110 (indefinite chapter count coming)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (you’re here!) Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Din caught Aysa’s arm as she jumped up. “Where are you going?”

“To pack?” she said, confusion visible on her face.

Din shook his head. “I’m not taking you. Not yet.”

Aysa wrenched her arm out of his grasp. “Why not?”

“I only just got to Coruscant,” Din said. “We’ll leave the moment it’s no longer safe here, but I’m not putting the kid’s life in danger because you can’t wait a little longer to be reunited with kin you’ve never met.”

Aysa bristled. She understood where he was coming from, but it still rankled in the most painful way. He’d handed her hope on a silver platter and immediately after, yanked the rug out from under her.

“Fine,” she spat.

Din just watched her, helmet as expressionless as always. Behind it, though, his face contorted. He wouldn’t have taken kindly to being told the same thing, either. He’d found a new family with his tribe, but from the sounds of things, Aysa had grown up with only herself to rely on. No wonder she jumped so quickly at the chance.

(And her first experience with Mandalorians in a decade and a half was being introduced with a fist in the face.)

Din wished briefly she’d just vanish off the ship so he could pull his helmet off and rub his eyes. This was turning out to be a hell of a day.

Aysa stood half-turned away from Din, arms crossed and back rigid beneath her armor. “…Fine,” she said again, some of the venom gone from her tone. “Gives us time to plan and prepare, I guess.”

Din nodded. “Been short on money lately,” he said. “It’ll be good to get some work.”

“Shouldn’t be hard if you’re as good a fighter as a Mandalorian’s supposed to be,” Aysa said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

Din cocked his head, studying her. “You weren’t quite old enough to begin training back on Mandalor,” he said. “Self-taught?”

Aysa shrugged. “A little. Picked up bits from some of the smugglers I hitched with,” she added. “Ran with a… rough crowd for a while, too. Just kind of learned here and there.”

“But nothing formal,” Din said. He nodded. “Alright. I’ll teach you.”

Aysa whirled around to stare at him. “Really?”

Din leaned back in his chair, hands defensively raised in case she wanted to hug him again, but she just beamed.

“Thank you!”

“What kind of Mandalorian would you be if you couldn’t fight like one?” Din said.

“A pretty sad excuse for one,” Aysa said, scuffing the heel of one of her boots on the floor. “I barely remember any of the language as it is.”

“It’ll come back with practice,” Din said in Mando’a, and Aysa gave him a small smile.

“I did understand that,” she said.

Din nodded. “That’s good. Now.” He rose from his seat, rolling his shoulders. “Your place?”

Aysa held up a hand. “Give me half an hour,” she said. “I can bring my speeder bike, then Baby doesn’t have to walk and you can pack stuff you’ll need.”

Din nodded and sat back down, listening as her footsteps faded away. Once she was out of earshot, he rose again and slid down the ladder, beginning to pack away the necessities into as few crates as he could manage. Once that was done, he waited by the door, blaster at the ready. Just in case she came back with… friends.

- - -

Aysa was true to her word, and she returned with a sleek speeder bike that she’d painted the same shade of dark green as her waist sash.

“Cute bike,” Din said after he’d given it a cursory inspection.

“Might not be the fanciest model out there, but she gets me around,” Aysa said, nudging it with her toe affectionately.

Din handed her one of the crates; she didn’t even falter at its weight as she shifted around to strap it to the back of the bike. Once they were all secured, Din disappeared back into the Razorcrest to find the kid.

Baby was waiting in the doorway, watching the proceedings with wide eyes. He cooed as Din picked him up, nestling him against his chest. “Alright, you little Womp-Rat,” Din said, swaddling him in a blanket and tugging a corner over the kid’s head to hide his ears. “You’re going to have to keep quiet until we get where we’re going. Got it?”

A tiny green hand reached up from the blanket, and Din smiled, holding out a finger for Baby to grasp.

Aysa deftly mounted her bike and kicked it into gear. “You ready?” she called, shoving her helmet back on her head.

Din secured the blanket like Omera had shown him so Baby was nestled safely against his breastplate. “Ready,” he said, swinging up behind her. He pressed a button on his arm bracer and the door to the Razorcrest shut behind them.

Aysa shifted the throttle, and they shot off through the hangar doors and into the streets of Coruscant. Almost immediately, though, she merged into the air lanes with the ease of long practice.

“Didn’t know speeder bikes could go this high,” Din called over the rush of air. If he was going to be staying with her for a while, he should really look into syncing up their voice coms.

“Only on Coruscant,” Aysa called back. “Mag-boosts from the streets below!” She increased their speed, overtaking another speeder that was going too slow for her liking.

Handy trick, that. He’d have to remember it if they ever came back.

To his surprise, Aysa steered them towards the better part of the city center. Not the nicest, but it certainly wasn’t the slum he’d been expecting. The building’s apartments had their own launching platforms for speeders outside their windows, which spoke to a very comfortable living. Aysa parked four floors from the top and tapped a command on her bracer; a safety railing rose up from the platform and locked into place.

Din’s eyebrows went up behind his helmet. “You meant comfortable,” he said, and Aysa grinned a little shyly.

“I don’t eat as well as I like, but it’s worth it to live somewhere clean,” she said. “And safe. And, you know, that doesn’t leak.”

Din nodded, unstrapping Baby from his chest and setting him on the floor. Baby toddled to the glass door and pointed up at the handle; Aysa laughed a little sheepishly and unlocked the door, pushing aside the curtain so the little one could go inside.

Din followed after, and Aysa brought up the rear, shutting the door behind her.

[emeraldwaves]

Title: What Happens at Frat Parties Chapter 3 Pairing:  Huwumi Rating: E Word Count:  2,351 Read on Ao3 Summary:  

For Hawks, getting the girl has always been easy. He’s popular, attractive and part of the frat house that throws the best parties. When Dabi’s sister shows up one night, Hawks realizes not everything comes as easy to him as he thought. And while Fuyumi thinks Hawks isn’t her type, as time goes on, she finds his advances harder to resist. Maybe there’s more to him than she realizes.

Fic under the cut!

Though the temperature was starting to heat up outside, the library was air conditioned and Hawks let the cool breeze brush over his face when he stepped inside. Apparently this was the place to be if you were into staying cool and studying.

He didn't care about either of those things.

He lifted his sunglasses up, pushing his hair back and headed further in. The smell of old books permeated the air, and Hawks couldn't remember the last time he had touched one of those.

The problem with a place like this was it just was so damn big, and shockingly crowded.

Who knew people actually used this place to study?

Finding Dabi's sister was going to be more difficult than anticipated.

Was he ridiculous for chasing after her in the library?

Probably.

Was it better than helping Tensei clean up the house?

Most definitely.

He followed the path through the back of the library, winding through the various shelves and peering at the tables. There was no sign of a white-haired girl with streaks of red. He wondered where the hell she was.

He made his way up the round spiral staircase, heading to the second floor.

Pausing, he scuffed his boot against the ground. Was this creepy? He really didn’t mean to be... in fact, this was probably the most genuine he'd ever been about a girl.

He was fascinated, for lack of a better word. First off, she had rejected him, and second off, despite being his sister, she was so damn different from his idiot roommate, who never talked about her.

Rolling his eyes, he twirled around on his heel, ready to scour the floor when he almost immediately ran into the person he had been looking for.

"I'm surprised you knew where the library was," Fuyumi said, clutching a few books to her chest.

"Wha-... Why does everyone think this!? I obviously know where the library is. I obviously know what it is!"

There was a small part of him that was shocked she was actually here. Apparently he should trust his instincts more. Fuyumi popped out her hip, resting the books against her side. "Who asked if you knew what it was?"

Damn, why the hell was she so nerdy and cute?

"Shig," he said, waving off the comment. "Look, I can't help it if those assholes never come here."

"Did you just call my brother an asshole?" she smirked, leaning towards him.

He paused, swallowing. "Well-"

"Don't worry, he is," she said, walking past him as she headed for a table.

"Hey!" he said, and received a few glares and one person hushed him angrily. "Hey," he whispered, taking his tone down. "Care to share a table?"

She paused, placing her books down at the empty table by the stairs. Her gray eyes looked him up and down. "What exactly are you planning to study? You don't have any books with you."

Fuck. He knew he forgot something.

He opened his mouth, a slew of excuses rushing through his brain, none of them plausible.

She rolled her eyes and took a seat. "It oddly makes sense you're friends with Touya."

"Now, now. Your brother is proudly maintaining his 2.5 average and I'm-"

"Maintaining a 2.6?" Fuyumi asked, blinking as if she was innocent.

Ouch. Did she really think that poorly of him?

He supposed she didn't have much to go off of. He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.

"4.0," he said.

She raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You've never been to the library and you have a 4.0."

With a smile, Hawks leaned his head against his hand, watching her brain try to process how he could possibly be maintaining a perfect average.

"Yup," he said.

"So you just... get As? Without studying?"

He leaned back in the chair, letting out an elongated sigh.

"You caught me."

"Caught you?" she asked, raising her eyebrow. She began to pull out her various stacks of notebooks, placing them on the desk. She had far too many to be normal.

"Mhm," he sighed, brushing his fingers through his hair. "I haven't been to the library, but it's only because I haven't needed to go."

Frowning, she brushed her fingers over the textbook. "Well some people do study better in their rooms."

"Nah. No studying required," he smirked.

She rolled her eyes and flipped open a textbook, ignoring him. He waited a moment, the silence falling over the table, and he twisted his lips, scooting the chair forward. "I thought you'd be impressed."

"What? Impressed you don't put any effort into the things you do?" she asked, slamming her book shut. She grabbed the giant pile and stood up, clutching them tight to her chest. "That's not impressive, it's just... frustrating to hear!"

"Eh?" he blinked, surprised by her outburst.

"I need to get work done today. I can't mess around like some people!" she huffed, yanking her backpack up to sling over her shoulder.

"No, wait, that's-"

"What?"

He froze, unsure of how to respond, caught in a predicament he didn't quite know how to navigate. Talking to girls was easy, simple... a path he traveled down often and with ease.

Talking to Fuyumi was like trudging through snow in a winter storm. It was like he was blind, with no direction. Everything he said seemed to be wrong.

He couldn't let her walk away now; coming to the damn library would've been totally useless.

"A date," he said, blurting out the words.

What?

Her eyes blinked behind her glasses, staring at him as if he had spoken a different language.

Could he rewind time? Start over. Start last night over too maybe, if this magical time traveling would let him go back that far.

"A... date?" she repeated.

"No. I mean..."

What the hell? Had someone possessed him? Who the hell even was he right now? Stumbling over his words, his palms sweating and not sure what the hell he was saying?! This wasn't him at all, especially not around women.

But usually those women weren't constantly rejecting him.

Because once was okay, but two times was definitely unheard of.

"What exactly did you mean then?" Fuyumi asked.

Okay. Deep breath. It was fine. He was fine, (hell yeah he was).

"Look," he said, pushing himself out of the chair to stand up with her. "I think we got off on the wrong foot."

"You do?" She tilted her head. "Or are you just saying that because our interactions haven't gone well and you haven't gotten me in your bed yet."

Damn. Savage.

He swallowed. "No, that's not what I meant."

Not really.

She sighed. "Hawks, you, uhm, you don't seem like a bad person or anything," she began softly, "but I have a lot of exams I need to study for this week and I don't think I'm the type of girl you normally talk to and there are plenty others you can find who would probably die to go on a date with you, okay? So I'll see you later," she said, carrying her backpack and books clutched to her chest.

He opened his mouth to say goodbye, but for some reason that felt so... lame. Instead he swallowed and looked at the empty table, thinking that she was wrong; he really wanted to go out with her.

~~

Unfortunately for Fuyumi, the weekend flew by and exams were upon her by Monday, ending as quickly as they arrived on Friday. She tried her best to focus all week, but even with how much she had studied, she had no way of gauging how well she did on her exams.

"You probably aced them," Nejire snorted while the two ate breakfast on Saturday. "You always do."

"I-I just... there were a lot of distractions this week."

"Distractions? You practically lived in the library!"

"I-I know..." she sighed.

"So did it magically get loud in the library... I don't understand," Nejire asked.

No, in fact, she had peace and quiet for the week, minus her initial run-in with Hawks. The problem was, she couldn't stop thinking about him. No. Not him. It. The whole situation.

Had he really come to the library to see her? She kept wondering if she was going to see him there again (not because she wanted to).

"I don't know," she sighed, knowing that if she even mentioned Hawks, Nejire would take it wrong and try and play matchmaker.

That was the last thing Fuyumi needed.

"It's out of my hands. I guess I should stop worrying about it."

"Exactly," Nejire said. "Right now you should be worrying about what you're going to wear to your brother's pool party."

Clicking her tongue, Fuyumi rolled her eyes. "Neji, I'm not going. I'm sorry but... I just can't."

"But you can Nejire said. "You have that cute vintage bathing suit and it's hot. I know how much you hate the heat and this will cool you down," she hummed, leaning in towards her friend. "I don't wanna go alone."

"You're going to see Mirio and Tamaki right?" Fuyumi said.

"Well, yeah, but it'd be even more fun if you came," Nejire hummed, rocking back and forth on her feet.

"No," Fuyumi repeated. "You should've seen me last weekend. I was so out of place. I never go to these things so I don't know why you would think I would want to go now."

"I just think it would be good for you. We don't have classes for a week and last semester you spent the whole break studying. You're coming!" Nejire said, placing her hands on Fuyumi's shoulders as she began to walk her back to her room.

"I really don't want to see my brother or his friend."

"Hawks? The one you rejected?"

Well, she purposefully hadn't said his name.

"Twice," she said. "S-So really, it would just be awkward now." Plus, she had no desire to see her brother high or drunk or both.

"Twice?!" Nejire blinked. "You rejected him twice!? Iconic."

Fuyumi sighed. "He came to the library and kinda... asked me out, but I said no because before that he was bragging about being so amazing at his classes."

"Is that... bad?" Nejire asked.

"No, it's just obnoxious," Fuyumi muttered, leaning against the door to her room.

Nejire snorted, giggling so hard she wrapped an arm around her stomach. "I can't... believe Hawks asked someone on an actual date and then got rejected!"

Fuyumi raised her eyebrow. "Is it really so horrible of me to say no?"

"W-What?! No!" Nejire said. "It's just funny cause normally he sleeps with girls and then tosses them out. I've never heard Miri or Tama mention him going on dates."

"Exactly my problem with him. I mean he's attractive, but I know the second I do anything further than kiss him, he'll be done with me. That, and I don't really have time to date anyone anyway," she shrugged.

"But you areattracted to him?" Nejire asked, leaning forward towards her friend. Why did the blue haired girl have to latch on to the one thing Fuyumi hadn't wanted her to?

"That's... not the point," she said.

"Get on your suit, you're going to the party!" Nejire cheered, cutting Fuyumi off.

"Neji-"

"Please 'Yumi!" she begged. "I promise you won't even have to talk to Hawks okay?!"

Fuyumi rolled her eyes. "If I come with you, I'm only staying to swim for a little bit and then leaving."

"Okay, okay," Nejire said, reaching forward to open Fuyumi's door. "Go get ready! You should wear the vintage suit with the cute bow between your cleavage. That one makes your boobs look great."

"Ugh..."

"What? I just wanna see Hawks' face when he realizes he can't have you," she said. "I missed out the other two times."

"Well, I'm hoping to avoid him completely," Fuyumi muttered. "Anyway, I'll be out in a minute."

With a sigh she flopped against the door for a moment. She wasn't in the mood to see her brother making a disaster of himself yet again, and she hoped she wouldn't have to reject Hawks again. She didn't take pride in it like Nejire thought she did... but it made her feel sad, especially when he seemed so shocked by it.

Really, she didn't enjoy being mean to people, despite sass that happened to slip from her lips from time to time.

Still, she knew she was making the right choice. Hawks wasn't her type of boy and she wasn't his type of girl. He would've figured that out very quickly and moved on and it would've been embarrassing. Quite frankly she was happy to have saved both of them the humiliation.

She grabbed her bathing suit from the closet and held it up to her body. It was a really cute suit and she practically never wore it. Maybe the party wouldn't be so bad. It was going to be outside, so hopefully people wouldn't be so concentrated in the house. She wouldn't be trapped surrounded by smoke and loud music.

There would probably still be a good amount of people there, so if she wanted to avoid seeing her brother she could.

Slowly rolling her clothes down, she sighed. It was frustrating, to even consider having to avoid her brother, something she never thought she would do. Touya had always been frail but as they grew older he apparently stopped caring about anything; it was why he smoked all the time and had gotten tattoos over most of his body.

Fuyumi wondered if she was really any better, spending all her time diving into her studies...

She pulled the bathing suit on and reached for one of her large summer hats. Nejire was right, this would be good for her.

[thisisthedungeonthatneverends]

Am I the Only One (Alt: Everyone else has had more sex than me)

Ships: libnyx, regclar, gladnis, promptis

Rating: M

Words: 2908

In which Nyx Ulric seems cursed to walk in on EVERYONE having sex and wonders if he is the only one in all of Insomnia NOT getting laid today. Check the reblogs for the AO3 link.

It was as if His Majesty had declared an official Everybody Gets Laid Day but no one told Nyx Ulric. He just came in to drop off the latest reports from the warfront with the King. That’s it. That’s all Nyx had to do today and the rest would be spent drinking beer and watching the professional chocobo racing semi-finals. Simple day. When he knocked on the door to King Regis’ office, however, his day turned from simple to weird in 2.53 seconds. “Bullocks, I forgot Nyx was coming! Quickly Clarus…” “Regis, I was almost coming…” Nyx raised a suspicious eyebrow and wondered if he should knock again. When he heard a muffled umf from the other side he decided against it. Were they…noooooo, they couldn’t be…could they? “One moment, please!” Regis called out, a hint of mild distress in his voice. Nyx cleared his throat. “In your own time, Your Majesty.” He heard some shuffling and the distinct sound of a chair being dragged across the hard wood floor then someone, presumably Regis, loudly clearing their throat. “You may enter.” Nyx shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts of were His Majesty and Clarus Amicitia really just… He pushed open the heavy doors and approached the desk where the King sat looking as pristine and regal as ever. Nyx bowed and placed the thick folder containing the reports requested of him on the desk. “Here are the reports from the warfront as requested, Your Majesty. Our forces are holding the newest influx of Imperial warships at bay for the time being. They aren’t gaining any ground, but neither are we. Captain Drautos is requesting reinforcements.” Before Regis could respond, a faint scuffing sound came from under the large desk. Nyx could not help but look down and when he did his eyes widened at the sight of the toe of a boot juuuuust peaking out. Regis seemed frozen in place. “I’lllookitoverthankyouNyx,” Regis prattled his words together. “Thatisallyouaredismissed.” It took every ounce of concentration Nyx had to look up from the boot he knew did not belong to Regis and every ounce of balance to bow without falling on his face. “Y-yes Your Majesty…um…good day.” He turned on his heals and literally power walked to the door. Nyx had retreated from the bloodiest of battles with less urgency than that of which he swung open the doors of the Kings office and ran like his life depended on it. And after interrupting Regis and Clarus now undoubtedly having sex, he wasn’t sure his life DIDN’T depend on it.

……………………………………..

Once he was a safe distance away from that office he stopped to catch his breath. Not that he couldn’t run faster and farther than any other Glaive save for possibly the captain, but what he was running from had knocked the wind clean out of him. He needed to wash his face and take a leak. Yes, he thought, that would help. He could then go home and watch the races and never have to think of the King and the Shield… Nope. Not thinking about it. By the time he reached the nearest restroom, the initial shock had mostly worn off. Good for them, he thought. Two old widowers finding love again…kinda romantic if he thought about it that way. Nyx wished for a passing moment if he would ever find love. His last girlfriend had been a clingy, nagging bitch and the boyfriend before her cheated and blamed HIM for “never being dtf.” No one would ever understand his life of service to the crown, he thought. Nyx was relieved to find the bathroom empty. Not many were in this wing of the citadel at this time of day, so he could at least relieve himself in peace. So he whistled an idle tune as he did so, and almost sprayed the damn ceiling when he was startle by a loud BANG! Someone, or rather two someones, arms tangled around each other and seemingly attached at the face, had just burst through the bathroom door. Was that…noooo…Astrals, that WAS him. First Clarus and now GLADIOLUS Amicitia! The other man, shorter with a much slighter build, dark blonde hair, and glasses was…what was his name? The Prince’s adviser he knew for sure. Something flamey, right? Nyx wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there at the urinal dick in hand staring at the young couple, or how long the couple had been staring back at him before he realized crap, I should probably put my dick away now. “Don’t mind me,” Nyx said before his brain could stop his mouth. “Just…peeing. Done now.” He zipped himself up and tiptoes around the couple who just stood frozen like a centuries old erotic statue that made schoolboys giggle in order to get to the sink to wash his hands for not as long as health code dictates. Once again, Nyx rushed out of a room so two people who were apparently trying to fuck could have their privacy. He wiped his wet hands on his coat and laughed. “Damn, did I miss a “National Fuck Day” memo or something? At least all the love in the air wasn’t making the front of his pants get tight. No, not in the least.

……………………………………..

After accidentally witnessing two “encounters” in the span of five minutes, Nyx needed fresh air. A nice walk in the gardens should clear his fuddled head, right? Right. Once again the shock wore off as he strolled through one of the citadel’s many gardens and he found himself happy for Gladiolus and…DAMN what was his name? Two people who served the crown, who understood how important duty was to each other, were able to find time to share an intimate moment. Now Nyx was jealous. Why couldn’t he have that? He whistled as he strolled along and - IGNACIO! That was the advisers name. Now Nyx could stop kicking himself for being a dumbass. At any rate he whistled and strolled along peacefully until he was just about ready to head home, shower, jerk off, throw on some sweatpants, and settle down with pizza, beer and the tv remote. That was until he heard a faint sound – specifically a faint moan – from behind one of the hedges. Not again, he thought. As he continued walking trying and failing to ignore the erotic sounds, they grew louder and Nyx realized with a sinking feeling he was getting closer to rather than farther from the action. “Mm yes Prompto…” “Fuck, Noct, you feel so good…” Nyx. Froze. Right. There. Noct? Noctis? As in PRINCE Noctis? Nyx had to know. Curse his life dammit he HAD to know! He marched to the hedge the sound was coming from, swung back the branch…and immediately regretted every life decision that had lead him to this time and place. On the ground on his knees was a young blond haired blue eyed man who Nyx vaguely recognized from a few photos who was currently BALLS DEEP in the PRINCE who lay on his back with his legs pushed up against his chest. Upon seeing Nyx, both men screamed. As did Nyx. When the screaming had subsided, Nyx just stood there with jaw on the ground while Noctis and…he called him Pom-something-or-other, Nyx neither knew nor cared, scrambled around on the ground search for their cloths. “Nyx, what the hell!!!” Noctis shouted as he stood and shimmied into his pants. “First you’re gonna cock block me and now you’re just gonna stand there like an ass?!” Nyx blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry it’s just…FUCK!” He threw up his hands and stepped back. “First the fathers, then both sons, Shiva’s TITS how is this my LIFE!?” And for the third time that afternoon, Nyx got the hell out of there.

…………………………….

Finally, FINALLY Nyx was home. After a shower and some relief by his own hand he slipped into an old pair of sweatpants and a tshirt, ordered pizza and headed to the fridge. It was beer o’clock for Nyx, and it hadn’t come soon enough. He opened the door and reached for the shelf that was usually designated for alcohol… to find only one beer remaining. Well Hell. He wasn’t going back out lest he interrupt another session of dicking, so he sighed and accepted that one beer would have to do. He settled down on the couch and turned on the tv. The races were just about to start and Nyx smiled. Just in time. But as he watched the races, his mind drifted back to Noctis and his blond lover Pom-something. They started out friends and grew into lovers, Nyx mused. Damn. Everyone seemed to be finding love, or at least ass, except him. He knew Cor Leonis, the Crownsguard martial, was seeing someone, as was fellow Glaive Crowe Altus. He didn’t know of anyone else off hand, but the captain was always gallivanting off somewhere. Maybe he was with someone too? Nyx shrugged and downed the last swig of beer. Soon he heard his doorbell ring. Damn, he’d just gotten comfortable, too. Today was simply not the right day to by Nyx Ulric. He begrudgingly stood and went to answer the door, expecting pizza. What he saw when he answered the door was actually better: his lifelong friend Libertus, carrying a case of their favorite brew. Nyx smiled. “I love you.” Libertus laughed and entered through the open doorway. “Bit dramatic tonight, aren’t we? Have a rough day doing the captains job or what?” “Yeah, or what,” Nyx sort-of answered. “Man you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen today.” “Tell me about it!” Libertus said, setting the case of beer on the coffee table. “I saw something I’ll be prayin’ to Ifrit for the next hundred years to burn out of my mind.” Nys took his place in his recliner after grabbing a beer for himself, while Libertus sprawled out on the couch with his own. “Oh yeah?” Libertus nodded. “Crowe. Like a little sis to me, right? Well I went to the gym today to get my phone charger, and I had to walk in on her…” Libertus washed down a look of disgust with a long drink from his can. “I walked in the locker room and there she was on the bench gettin’ fucked by, you ain’t gonna believe this shit, COR LEONIS!!! Nyx actually laughed in spite of himself. “Man, I wish I could say I was surprised, but I learned something fun about our King today.” Libertus, wide eyed, slammed his beer on the table. “Fuck off!” “His Majesty and his Shield, Clarus Amicitia. I went to drop off those reports like Drautos was supposed to have done yesterday, right?” Well I heard’em fumbling around in there and when the King finally let me in Clarus was hiding under the desk. UNDER the DESK, can you believe that shit?” Libertus slowly shook his head. “I need another beer. Okay, okay,” he reached for one more can from the case, “I got another one for ya. Crowe and Cor aren’t the only Glaive-Guard match-up going on. When I went out to the parking lot I saw Luche and Monica steaming up the windows of Luche’s car.” “Now THAT I’m surprised at. I though Luche was was on a strict sausage diet!” Libertus laughed. “Apparently not. Unless there’s something Monica ain’t tellin’ us about then-” Libertus was interrupted by the doorbell. “That’d be pizza!” Nyx excitedly declared. “Lemme get this and I’ll tell you who ELSE I caught together today.” “DAMN! Was today some kinda sex holiday that I forgot about?” “I know right!” Pizza way paid for and divvied out, and the chocobo races were long forgotten in the midst of two grown men gossiping like schoolgirls. “So,” Nyx mumbled around a mouth full of pepperoni and cheese, “I was in the bathroom at the citadel takin a leak. In stumble Gladiolus Amicitia and Ignacio, groping and stuck to each others faces.” Libertus made a strange face. “Gladiolus and who?” “The Prince’s adviser. You know him?” Libertus laughed so hard and long he made himself cough. “I know him but apparently you don’t. The name’s IGNIS you dingus!” Nyx rolled his eyes. “Whatever, I was close wasn’t I? Anyway, The adviser and shield to the Prince are together and speaking of the Prince, I caught HIM getting fucked six ways to Saturday by some blond guy in the palace gardens.” “Whathahell,Mn!” Libertus tried to say with his mouth full of stuffed crust. He swallowed and washed his fourth slice of pizza down with another swig of his third beer. “Is everybody gettin’ tail but us?” Nyx shrugged. “Apparently. I haven’t had anyone but Rosy Palm sense I dumped that bimbo Steph three months ago.” Libertus let out a low whistle. “You’re loooong overdue, Buddy. Then again it’s been almost two months for me.” For some reason it went silent after that. The races were half over and they had no idea who was on the leaderbord. They didn’t care though. It was nice to just be two buddies with pizza, booze, and each others company.

Libertus stretched and stood. “Not headin’ out already are you?” Nyx asked. “Hell no, you can’t get rid of me that easy.” He pointed his thumb towards the bathroom. “Gonna break the seal.” Nyx nodded and for some inexplicable reason watched his friend walk away. Did his hips always…sway like that? Hu. Nyx turned up the tv while Libertus was in the bathroom, intending to catch up on what he’d missed of the races in favor of gossip. His favorite racer was on the leaderbord, so he was happy. Libertus returned soon and sat on one side of the couch instead of sprawling out like he had before. Nyx yawned and stood. “My turn.” As he walked away he got the distinct feeling of being watched, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact he was sure he didn’t mind a bit if Libertus was staring at his ass. If Nyx was anyone but himself, he’d stare at his ass, too. He wasn’t too humble to admit he had a nice ass. So did Libertus, actually… funny, he’d never considered his best friend’s ass before but now that he did, it was a good thing his pants were as baggy as they were because hello… Man, he was one thirsty sunuvabitch. A commercial for some kind of candy was on when he returned and instead of going back to his recliner, Nyx sat on the couch next to Libertus. He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. Libertus rested a reassuring hand On Nyx’s shoulder. “Guys like us got it rough, my friend. It’s hard to find someone who understands the sort of life we live and even when we do, who has time to actually do anything? Nyx laughed humorlessly. “Apparently five different couples judging by what we saw today. I don’t know how the ones you saw ended up together, but Regis and Clarus, they’ve both had broken hearts and patched each other up. Gladiolus and IGNIS, I got it right that time, they understand each other because they both run circles around the Prince, and then the Prince and the blonde kid started off as friends and now they’re apparently lovers.” Libertus nodded thoughtfully. “Where’s that for us?” Broken hearts. Service to the crown. Friends. Nyx eyed Libertus carefully to judge weather or not his friend was thinking the same thing as him. And was it just him or did Libertus’ hand seen to be slowly sliding down his back? He chanced a full look at Libertus now and…were they…yup, their faces were closer, much closer, no more than a couple inches apart. Nyx smiled. “I think I just found it.” Nyx never hesitated with anything, so he didn’t hesitate to close the distance between them and kiss the man who’d been his best friend sense before he could remember. Libertus, to Nyx’s relief, welcomed the kiss, returning is with more intensity than Nyx had imagined. He slipped the hand that had in fact been making its way down Nyx’s back under the back of Nyx’s shirt. It was bold, but then so was Libertus, and it made Nyx hum against Libertus’ mouth and deepen the kiss. Nyx hands found his new lover’s thigh, and Libertus shifted his hips, causing Nyx fingers to brush against a very impressive bulge. Eventually Nyx had to breath, and as munch as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t do that very well with someone else’s tongue down his throat. So he pulled away and opened his eyes to be met with a lustful gaze from Libertus. “You know,” Nyx said somewhat breathlessly, “You’ve had a bit to drink tonight.” Libertus chuckled. “You’re not taking advantage of me, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Nyx smirked. “No, it’s just that it might not be legal for you to drive. Wanna crash here tonight?” He made his true intentions known with a wink and a subtle roll of his hips. Libertus smiled that warm welcoming smile that Nyx had grown to love over the years, and hoped he would grow to love even more. He didn’t say a word, but he answered with a kiss.

[ddagent]

Sneak Peek Sunday

Suggested by the amazing @sententiousandbellicose, I present Sneak Peek Sunday. Every week I shall post a snippet from one of my WIPs, whether it’s yet to be finished or just waiting to be edited.

Today’s sneak peek is not from a new project (because I still have yet to decide what I’m writing next), but from Contact: Serena means to send a message to Elinor, but Bernie receives it instead. Enjoy!

"Coming!"

 Serena hustled through the living room and out into the hall. There was a figure behind the frosted glass, but she could not make out whether it was man or woman. Using her uninjured hand, Serena opened the door. Bernie. The poorly taken photograph from the other night did not do her justice. Her legs – long, lean, in tight jeans – had certainly not been in the shot. Nor was the slight pink of her cheeks, or the coat billowing around her thighs. Behind her, the autumn sky was pink and purple as the sun came down behind the houses. The last vestiges of light picked up the colours in Bernie's hair. She was utterly gorgeous.

 "H-hello."

 "Hi." Bernie smiled. She hesitated in the doorway until Serena opened the door wider to allow her entry. A bouquet of wilted roses was thrust in her direction. "Sorry I'm so late. Traffic was a nightmare. To say nothing of getting out of the house: you'd think an F2 with several surgeries under his belt would be able to find his shoes! Are you alright?"

 "Mmm?" Serena blinked, realising she looked quite the fool standing in her own hallway neither taking Bernie's flowers or her coat. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Well, not entirely." She lifted up her bloody finger. "Accident slicing the carrots. Much like your son, I should know better."

 Bernie frowned. Serena could see the moment she went from suitor to surgeon. Her face had done the same thing every time Elinor had complained of a stomach ache, or a red spot had appeared on her arm. "Did you want me to take a look at it?"

 "No, no, I'll be fine. Just needs a plaster."

 "I don't mind. I am a trauma surgeon, after all. Knife wounds really are my speciality," Bernie beamed. That smile…Serena suddenly felt weak from the blood loss. It wouldn't hurt to have another pair of eyes on her wound. Wouldn't want to develop an infection or lose feeling.

 "Well, if you wouldn't mind." Serena closed the door, keeping out the autumn chill. "Kitchen's just through here; that's where the first aid kit lives. You know, several of my colleagues will be jealous. Treated by Bernie Wolfe, what an honour."  

 "Someone's been checking up on me," Bernie said as she shucked off her coat, draping it over one arm.

 Serena glanced over her shoulder, smirking. "And you haven't?"

 "I didn't say that."

 They shared a flirtatious smile over the living room doorway; Bernie's eyes hot on her back as Serena led them to the kitchen. Not quite how Serena had imagined the start of their date (wine stained lips; a toast to wrong numbers) but it was certainly one hell of an ice breaker. In the kitchen, Serena took the bouquet from Bernie's hands and put it to one side. Bernie herself hung her long coat over one of the chairs, before reaching for the first aid kit sitting pride of place on one of the open shelves. There had been many kitchen disasters when Serena had taught Jason how to cook, and it had been easier to always keep the box within arm's reach.

 Bernie snapped open the lid. "Fully stocked. Would expect nothing less from a vascular surgeon."

 Serena raised an eyebrow as she took up the chair opposite Bernie. "You have done your due diligence."

 "Just the basics. Would prefer to hear the rest from you."  

 "Well we've got dinner, dessert, and a couple of bottles of wine to get through. I think that's time enough to hear all the gory details."

 Bernie didn't offer a reply; just held Serena's gaze across the table. Her eyes were dark; a hint of mascara tinting her eyelashes. Other than a smear of lipstick, she didn't wear any other makeup. Serena could quite easily imagine that Bernie Wolfe went whole days without any; her morning routine consisting of dragging a hairbrush through her head and making sure she was wearing clean socks to surgery. The shirt she wore was creased; a stray thread circling her wrist. Her boots were scuffed. But then there was the makeup, and the flowers. Bernie had made an effort for their date. Serena was worth making an effort for.

[i-growl-growl-growl]

My Strong Rebel

Genre: Prisoner of war au

Pairing: Yeosang x Seonghwa (other Ateez members make appearances throughout the story)

Word count: ~3.1k

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Warning: this fic contains: dubcon, noncon/r*pe, profuse cussing, abuse/torture, neglect, & mentions of war throughout the series. If you are sensitive to any of these topics DON’T READ THIS FIC.  (also, please keep in mind that this is a re-hash of an EXTREMELY old fanfic that I wrote and it was written using idol ships so, if you’re not into shipping idols with each other, like I no longer am, then there’s another reason not to read this)

(If there are any problems that you have with this fanfic upon reading it, please message me politely stating the problem and if it’s dire enough then I’ll take the fanfiction down. Please DO NOT bombard me with threats. I’m willing to work with people as long as they deal with the situation appropriately.)

~Savie

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“Who the fuck are you?”

Yeosang glares up at the guy, but only sees a silhouette at the top of the filthy stairs. He’s been in the dark so long that his eyes won’t allow for his sight to adjust to the light shining through the open door where the figure currently stands. Light digs at the shards of glass but he sees enough to know that this guy isn’t one of the usuals. He holds himself differently than those assholes.

The guy doesn’t answer, he just slams the door shut again.

Yeosang sinks back down onto the floor. His leg is killing him, but he always manages to haul himself to his feet when the door starts to scrape open. He won’t give these assholes the satisfaction of seeing him on the ground. No, if they want him on the ground, they can fucking put him there themselves. Which they do, and have done since the day he was captured. Forcing him down into the dirt, kicking his legs apart, and fucking him till they get enough of their fill and he’s nearly passed out from exhaustion.

The first time…… Yeosang doesn’t allow himself to think of the first time. It was rough. He allows only that concession: it was rough.

But there’s that quote in his head he can’t quite remember. That one about other people needing your permission to make you feel humiliated. Was it humiliated? Or was it lesser? Maybe it was neither of those things. Doesn’t matter. Point is, Yeosang has not given these assholes the permission.

They can break him physically… and oh hasn’t that been a wondrous fucking joy for him to be put through… but they can’t fucking touch him mentally. Not a single, solitary, slim, god damn chance!

Yeosang draws his bad leg up and messages the kneecap. If it was broken, he wouldn’t be able to bend it right? Hurts like all hell though. The flesh around it is swollen with fluid and the skin is busted too plus, whatever it is that leaks out the lifting scabs stinks like death. It’s filthy, rancid, and Yeosang is pleased about that. He’s looking forward to dying of the infection.

And all without a single word passing his lips about the rebellion.

Which is another thing he doesn’t allow himself to think about. He buries that deeper in his mind than the memory of his first night as a captive, afraid that he can’t trust himself. Afraid that one day he’ll blurt it all out just because it hurts, and he’s not in the right mind, and he hasn’t had a conversation in fucking months not to mention that sometimes it even feels like the things they promise him: clean clothes rather than the tattered remains of cloth that still… somehow… manage to cling to his body, food… hot and fresh food, not the kind he is rarely fed now that stinks of rot and has mold growing from all that rests on the nearly empty plates they serve him… cigarettes, some nice, hot and strong coffee or fresh, cold water.. Whatever his thirst desires, medical attention….. Would be worth it.

Yeosang isn’t a traitor though, not even a martyr at that either but it turns out those are his only choices, and as much as he would like to be free from pain, even if only for a mere moment... for a slight little second of time… he can’t do it. Not because he’s a true believer in the cause but just because he can’t let these fuckers break him. Yeosang refuses to give them the smirking satisfaction of capitulating.

It gets harder for him to keep his stance up with every passing day, every passing hour, every passing second, but that’s okay.

♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦

“Who the fuck are you?”

It’s been a long time since a prisoner greeted him with a snarl like that. Seonghwa slams the door again. ‘I thought you said he’d been here for five months.”

“Yes, sir” the guard, Yunho, replies “well, 147 days to be right on the mark if you want to be technical about it.”

Seonghwa leads the way back outside, glad to get the stench of the cells away from him, “and how exactly does a man who’s been a prisoner for 147 days still have any fight in him?” he wonders aloud. “How is he even still alive at this point, most prisoners like him would, and have been, killed off by now” he thinks to himself.

Yunho swipes his tongue over his chapped lips. “No idea, sir. That one’s a fighter that’s all I’ve got to say, he just refuses to break. Nothing can get to him, it’s like he’s superman in disguise... or ironman.”

Seonghwa consults his paperwork although he knows the prisoner’s details well enough already: Kang Yeosang, nearly twenty years old… “hmmm” Seonghwa chuckles to himself yet another time as he looks at the paperwork, vehicle repair man for the fifth battalion. “Vehicle repair man? Well at least he isn’t a cook like all the others supposedly say they are” the officer huffs through a breath. Yeosang has no family, or at least none that he’s willing to tell anyone about or none that Seonghwa himself can find through documents of the specific prisoner, from paper documentation or whatever documentation there is left on the nearly nonexistent internet anymore. The only thing he has been able to find was an unmarried mother who died when Yeosang was nineteen. No siblings for all anyone knows, but possibly an extended family somewhere in the world from the father’s side of the prisoner’s family but it’s impossible to tell.

And yet, Seonghwa squints into the sunlight, the men who have families break easier, earlier: “Please just let me go home”, “I want to see my wife and kids”, “please spare me, I have a family, I want to live to see them again”… Maybe Kang Yeosang really is alone in this pathetic excuse of a world. Seonghwa knows that feeling, he knows it well enough that he can work with it.

♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦

“On your knees worthless, rat bitch!”

“Fuck you!”

Yeosang goes down, like always, when the guard hits him in the knees with his metal baseball bat but he goes down fighting.

They twist his arms behind his back and cuff his wrists, wrench his torn and tattered pants down and kick his feet apart and push his head down. Yeosang still struggles, only stopping when he feels the press of a boot on the back of his neck. He pants into the dirt, he can see the brightness of a flashlight shining at the edge of his vision, blinding him. He blinks his squinted eyes rapidly until he can see better past the brightness of the light and his sight manages to focus upon a pair of boots, these boots are different from the others though, they aren’t worn out or scuffed up like the rest that the other guards commonly wear, these ones are new… probably fresh out of the shoe making factory. Yeosang twists his head to see and realizes that the boots belong to the same man from earlier today, the one who stood on the stairs… well, the same broad silhouette at least.

“What’s your name?” the man asks.

Yeosang turns his face back into the dirt, clenching his jaw as he avoids the inquiry.

A guard kicks him in the ribs and he bucks away from the pain with a pained hiss, hitting his injured knee hard on the way back down and is almost swept away in the wave of pain that courses over him but, then the boot is back on his neck, pressing him into the dirt.

“I know what it is, even if you don’t tell me” the man says “it’s Yeosang, Kang Yeosang.”

No one has called him by his name in forever. Ever since he came here he’s been rat, bitch, slut, cunt, or timber… because of the way he’d go down as the guards knocked him to the floor. It almost made him gasp, hearing his true name spoken aloud like that so suddenly, spoken with such quiet intensity that his eyes sting.

“Why’d you fucking ask then fucking dumbass bitch?” he hisses and growls into the dirt as he feels hands on his hips and the weight of an overly large man kneeling between his thighs.

There is a hint of amusement in the man’s voice when he answers “I wondered how it would sound if you said it yourself, or as I should say, when you say it yourself.”

“Keep wondering asshole, you’ve got nothing from me” Yeosang thinks but keeps quiet otherwise.

He flinches as a fat finger digs into his ass, dry. They always go in dry. He grinds his jaw intensely to keep any sound from escaping him. An already wet cock drags up and down his crack until it finds its target and presses in with a thrust. The breath shudders out of him that he had been holding because everything fucking hurts, but he won’t let them know, not willingly anyways. At least it’s easier than the first night, every day since then his body bends and breaks a little more than before but his mind doesn’t, it stays as strong as ever because he won’t let it shatter.

He is pushed forward with every thrust, every grunt, until blood eases the path of the guard’s cock a slight bit. His injured knee scrapes against the filthy floor of the cell, sometimes a dull throb and other times a sharp, ragged, tearing pain that pulls him close to the edge of unconsciousness. Yeosang wouldn’t fight that if it were to happen but the pain is never quite enough to take him over that welcomed edge.

“Get your boot off his neck” the ‘new boots man’ commands with a sharp wisp of his voice. “Lift his head for me.”

Yeosang squinted into the more brightened light of the flashlight shining in his eyes now as his head is harshly lifted from the floor.

“Ah” the man says, nothing more, nothing less, for what seems to the prisoner like a lifetime.

It’s hard to breathe with his neck pulled back, with those fingers twisting in his hair and digging into his scalp because his hair isn’t relatively long.

Only four guards take him tonight and Yeosang takes the opportunity to breathe, to hold onto his anger when they change positions. He tells himself that there’s no need to feel ashamed because he’s fought them every chance he got, and he will continue to do so, what they are doing to him now and what they’ve done in the past hasn’t brought him down, and he’s proud.

With each induced pain Yeosang’s resolve only hardens. He hates these men. He didn’t understand what hate was before them but he sure as hell knows now. Hate has become the core of him, when he’s dead, they’ll find it written on his bones.

“There now” the silhouette man says in a soothing tone “that’s how we ride traitors, Kang Yeosang.”

The mentioned male is rocked back and forth as the fourth guard thrusts inside him. He blinks, trying to clear his vision, trying to clear his mind. He can’t really reconcile the man’s tone with his words, either Yeosang is a traitor they hate as much as he hates them or… no, no it’s a trick, of course it is, he can’t fall for this, it’s a new tactic to try and break him, and he won’t let that happen, he’s not a traitor, they’re lying to him. That moment of confusion amid all of this pain is nothing but a way to attempt to weaken his resistance. Yeosang might not understand it but he doesn’t have to, he knows its purpose although not recognizing the method.

He doesn’t care that they think of him as a traitor, they can call him every name in the book and he won’t give a shit, he still won’t open his mouth to defend himself, to engage is to have lost the battle. He learned that much in his battalion.

“Do you remember the Unjsa?”

Yeosang bites his lip, holding back a groan as he is fucked. He can feel blood and cum leaking down his thighs. Fucking Fuckers! He’ll kill them all one day, revisit every moment of torment he’s suffered but have it inflicted upon their bodies instead of his own, he’ll do it until they beg him to kill them, until they beg him for their very deaths.

“There is a row of statues of Buddhists praying after you get through the front gate of the temple. The temple has many statues of Buddhists and pagodas, A pagoda is a tiered tower with multiple ledges, but there is one that many people call the “rice bowl pagoda” because instead of ledges, it has circles but the ledges are used for storing relics.”  The unidentified man with the new boots says as though he’s not even here, as though he’s not watching Yeosang being r*ped, as though none of this is even real. “They’re very beautiful… both the statues and pagodas.”

Suddenly he can see the statues and the pagodas and the mountains and hills that surrounds the area, he remembers the view of the place, and the temple itself.

Longing stabs through him, not for the temple that he was always so entranced with when he visited the sight back in Hwasun County of South Jeolla province, nor for his life before joining the rebellion when the new war began, which he is sure is the point that the man is trying to force, but something simpler… sunlight… he wants sunlight.

Panic flares within the prisoner. No, they will not exploit any weakness, they will not get me to give in! They will pry him open and tear him apart if that happens.

“Do you remember Unjusa?” the man asks quietly.

Yeosang wants to laugh but groans instead as his knee is jolted and he twists his face towards the light. “Unjusa. Is that all you got?”

♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦

At this point Seonghwa thinks it would be a simple kindness to put a bullet in the man’s head and he might have as well if the man hadn’t of shown his hand like that.

“Unjusa. Is that all you got?”

Yeah, right.

Kang Yeosang knows exactly what Seonghwa was looking for there. Common ground, a shared memory, the first step on the path to what the officer would call cooperation, and the prisoner would call treason. It’s somewhere in the middle, probably. Common sense, self-preservation. That part of a human being that however brutalized, still wants to live, even if it’s only for revenge.

That particular fantasy is written all over his face.

Seonghwa watches as the fourth soldier r*pes the other male, which is not a pretty sight especially right now. He’s filthy and in obvious pain, but the stubborn brat still takes it like a champ, not breaking as his face is twisted in hatred.

The taller man in power steps forward and puts his hand on the tortured man’s lower back, he can feel the muscles shifting as he is rocked back and forth by his r*pist, his skin is hot and damp from sweat and possibly a fever.

“Did it hurt Mr. Kang?” he asks suddenly “The first time, did it hurt?”

Yeosang doesn’t answer but Seonghwa didn’t expect him to. Tonight is for getting to know his subject and he doesn’t expect to accomplish much.

“I think it did” he trails his hand up Yeosang’s spine, feeling each shuddering knot. “I think you wonder how anyone could ever enjoy it. You probably never had a cock inside you before you were captured, did you?”

Yeosang twists his head away and earns a slap from the man who had been holding his hair.

The officer enjoys the feel of Yeosang’s skin sliding over the bones of his spine. “Did you cry? Did you cry when they r*ped you?” He leans closer to the man. “It’s okay to cry.”

He earns a growl from deep within the other’s throat and he smiles at that as he leans back. So this is a wrong track to take with this one, this one won’t be broken the same way other are broken, he’s not afraid of pain.

“Or did you take it?” he asks “Like the cock-hungry whore that you are?”

♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦

The words don’t sting, Yeosang is too strong for that and too used to hearing those words being said to him, what had been taken from him in this place has been taken from him by force alone, not by any sense of will, he knows that, he knows it to his core but still something inside him wavers.

It’s not the words that weaken him, it’s the touch. The touch from the other reminds him of…. No! he’s confused by the man’s touch, it’s not hurting him or an assailant but it’s also not remaining distant enough to be a voyeur either. If there’s a point the man is trying to impress upon him, he doesn’t know what it is. He can feel the warmth of the man’s palm against his skin. Not knowing the intention of the touch makes it almost unbearable, worse, somehow, than the fingers digging into his hips and the cock up his ass. At least he understands those things.

He stares into the flashlight, shutting down his mind, and waits for this to be over.

♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦

Interesting.

No wonder the guards haven’t broken him yet.

Seonghwa sees a flash of pain on Yeosang’s face that is different from the rest of the prisoner’s facial expressions that he’s been blessed to see during his time working with him.

He smiles. “Ah, perhaps not a cock-hungry whore after all, and…” he lowers his voice, making his tone conspiratorial “and maybe not a virgin either. You liked this, once.”

A hit. He sees the smaller male flinch, he falters, but holds himself up.

Seonghwa keeps his hand on the man, maintaining their contact while the fourth guard continues to pound into him from behind. He silently marvels at the man’s resilience, but he’s not as strong as he thinks he is, the officer has figured that out now. Nobody is ever as strong as they believe they are. He just needs to keep attacking the other with gentleness, seeking a way in, and the man will eventually speak to him.

All that anger, all that pain: he’ll be desperate to unload it to the only kind voice that he currently knows.

Well, not kind, but in a dark place filled with monsters, Seonghwa will become Yeosang’s only option.