#but it might be the first light someone else sees with their unlit candle

[mineroftrenches]

Sometimes, the world seems like such a cold and dark place. But I have yarn and knitting needles and time. So maybe, just maybe, if I spend some time and put my hands to work, I can make something that keeps out the cold and dark for someone, somewhere. And if that's all I am able to do? Maybe, just maybe, it will be will be enough.

[thetomorrowshow]

hubris killed the god - ch 2

first chapter

sorry this one took so long folks! while i’m on my tumblr break i’m only uploading once a month, and this fic got pushed back farther than i would’ve liked.

cw: talk of death, illness/plague, implied animal death, religious setting

~

Scott tries to sleep. He really does.

But every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is a darkness more sinister than what he knows lies in Sanctuary.

Every couple of minutes, he can’t stand it—he opens his eyes, sits up, and scans the dark room.

Every time, there’s nothing there. He’s safe.

But it’s terrifying, lying alone, alone the way he was for the past weeks in his house as the plague closed in around him.

Eventually, Scott can’t handle it any longer. He slips out of bed and into his boots, wrapping the soft spare blanket (a fluffy tan thing that he’d found under the bed) around his shoulders like a cloak.

Scott eases his bedroom door open, slowly and carefully to avoid any squeaking that might wake someone. He’d heard several people pass by earlier as he prepared for bed, so he knows he isn’t alone on the floor.

He sneaks out and down the stairs, wincing at every creak his boots make against the wooden steps. There’s nobody in the public section of the inn, all candles blown out and leaving the room eerily silent in its emptiness.

He chooses not to stay. The dim light of the stars, the wind in the trees, the sounds of animals—all a much preferable peace to this. And there’s a cool breeze, a fresh scent on the air, and the distant shadowy figure of someone standing by a campfire at the edge of town past the church.

Scott doesn’t approach them—he’s sure it’s one of his friends, out keeping watch, but he’s afraid that going over there will bring him into sight of the mites, and thereby set him up for a sleepless night.

Instead, he turns to the church.

The foyer is silent, the blankets and pillows in the corner abandoned. There’s still a lamp burning, though, which gives Scott hope that someone might be here, if not awake.

He pushes open the door to the chapel and steps inside.

Sure enough, beyond the rows of simple pews, setting up a candle at the altar at the front is Sausage.

Sausage turns at the noise, his face breaking into a smile as he sees Scott. He abandons what he’s doing, strides down the aisle.

“Scott! You’re here, I’m so happy you’re here!”

Sausage wraps Scott in a big, warm hug, and Scott just melts into it, gripping Sausage as tightly as he can. Sausage smells just as he always does, a bit smokey mixed with some sort of incense, and it’s more comforting than anything else he’s been through today.

“I’m really glad you’re safe,” Sausage says, drawing back to examine him. He frowns. “Te ves consado, Scott. Haven’t you slept?”

“Not really,” Scott admits, drawing his blanket closer around himself. He doesn’t want to talk about his lack of sleep, though, instead gesturing toward the stand. “Are you . . . lighting a candle?”

Sausage perks up. “Oh, yes! I do most of my worship at night lately—Santa Perla is strongest then, you see!” He takes Scott gently by the elbow, leading him up to the front of the chapel. There on the altar is, indeed, a plain unlit candle, flint n’ steel beside it.

“I didn’t know candles were involved in your religion,” Scott says curiously. He’s sat in on a few worship sessions and a sermon or two, more out of support for his friend than any real interest, and in all his recollections he can’t picture a candle anywhere in the service.

“They aren’t,” Sausage says. He kneels there, in the same spot as earlier, and strikes up the flint n’ steel. Carefully, he lights the wick of the candle, coaxing a flame to life. Scott waits in silence, watches as Sausage raises his eyes to the image of Saint Pearl, mouth moving soundlessly in prayer.

“I saw it in a vision,” he says eventually, when his prayer is finished. “A friend, I think. Someone who helped the dead pass on by lighting them a candle. And I figured, well, it can’t hurt to give them a helping hand! That’s what we’re all about here in Sanctuary.”

Sausage reaches under the altar into the compartment there, where he retrieves a second candle. “The first one is for Joel,” he says. “This one is for my people who have passed on.”

Again, Scott waits patiently as Sausage lights it and prays over it, quiet until Sausage begins to stand.

“Do you believe in it?”

Sausage shrugs. “I believe in Santa Perla,” he offers, eyes flicking up. “And I believe if she wishes this to be one of her many ways of helping, then she will accept my offerings. And if it doesn’t actually help them?” he shrugs again. “At least it’s something to remember them by.”

Scott thinks about that for a moment. It’s . . . it’s really a beautiful sentiment. Whether he believes that the flame is genuinely helping to light their path to the afterlife, or whether it just represents their life here on earth, it’s something that he likes. Neither explanation is less spiritual, less meaningful.

“Do you have a third?” he asks quietly, and when Sausage nods, he kneels in Sausage’s place and lights a candle for his llamas. He stares into the flickering flame as Sausage murmurs a prayer over the candle, imploring his saint to ensure the safety of those passed, if she is able.

“Do you mind if I just. . . .” Scott gestures to the pews when the ritual is done, pulling his blanket a little tighter around himself.

Sausage nods. “Oh, go right ahead! There’s a little room off to the side where there’s a bed, if you want, but it’s fine if you stay in here! There’s always blankets and pillows somewhere!” Scott turns to go, but Sausage catches his shoulder. “If you hear little footsteps in the morning, don’t worry about it,” he says, eyes twinkling a little. “That’s just Hermes running in to relight his daddy’s candle. Don’t let it wake you!”

Scott realizes, for a millisecond, the absolute magnitude of being a child in this apocalypse.

And then he moves on.

Scott does wander for a moment, finding the room spoken of, but he decides fairly quickly that he would rather stay in the chapel with Sausage, where the lamps are low but lit and there’s a person awake to make sure all is well.

He grabs the pillow and another blanket from the foyer, drapes them across one of the pews sort of midway between the doors and the stand. He spares a quick prayer of thanks to Saint Pearl (which consists of “Hi Pearl, thanks for Sausage making these pews cushioned, amen.”), then lays down with the blanket from his room draped over him.

With the mutterings of Sausage’s worship and the slight spicy smell of incense and the warm, soft glow, Scott falls asleep easily.

-

It’s only two days later that they’re gearing up to rescue Katherine.

In those two days, Scott’s learned a lot—fWhip walks him around the invisible perimeter, warning him that if he ever crosses it, he’s no longer protected by Sanctuary’s magic. Which is stressful to hear, especially considering the marking is less of a fence and more of a slat of wood sticking up in the dirt every couple of feet, but fWhip assures him that he won’t be on watch by himself for a while.

Scott has his first watch with Gem, and together they keep an eye out until midnight, when Jimmy relieves them and Scott returns to the church to sleep in the cozy warmth of Sausage’s presence.

He at first wonders why they patrol at all, but Jimmy explains that the noise of their footsteps keeps the mites from attempting to get through the perimeter. There are also various times set apart during the day to patrol, make sure that everything is in order.

Sausage sleeps during the day, so Scott’s careful to be quiet when he finds himself in the church foyer. His companions don’t seem to take the same care, though, particularly fWhip and Gem, and Scott finds himself staring at them frequently, recalling the ominous note he’d found in his room.

The group meets at mealtimes, where they share food either in the foyer of the church, or at the outpost (just a campfire with some logs around it not far from the church), seemingly interchangeably. It’s then that Jimmy will ask someone to get in a patrol before the next meal, or ask about certain capabilities that might help in a rescue. It’s during breakfast in the foyer that Jimmy announces his plans for rescuing Katherine.

“I’m thinking a team of me, False, and Gem,” Jimmy says that morning, just two days after Scott’s arrival. Jimmy nods toward Scott when he looks up.

“Scott, if you want to see how these sorts of things go, you could tag along. fWhip knows how to run the place, I just figured he shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

Which is something that really irks Scott, because why would fWhip be running Sanctuary in the first place? Sure, Sausage sleeps for a good part of the day, but it’s still his land.

Scott opens his mouth to say something about how he wants to go, then reconsiders. It’ll just be him and fWhip and Sausage out of the main group here. Maybe he can do some investigating, sneak into people’s rooms. After all, the note from behind his mirror is still nagging at him.

And maybe it’s selfish, or cowardly, but he really doesn’t want to go out into the world so soon after being saved from it. Seeing the masses of mites that wait just outside Sanctuary’s safety seems like something that he isn’t prepared for. He can only imagine how embarrassing it would be to have a panic attack in front of the rest of the party, when he’s meant to be proving he's worth keeping around.

“I’ll stay back,” he says. “I can do some patrolling, keep learning my way around.”

Jimmy nods, then continues laying out the plan.

The next day, very early in the morning, the three set off on False’s airship for Glimmer Grove. Scott waves to them, even though no one looks back.

And then he gets to work.

It isn’t hard at all to shake fWhip off, seeing as fWhip heads out almost instantly for a patrol. So Scott, claiming he’s tired and going to take a nap (he is tired, the pews are less comfortable the longer one lies on them and it’s taking him longer and longer to fall asleep), heads into the inn, ready to break into his companions’ rooms.

Which isn’t hard. None of them were given keys, apparently, and only lock the doors from the inside. Not that any of them have any valuables, but Scott has taken to carrying his coat and fedora with him everywhere, just in case of a robber.

He checks Gem’s room first, sliding in and easing the door shut behind him near-silently. Gem’s room is decorated in mostly orange hues, a soft orange rug beside the bed, an auburn duvet spread across the bed. It’s nice, home-y almost, but he doesn’t have time to focus on it.

He makes quick work of going through the wardrobe—there isn’t much but a few changes of clothes—and a random boot thrown in at the bottom.

The boot doesn’t match any that he’s ever seen her wear, strangely enough. Scott tugs it out, turns it every which way. It looks like something Katherine made, and sure enough, the sole of it has two imprinted ‘G’s curling around each other in her familiar logo.

None of that is too strange. What’s strange is that it’s not made out of the typical supple leather. This boot is stiff and rubbery, made for walking through mud and puddles without getting the foot wet.

He searches through the rest of the room, ducking down to check under the bed. There’s no match.

Why on earth would Gem have a specially-made boot for traveling through mud and marshes, when she lives in a perfectly dry part of the world and would have no practical use for it? And only one?

And Scott doesn’t know the sizes of his friends’ feet, but this looks a little small. Is it too small for Gem? If it was crafted by Katherine, wouldn’t it be made to fit?

He realizes with a start that he’s been pondering the boot for at least ten minutes. He tosses it back into the bottom of the wardrobe, draws the doors closed, and leaves. There’s nothing else to look at. Time to move on.

Jimmy’s room is the next down, and it’s a decent bit larger than either his or Gem’s. The past few days have made it fairly clear that Jimmy’s the leader of their ragtag group, but Scott would bet that the room size is less Jimmy throwing his weight around and more like first come, first served. Still, he can’t help but feel a bit miffed when he notices that Jimmy’s bed is nearly double the size of his own.

There’s no rug in Jimmy’s room, but his bed has plain white sheets and a grey comforter. Jimmy has a wardrobe and a set of drawers, which Scott finds aren’t empty—there’s several papers in the top drawer, mostly maps and half-baked rescue plans. There’s one big, thin book (an art book, by the looks of it) atop the dresser drawers, a couple of sheets of paper and a pencil atop that. The rest of the drawers are empty.

A couple of shirts and an extra pair of jeans are hanging in the wardrobe. Scott feels around the top shelf (he’s too short to properly see it; Jimmy’s wardrobe is taller than his) and finds two items.

The first is a well-polished badge, ‘Deputy Norman’ inscribed in the middle. Scott puts that back, grabs the second.

This is a huge circlet of dull gold, a laurel crown that Scott recognizes immediately.

Joel.

He hadn’t thought that there must have been a period of time during which Joel had been a part of the surviving rulers group. A time when he joked with them, went on rescue missions, stood guard.

Scott remembers the way Jimmy had looked away, face drawn, when he said that hubris had killed Joel.

He wonders how risky it must’ve been for Jimmy to take his crown after whatever had happened to take him down. He can imagine the god’s giant body, swarmed with mites. And Jimmy had gone for it anyway, just to keep a piece of Joel with them.

Or maybe it hadn’t been like that. Maybe Joel had died slowly, in Sanctuary, succumbing to the plague little by little. Maybe Jimmy keeps hold of the crown as a reminder of what they’ve lost, and how careful they need to be.

Whatever the reason, Scott slides it back into place on the shelf, closing the wardrobe doors on it. He doesn’t need to dwell on death. He doesn’t have time.

fWhip’s room is next, and Scott is considerably more cautious with this one. fWhip usually spends the day in the church, using it as a hub of sorts so that if anyone needs help, there’s someone right there, but there’s every possibility that he might need something from his room.

fWhip has just the one change of clothes (and Scott remembers him mentioning it, talking about how he’s a generally strange size and has been having to take in spare Sanctuary clothing in his spare time) in his wardrobe, but the only really notable thing in his blue-themed room is the rocks.

There are rocks piled up in the wardrobe, so precariously that Scott thinks if he even touches one all the rest will fall down. Most of them are run-of-the-mill pebbles and chunks of brick, a couple bearing the distinctive craggly features of dripstone.

Under the bed is a bit of a different story, because fWhip appears to have stripped his bed of the covers and pillows and built a bed underneath the frame, pillows neat and blankets folded. A couple of geodes and cooler-shaped rocks surround the space (which Scott would normally think of as a nest, but it’s far too organized for that).

He hasn’t really found the move from Chromia to Sanctuary to be too difficult to handle—maybe that’s because he’s a traveler by nature, or maybe that’s just because he’s been putting off processing the traumatizing events of what’s gone on. And sure, he’s been hunkering down every night in the chapel, lulled to sleep by Sausage’s murmured prayers, but overall he doesn’t feel too homesick.

fWhip must be a different story. The guy hides it well, but he must miss the caves of Gobland more than he gives away.

Scott doesn’t disturb the bedding, not wanting to give away that he’d been snooping, but he catches sight of something . . . out of place. A rag, by itself, beside the rocks of the bed. A rag that looks like it’s crusted-over with a reddish-brown.

With blood.

Scott doesn’t touch it, of course. He’s not an idiot.

“Okay. Okay. Blood. That’s fine,” he mutters to himself, more to keep his stomach steady than anything else. He really doesn’t want to investigate further, so he crawls out from underneath the bed and heads to the next room.

Two doors down is the next one that’s occupied, and Scott stands in the doorway for a long moment.

This is Shelby’s room. The oversized witch’s hat on the bed makes that clear.

Scott’s careful in his perusal of her room, some irrational part of him telling him that Shelby’s spirit is haunting the room, ready to attack if he breaks anything. Not that there’s much to break, really.

Instead of a wardrobe, Shelby has a set of drawers, and Scott opens each one. The top drawer has a couple of potion bottles, two full of shimmering liquid and one empty. Beside those is a bundle of dried netherwart, some loose golden powder making a fine silt at the bottom of the drawer.

The middle drawer is clothes. Scott hadn’t been terribly close with any of the rulers, but Shelby had been one of those he considered a friend. Opening the drawer of clothes also unleashes a familiar scent, the smokey smell common of brewing businesses intermingling with a sweet melon that is so very representative of Shelby that Scott almost instantly shuts the drawer again. He can’t handle whatever emotions are tied to that.

The bottom drawer is empty. The bed is made, purple duvet a little wrinkled where the hat lies on it. Beside the bed is a congealed, drying-out bucket of slime.

Scott exits quickly, moving on to the last room in the hallway, which must belong to False.

That door is locked.

Scott twists the doorknob this way and that, jiggling it to make sure it isn’t just stuck. No, it’s well and truly locked, which Scott can’t help but find inordinately strange—nobody else even has a key. Why does False have one, when no one else does?

He bends down, peers through the keyhole—he can’t see anything. He adjusts positions, switches eyes. Even his magical eye sees nothing.

There’s something placed over the keyhole to make it impossible to peek in.

Scott leans back, chews on his lip. There has to be a way into that room, right?

The window.

Scott jogs down the hallway then the stairs, taking them two at a time. He makes a note of which side of the building False’s window will probably be on—the back—and hikes around to it, kicking through grass to gaze up.

There’s his window, he thinks—he remembers leaving the curtains open. Gem’s beside it. He tracks down the line, finds—

Nothing. What should be False’s window has the curtains closed. There’s no way to see in without the woman letting him in herself.

Which shouldn’t be suspicious. It really shouldn’t be suspicious. If anything, Scott’s the suspicious one for snooping around in everyone’s rooms while they’re away.

It’s just . . . the note, that he found behind his mirror. During every moment of free time, his thoughts return to it. Who left it? Is it recent? Is it about one of his companions?

Whoever the notes was about, it said they would kill again. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth to imagine—someone (possibly someone that he knows) has killed a person, and is looking to do it again.

He can’t imagine any of his friends as a murderer.

But it’s the apocalypse. Who knows what they’re capable of?

fWhip. Constantly trying to please, smoothly redirecting conversations when they go places he doesn’t want them to go. Jimmy, the leader and a dead-eye shot, stubborn and quick to anger but quicker to forgiveness. False, stoic and private, her room blocked off and thoughts kept to herself. Gem, careful not to offend, but judgemental and self-important. And Sausage, up all night praying, apparently sleeping during the day—but for some reason, none of the others ever want to see him or talk about him.

Actually, Scott can imagine all of his friends as murderers.

And isn’t that a comforting thought?

-

“We’ve got another sick one,” fWhip tells him as they walk down the main road of Sanctuary. Scott glances down at him, then back to the street ahead. There are a couple of people milling about, talking with neighbors in hushed tones. Their eyes follow Scott and fWhip as they pass, boring holes into the back of Scott’s head.

“A youngling girl,” fWhip continues. “Refugee with her older sister from Dawn. I wish we could do something.”

Despite himself and his suspicions, Scott’s curiosity is piqued. He’d just thought his llamas had a normal illness when he first noticed it. Are there unique signs? The plague probably presents differently in humans than it does in llamas, right? “How can you tell she’s got it? It’s not just some normal illness?”

fWhip chews on his bottom lip. “I’ve seen . . . five people get infected since being here, I think. Jimmy said he’s seen twelve. If one of those things touches them, they leave a little red mark. A fever spreads from the mark. Usually the first sign, though, is hallucinations.”

“I thought hallucinations were a symptom of a fever already. How can you tell the difference?”

“Well, they don’t get the fever right away,” fWhip explains, stopping as the main street dwindles away. “It starts with hallucinations. The fever comes a day or two later. And then they just . . . go downhill. Slowly, sometimes. It depends on how willing they are to give up, I guess.”

“How long has she been ill?” Scott asks.

“Her sister noticed the red spot on her leg this morning, but apparently she’s been acting weird for a couple of days. It’s. . . .” fWhip draws in a shuddering breath. He doesn’t continue his thought, but after a moment, he says, “Kids are the hardest. They think they’ll be fine if they accidentally play outside the border. They don’t even notice it, sometimes. And every time, one of them dies.”

Scott doesn’t even know what to say.

He woke up in the chapel this morning to see a little boy with curly brown hair kneeling at the altar, shifting his weight back and forth, whispering a prayer that echoed through the hall.

“Santa Perla, por favor bendice a mi papá. Gracias por mi padre, quien es en el paraíso. Por favor ayúdame con mi español lecciones. ¡Te amo, padre!”

Hermes had finished his prayer and bounded out of the church, face shining and calling for his papa.

He can’t imagine that little boy lying in bed, hallucinating and feverish and on death’s door. He can’t imagine how destroyed Sausage would be were that to happen.

“And there’s nothing we can do?” he asks, fighting to keep the hopelessness out of his voice.

fWhip sighs. He doesn’t say anything.

It tells Scott all he needs to know.

-

The missing members of their little party return that afternoon, accompanied by a familiar face.

Katherine hops down before False has even quite landed the airship in the field beside the church, striding toward Scott, dropping her huge battleaxe beside her. She pulls Scott into a hard hug as soon as she reaches him.

Scott hugs her back, doing his best to ignore her sweat sticking to him. She’s battlestained and gross and looks exhausted, but Scott holds her tight, trying not to let his arms shake, until she pushes away and hugs fWhip.

“It’s good to see you,” Scott says, reaching over for her battleaxe—the least he can do is carry it for her. As soon as he lifts it a couple of inches off the ground, he has to let it fall again with a grunt. He pauses, staring at the massively heavy axe in shock. He’d barely even been able to get it off the ground! How does Katherine even use it?

He heaves, manages to pull it up under both arms, carrying it like a baby rather than a weapon. Who on earth needs an axe this heavy? How much can Katherine lift?

He totters this way and that with the weight of it, following fWhip and Katherine toward the church—Jimmy comes up beside him, takes half the weight of the axe. Together, they carry it inside and lean it against the doorframe. Then, with a jerk of his head, Jimmy exits once again.

That probably means he wants Scott to follow him. Scott bites his lip, glances back at Katherine—she’s already sitting at the table, ravenously attacking a bowl of chicken and rice.

He can talk to her later.

Scott follows Jimmy out of the church, jogs to catch up with him at the edge of town.

“What’s up?” he asks. Jimmy shrugs.

“Just wanted to tell you about the mission. Katherine was pretty much in the same position you were, closed down to just one house.”

“Why’d it take longer to spread to her?”

“Probably something to do with the fact that Katherine’s a known monster hunter, and you were defending yourself with an old iron shovel,” Jimmy laughs, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “She had some tricks up her sleeve. That’s actually why we went for you first—we figured Katherine could hold her own longer.”

“Well, now I’m offended,” Scott says, not actually offended. He’s fully confident that Katherine is more capable than he is against these things.

Jimmy kicks a stone absently. Scott’s eyes follow it as it rolls away, just passing out of range of the border. Jimmy goes to kick it again; Scott throws an arm across his chest to stop him.

“That’s the border,” he points out. Jimmy frowns, points beyond it a couple of feet to where a slat of wood sticks out of the ground.

“No, that’s the border,” he contradicts. “We marked it.”

Scott blinks, stares at the wooden slat. Because, yes, when he got shown around the place, fWhip had made a point of referencing the wooden markers, set two or three meters apart, keeping an eye on where the border was. Apparently Sausage had laid them out before they even arrived, just to make sure none of his villagers ever crossed them.

And yet, Scott’s certain that the border does not fall in place properly.

“Jimmy, I don’t know how to explain this, but I’m certain that the border is . . . here,” he says, pointing to where it is. “This marker must be off, or something.”

Jimmy shakes his head doggedly. “No, Sausage placed them himself. And he can sort of sense the border, since it’s his magic.”

Right. Magic.

Scott closes his right eye, surveys the area closer. Sure enough, just looking through the magically-inclined eye allows him to see a slight shimmer in the air, right where he feels the border is.

And if Sausage had been able to see it too, there’s no way he would’ve gone outside of it to place a marker.

“We need to get Sausage,” he says, and ignores Jimmy’s questions as he runs back to the church.

-

“Yep, it’s moved,” Sausage announces to the gathered crowd—rulers and villagers alike—, straightening up and dusting off his knees. “About three feet here. I’ll check everywhere else—it looks mostly the same, luckily! So you all can go about your day and just know that there’s new boundaries, so stay far away!”

They wait a moment longer, but Sausage turns away and crouches back down, inching his way down the new border, feeling with his hands as to where the line may be. The crowd disperses with a bit of anxious whispering, villagers back to their jobs and homes, rulers back to the church.

Scott kneels down beside Sausage, watching his fingers carefully search out the border. “Can’t you see it?”

Sausage sighs. “A little bit. It’s easier at night. But I can feel the threads that sew into the ground, which is a better way of telling, usually.”

“I can see it,” Scott offers. “My gold eye. It can see magic. Would that help?”

Sausage doesn’t pause in his searching, just nods. “If you wanna go along the border ahead of me and put rocks where you think it is, that would be awesome! I just wanna be totally sure.”

So Scott does that, trailing all the way around Sanctuary in a slow patrol, with an armful of pebbles that he picks up and places down in a line on his way around.

In most places, it’s barely moved. Five or six inches, usually, on rare occasions a foot. But it’s movement, it’s the magical border adjusting against the mites, and more than once as he lays down his line of stones he notices mites right along the border, often piled up against the invisible shield where it bows inward the worst.

The boundaries of Sanctuary are giving, little by little. Scott doesn’t know how long they’ve been up, exactly, but it can’t have been more than a month or so. They’re bending inward, the space stolen little by little and it may be moving slowly right now, but the three feet lost where Scott had first noticed the difference isn’t a small amount. Some points are weaker than others, and those points are a significant blow to their defenses.

If the trends continue, Sanctuary may not be a sanctuary much longer.

He and Sausage finish mapping out the boundary just as the sun completely disappears over the horizon. Sausage turns in, hoping for a few hours of sleep before the moon rises, and Scott stays out, taking first watch and kicking back at the campfire. He’s joined, once again, by Jimmy.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” he asks absently when Jimmy sits across from him. Jimmy shrugs.

“More important things than my sleep.”

“At least tell me you showered. You guys came home all sweaty and gross.”

The way Jimmy’s eyes slide guiltily to the side tells Scott all he needs to know. He rolls his eyes. “Look, Jimmy, you know I love authentic, but you don’t have to be covered in mud to be a cowboy worth my attention. Actually, I think that makes it worse.”

Jimmy groans and buries his face in his hands. “You’d best not be flirting with me,” he threatens. “I get enough of it from fWhip and Sausage already.”

Scott spreads his hands. “I’m just saying, that vibe makes you a pony express that I definitely will not be riding.”

“Scott, stop!” Jimmy sounds very put-out, but when he raises his head, he’s laughing. “You are something else, I’ll tell you that. Go walk the perimeter or something, leave me alone.”

Scott stands obligingly, chuckling, though he’s fairly certain Jimmy doesn’t mean it. As he passes Jimmy, the man catches him by the sleeve.

“I’m really, truly glad you’re here,” he says seriously, smile shadowed a bit by some emotion Scott can’t quite make out. “I know it’s a bad situation, but you’re a good one, Scott. We need you.”

“Thanks,” Scott tells him, touched. Jimmy’s the kind to be open with his feelings, to wear his heart on his sleeves, and it’s been strange to be here with him so closed-off and distant. This is more what he’s used to. “Really, take a night off. I’ll be fine.”

By the way Jimmy nods and dusts off his knees, Scott knows he's just pretending to get up.

And sure enough, when Scott swaps with fWhip for the next watch, there's still the lanky silhouette of a cowboy sitting by the campfire.

Scott actually goes back to his room that night, hanging his coat and fedora in his room and stripping his bed of another blanket before heading to the chapel. This blanket is fully tucked in, and Scott strains for a moment against it before it pops loose.

There's a bounce and a rattle and a little bit of a squeak when he does so, and Scott pauses.

Did that—did the blanket just make noise?

He shakes it out, hears nothing else. He scours the bed, and there's nothing there, peers around the side—

And there, on the floor, dislodged when he moved the blanket, is a little toy mouse.

[justices-blade]

"For sure! There's gotta be something…"

Edward leans against the unlit candle, hemming and hawing, tongue stuck out as grey eyes dart this way and that with a pace to match bright blue, to try and think on his feet, to watch Caspar pummel the hell out of the door.

Hard to think on your feet when there's nowhere to run, though. Honestly, he'd rather not have been caught in the first place, but maybe the two of them got too confident about being tiny — Mice are quick despite being small! They're not mice, though; A person at full size can't catch a mouse, how's a tiny person supposed to outrun a bunch of brutes without getting squished? It's amazing they didn't get squished. It's amazing they thought to take the needle he's using as a sword, too?! There's a whole bundle of surprises in this whole situation, really, the rule being that a caught rat's a dead rat, and so on… Uh, what was that about not being mice again?

At any rate, Edward's more used to seeing the outside of a jail cell than the inside of one, and this stupid old lantern's a whole 'nother beast. The thing about being part of the notorious Dawn Brigade is that they didn't really all get caught at once. If at all. And even then, someone else got out to bail the rest of them, but, man, Sothe isn't even around to break them out this time. Aw man, this blows!

He walks up and kicks the tin hatch, hard, with a hearty 'YAH!'. The door rattles in place, but again, doesn't budge.

"Hough. Who thought stupid old tin could be so dang tough…" But still, he's kneeling, eyes easily adjusting to the low light to check the surface, fingers trailing along it — "Aha!"

Sparkling eyes turn to Caspar as Edward bangs the side of his fist right on one spot — There's a dent, however slight, from a stray blow, right at the edge. Light filters in a little easier through it. "Tin's still tin, though! If we bend this door enough, we could flick the hatch from inside, I think? Or —"

He bobs to the side, kicks where the hinge should be. "Darn, thing's on the outside. If it's rusty and junk, though, it might just work!"

He grins. "Fists are back on the menu, Caspar!"

lanthorn-y situation

[toh-writings]

Fortunes of Love Pt 1 (Eda x OC)

Summary:

When King needs his most loyal soldier fixed, Eda decides to take them to an old acquaintance of hers to get it patched. What starts as a visit turns into another visit, then another, then another. Eda begins to wonder why they were never friends before.

Warnings: None

It was a surprisingly quiet afternoon. Luz was still at school, Hooty was taking a nap, and King was off somewhere playing. And Eda had every intention of taking advantage of the break in the chaos. She slumped onto the couch with a sigh, a steaming mug of tea in her hands. She took a sip of her drink, closing her eyes and relaxing, a lazy smile on her face. This was the stuff.

Eda’s peace was shattered when a screech rang out through the house. She sighed, putting her mug down on the coffee table. Looks like her tea would go cold. She crossed her arms, scowling at King as he dashed into the room, but her face softened when she saw him. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, his little stuffed rabbit clutched tightly in his arms.

“Eda!” he screeched, running into her legs and toppling over. He was quick to get back to his feet.

“I’m right here, King, you don’t need to screech.”

“Eda, Eda, The worst thing ever has happened!” He continued to screech, not bothering to lower his voice a bit. “Francoise’s been injured!”

He shoved the rabbit in her face, showing the arm hanging on by a thread, the stuffing spilling out.

“He needs immediate attention or I fear he’ll lose his life!” The little demon insisted, looking quite devastated at the turn of events. Eda sighed, a soft smile on her face.

“Alright, alright, let me see.”

She gently took the rabbit from him and took a closer look. The thread attaching the arm to the body was in pieces, bits poking out of the worn fabric. It had probably just gotten too old, played with too much, something like that. She wasn’t the best at sewing, but it looked easy enough to fix.

“Guess I can fix it. Just let me get some things.”

She handed the rabbit back to King and gave him a little pat on his head. She had a bunch of junk in the closet to look through.

It was tougher than she thought it would be just to find a needle and thread. Luz had returned from school before she had even found anything.

“Eda? What are you doing?”

The witch huffed from her pile of stuff, the shelves of the closet empty. She grumbled, wading through her pile and standing by Luz.

“Looking for a needle and thread. King broke his doll.” She said dismissively, idly drawing a circle in the air. All the junk on the floor jumped to attention and flew back to their spots. “Clearly, I didn’t find anything.”

“Awww, that’s why King looks so depressed.”

They looked back to the couch where King sat, still clutching his broken rabbit with big crocodile tears in his eyes. He sniffed.

“Yeah. We need to fix that thing.”

Eda went quiet as she thought, pacing the living room. Okay, maybe she couldn’t fix the damn thing herself. That meant she would have to find someone else to do it. She went through all the people she knew in her mind. Half of them hated her, so it was easy to cut the list down. None of the first people she thought of actually knew anything about sewing or stuffed animals. She had to dig deep before she remembered someone who might be able to help. It was a long shot, but they had to try.

“Alright you two, I have an idea.”

She turned to them with her signature cocky smile.

“We’re going to the market.”

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

The Market was busy this time of day, the witchlings who just got out of school running around through the crowd. Eda hated being at the market when it was like this, but desperate times they say. The market was large and there were many stalls, but only one of them was the one they needed. She wished she remembered where it was better. She had never actually been there before, she just passed it every once in a while. After several wrong turns and irritated mumbles, she finally spotted the familiar stall.

“Ah, here we are! Told ya I’d find it.”

She crossed her arms, a prideful smile on her face, but Luz and King looked doubtful.

“It looks like a … fortune-teller?” Luz said, cocking her head to one side.

And so it did. The dark blue stall was decorated with white glittering stars and a crystal ball sat on the counter alongside various other tools. A group of teenagers were clustered around it, giggling and squealing at each other.

“How is some palm reading supposed to help Francoise?” King shouted, looking irritated.

“Just come on, ya little demon. Trust me.”

King continued to grumble his doubts as the approached the stall. The group of teenagers dispersed as they approached, talking amongst each other and staring at their hands in wonder. As they left they could see the witch waving goodbye. She looked friendly enough, her black curls tied back and what looked like a snake hanging on her shoulders. She smiled at them as they approached, though she looked a bit hesitant when she saw Eda.

“Hello! How can I help you?” Her voice was small and quiet.

“There you are! What was it again? Nila or something?” Eda’s voice boomed in contrast to the other witch. She leaned against the counter, a hand on her hip.

“Niliana.”

Eda gave a dismissive wave.

“Whatever, close enough. Listen, Nily, we have a bit of a problem here and need your help.”

She nodded to King. He still looked doubtful, but jumped on the counter and showed the witch his rabbit. She focused on it instantly, brows furrowed as she inspected the damage, humming thoughtfully.

“You want me to fix it?”

Eda nodded.

“It’s desperate! We must heal Francoie immediately!” King shouted, waving his arms around. “I don’t want to lose my best buddy!”

The woman smiled at him, giving his head a few pats.

“He’ll be fine. I can fix him. Come on then, my supplies are in the back.”

She left her stall, leading them into a tent behind it. Luz gazed around it in wonder. It was dark, little balls of light floating around the ceiling giving all the light they needed to see. There shelves upon shelves of stuff surrounding them, crystal balls, crystals, various jars of herbs, and other mysterious substances. Even more dried herbs were hanging from the ceiling alongside various fabrics. In the middle of the room were several comfy looking chairs and a love seat surrounding a round coffee table with a few unlit candles.

“Take a seat, I’ll get working on this.” Niliana told them in her soft voice, motioning to the chairs. Luz hopped into a chair, giggling as she bounced slightly. Eda sat with a sigh, sprawling out over the love seat, but King couldn’t sit. He followed the witch, right on her heals as she walked to what looked like a work table. The shelf above it was lined with various stuffed animals in various rates of decay and mismanagement. King crawled onto the table, watching anxiously as she got to work. The snake on her shoulders slithered away due to some unspoken command, curling around a nearby staff and turning to wood.

“This is a nice place ya got here!” Luz said, still staring around in wonder. “I haven’t meant anyone who was really good at oracle magic before! Can you tell the future? How? What’s your favorite way to do it? What’s all the herbs and crystals for? How…?”

“Slow down, kid!” Eda said, laughing. “Not everyone can talk as fast as you.”

“Oh, right sorry.” Luz said, looking a bit sheepish and shrugging.

“No, dear, I can’t tell the future. Not exactly. Oracle magic is actually quite complicated. It’s more like I see pieces what could happen. I do it by connecting to others magic. I like reading tea leaves the most. The herbs are for the tea. The crystals can be used to focus someones magic so I can read it and use it to tell the future.”

She answered easily, not missing a beat as she worked. The rabbit was empty of all stuffing now, the broken thread removed and the arm sitting next to it. She got herself a bucket and filled it with water, adding an herb here and an herb there. Once the concoction was completed she put the pieces of the rabbit in to soak.

King stared into the bucket, then looked up at her, confused.

“What are you doing?” He asked, the nervousness creeping into his voice. She smiled at him again.

“He’s just taking a bath is all. It’ll make his fur soft and stronger.”

King nodded, keeping a close eye on the bucket.

“What do you mean you see pieces? What does that mean? And what does tea have to do with telling the future?”

Niliana sighed.

“Why don’t I just … show you? Would that appease you?”

Luz’s eyes went wide and she nodded, almost bouncing with excitement. So, she started putting together a pot of tea, heating the water with a magical floating fire. With nothing left to do but wait, she finally sat with a sigh, grabbing a deck of cards to fiddle with.

Luz never stopped talking, but once the witch had settled the girl went oddly silent. Niliana looked over to her to find the girl watching her with intent, curious eyes.

“Sooooo…” She started, a smirk on her face. “How do you and Eda know each otherrrrrrr.”

“We went to school together,” Eda spoke up before Niliana could, but she didn’t seem to mind. She just nodded.

“We were both in the potions track, at least for a short time.”

“Ugh, those classes were so booooring.” Eda groaned, slouching even further in the love seat at the very memory of them. “It was nothing but stirring and stirring. I don’t know how you managed it.”

“Clearly, I didn’t.” She said, twirling a card between her fingers. “I transferred to the oracle track shortly after you left.”

Eda snorted.

“I’m amazed anyone's making potions these days with a class like that.”

Niliana shrugged.

“I didn’t think it was all that bad. The monotony was calming, especially when I was having a bad day.”

Eda waved her hand aimlessly, clearly unimpressed.

“Awww, you guys were friends?” Luz asked, but Eda shook her head, confusing the girl.

“Not really. We were more like … Aquaintances. We knew of each other, but we didn’t hang out or anything.”

“We only really talked when we were paired up for a project.” Niliana added.

“Yeah, I remember that! I always got a passing grade with you watching my back!”

“You made me do all the work.”

“Not like I was learning anything anyway. I still did some of the stirring, didn’t I?”

“Mmmm, I suppose. Not much. You were too busy getting into trouble releasing spirits in the locker room or something.”

Eda snickered, remembering all her troublesome pranks.

“They never could get rid of those spirits. They made me do it!”

Niliana looked doubtful.

“And how exactly did they manage that?”

Eda just smiled, sitting up so she could ruffle Luz’s hair.

“I had to get Luz here into that school somehow.”

They spent a while retelling some of there adventures from school. Well, Eda retold some of her adventures. NIlly occasionally would add something here or that, mentioning something she herself remembered. Otherwise, she busied herself with other things. The tea needed to be finished and handed out and the rabbit needed dried off after soak and restuffed. The tent was filled with laughter. Even King was laughing at some points, though he kept his attention mostly on his rabbit.

“I finished my tea!” Luz piped up. “Do you read the leaves now?”

“In a bit, hun, let me just finish this real quick.”

King bounced anxiously, watching her carefully as pulled the needle through the fabric. Finally, the string was tied off and snipped.

“He’s done! Ya fixed him!” King shouted, eagerly grabbing for the rabbit, but the woman pulled it away.

“One last thing.” She said, opening one of her drawers to pull out a black ribbon. She tied it around the rabbit’s neck, forming a cute little bowtie. Only when that was done did she hand it to the little demon. He snatched it from her hands, giving it a big hug.

“Francoise! You’re all fixed!” He cheered. “Thank you, lady!”

He jumped off the counter, dashing over to Eda to show her his newly fixed rabbit. She whistled.

“Dang, it almost looks brand new! I knew you did this sort of stuff but I didn’t know you were good at it.”

Niliana shook her head.

“How did you even know? I don’t remember telling you about it.”

Eda shrugged, moving to the side so King could sit next to her, Francoise in his lap.

“I don’t know, you mentioned something about fixing stuffed animals during one of our projects.”

“And you remembered?”

“Yeah, I know. I even shock myself sometimes.” She smirked smugly, crossing her legs and putting her hands behind her head.

Niliana rolled her eyes, sitting down and putting a hand out to Luz. The girl eeped gleefully, rushing to give her the tea cup.

“Now, what do you want me to focus on?”

“Uh, what?” Luz asked.

“I need something to focus on. So, what do you want to know?”

Luz thought for a moment, then beamed.

“Oh, oh, I know! Will I ever fall in love?”

Eda rolled her eyes, mumbling something about teenagers and love. Niliana smirked at that before gazing into the cup. A moment later her eyes started glowing teal. Luz watched, fascinated. Several moments passed in silence before Luz got too impatient.

“Well? What do you see?”

Niliana closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. They were no longer glowing, returned to their usual golden brown. She thought for a moment, Luz staring at her intently, slowly inching closer to the witch.

“You will fall in love. In fact, you’ll fall in love with someone you already know and who you’re already close with.” She finally said, placing the cup down on the coffee table.

“Whoa, really? How do you know?”

“When I read your tea leaves, I focus intently on you and whatever you want to know, in this case, love. When I go into my trance, I don’t really see things, I feel things. They're more like impressions. I felt love, that’s how I know you will fall in love with someone. But I also felt a sense of familiarity, which is how I know it’s someone close to you. I’d advise you to figure out if any of your friends like you.”

“Whoa…” Luz whispered, looking amazed. Eda chuckled. It was amazing that her face didn’t freeze like that.

“Alright, hotshot. If you’re so good at this then read my stupid leaves.” She said, leaning forward, her teacup hanging off a finger. Niliana snatched it before it could fall and shatter. She shot the other witch a hard look.

“What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know, just tell me something about my love life or whatever.”

The witch stared into the teacup for a moment before her eyes lit up once more.

“This is all nonsense anyway,” Eda added, sitting back and crossing her arms. Luz looked taken aback.

“What? Why?”

“Simple. There’s no such thing as a set future. It hasn’t happened yet! Sure, you can be told what might happen and give all sorts of random advice or whatever, but it’s you’re own actions that determine what really happens. That’s not something she can control.”

Luz looked a little downtrodden by her mentors' words, but brightened almost instantly.

“So she can’t tell exactly what’ll happen, but she can point me in the right direction! It’s like well-informed advice.”

Eda waved a hand dismissively.

“Whatever you say, kid. Personally, I don’t let this stuff get to me.”

Niliana blinked, her eyes returning to normal once more.

“... alright, there’s a lot more to go through here.” She commented, looking rather thoughtful.

Eda frowned, just a bit irritated.

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

The woman didn’t seem affected by Eda’s steely tone, continuing with her even, soft voice.

“You have a pretty crazy love life already, it can be hard to sift through. You feel a lot of love for the people around you, so it's hard to say if there’s anything new there … There will be others that’ll come into your life and join your little family, that’s for sure. For a wanted criminal, you really draw them in.”

Eda huffed, her irritation fading as a soft smile spread on her face.

“I suppose so... “

She tried not to react to the look Luz was giving her.

It was a few more seconds before Niliana spoke up again.

“For someone who’s dated a lot, you haven’t felt a who lot of romantic love before. But there will be someone someday. Probably someone from your past. You may be nervous about it, it’ll be odd and new, but It’ll be worth it. My advice would be to not go searching for anything, but don’t shove anyone away who might want to get close to you. You may never find love if you stay closed off. But make sure they’re making an effort, too.”

She gave a little nod, satisfied with her reading, and put the teacup next to the other.

“My turn! I want a reading too!” King piped up. Niliana nodded and made him a cup. He snatched it out of her hands with a “nyeh’ and gulped it down. He shoved the now empty cup into her face. “Do your magic, Lady!”

Niliana chuckled, taking the cup from him and reading it.

“You, dear, are going to live a very happy life surrounded by the ones you love. You’ll be very pampered like you are now.”

“Yes! Only the best for the King of Demons!” King said, puffing his chest out. Eda pat his head, nearly knocking him over.

“Whatever you say, tiny.”

They left shortly after that, all waving as the left. Niliana waved back from her tent.

“I liked her. We should visit again sometime!” Luz said, looking up at Eda expectantly. King did the same from Luz’s arms, tail wagging. Eda sighed, a smirk crawling onto her face.

“Fine, if you want.”

The two cheered, running ahead a bit. Eda smiled at them.

[kazuyaasai-serenaspencerli]

𝓛𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓼

A SELF INSERT FIC FOR @little-butterfly-writes CONTEST

A/N: THIS... MIGHT BE A LITTLE CHEESY ^^'HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY READING IT.

FANDOM: MLQC

PAIRING: GAVIN (CC) X KAZIE (ME)

WORD COUNT: 1.7K

UNEDITED

⋯♡⋯⋯⋯♡⋯⋯⋯♡⋯⋯⋯♡⋯

Whisking me out away from work, Gavin takes me to the outskirts of Loveland to see a lantern festival. Riding Sparky for almost an hour, I hug his waist while looking at the scenery. Clear blue sky, a field of thousand flowers, and butterflies dancing around as we pass by. Not long, we arrive at our destination: a small town where there's a lantern festival is held for a week. The motorbike stops in front of the hotel parking lot.

I take off my helmet and hop off before giving it to him. Looking around the small yet festive town, my eyes instantly light up with joy and excitement. White houses and buildings, children running around with bouquet of fresh flowers and lanterns in their hands, laughing and giggling joyfully. Seeing this, I forgot all of my worries fatigue and work.

"Kazie" Gavin calls my name softly, his voice coming behind me. I turn around and met his amber eyes, eyes that's looking at me with tenderness and warmth, a bouquet of red roses in his hands. When did he... "For you." He smiles as I take the bouquet from him. I inhale the sweet scent of the flowers before closing the distance between us and tiptoes, kissing him in the cheeks.

"Thank you Gavin."

The sound of children's giggles reaches our ears and his cheeks reddens. He looks at them and thanks them, then a little girl took this chance and approaches me, her blue eyes sparkling. She holds out a daisy to me and runs away happily when I accepted and thanked her. "So cute~" I look back to the smiling Gavin and an idea came into my mind. I turn to him, his back is on me, I hug him from behind and tucks the flower in his ear, lips curling into a playful smile.

His eyes widened and turns his head to look at me. I giggle with the kids as I boop his nose, earning a chuckle from him. Hands reaching out to take the flower, and when he was about to take it off, I press my free hand above his. "Don't take it off Gav..."

He covers my hand with the other, intwining it with his and takes the daisy.

"Silly..." He speaks, a hint of laughter in his voice as he takes the flower and turns around, holding hands. The afternoon sunlight and the orange sky tainted his features, making him look more soft and handsome. Slender fingers tucks the strands of my hair then puts the daisy after. "There." I stare at him as I clutch the bouquet tightly, entranced at how he looks right now. "Beautiful." He smiles, looking straight at me.

Heat rushes up to my face, my cheeks burning red.

"Is there something on my face?"

"You're just too precious and handsome~" I giggled, eyes crinkling.

"....." The tips of his ears turns red, making me chuckle.

"You're so cute Gavin!"

"Ahem... You're cuter."

My heart flutters at the sight of the blushing Gavin, scratching the back of his neck, looking away. He's too precious. I look back at the still-giggling kids and their lanterns caught my eye. Noticing my stare, Gavin's lips curls upward. "Do you want lanterns too? There's a shop over there, they sell shaped lanterns. But if you're tired we ca-"

I excitedly pulled his hand cutting him off. "Yes!" My enthusiastic reply made him chuckle and squeeze his hand. "I'm still full of energy!"

"Alright. Then let's go."

He thanks the kids again and takes me to the stalls just around the corner and while we walk, unlit lanterns came to view. Our surroundings was full of differently shaped lanterns, comes in different color and sizes. I grip the bouquet in my hands as I follow him when I saw heart shaped lanterns. "Want those?" He asks as his eyes follows where I'm looking. "Yes."

We went to a small stall and I pick up the heart shaped lantern. "Ah. Good afternoon." An elder woman greets us in a friendly manner, in her hands is newly made lantern. "You have a good eyes. These are the last pair of heart lanterns miss. You can also write wishes before you release them to the sky. Any wishes will do."

I turn to look at Gavin who's looking at the other lanterns. "Gav, can we have this?" I look at the other pair and showing it to him. "Sure." He takes the other one and pays for it. "Let's have dinner, it's getting dark now and we'll go fly these lanterns after dinner." He smiles and puts a hand in my waist.

"Wait." Just when we're about to leave, the elder woman calls us. "You forgot this." She puts two brushes and a small bottle of ink. "To write your wishes." The elder smiles. "Thank you ma'am." Gavin nods as the takes it puts it inside the his jacket pocket. "Anything else?" He takes my lantern and takes me by hand as we look at the lantern stalls. Flower lanterns hanging and perched in the stall tables, they start to light one by one until they're all lighted up.

I feel like in the sea and blanket of stars as we walk. "It's like... we're walking in sea of stars." I speak in awe. "I don't want to leave... I want this moment to freeze forever." I mutter. "We'll definitely walk through like this again." He smiles assuredly while looking straight at me. His answer surprised and confused me. 'Again?' what does he mean... We'll comeback here in the future again?'

"You must be hungry. Let's eat dinner." My train of thoughts vanishes when he spoke. I realized that my stomach is empty and only ate bread for lunch. "Sure~" I answer, hoping that he won't know. Smiling gold orbs meets mine as we walk, his eyes shines more brightly than those lanterns around us.

I squeeze his hand and does the same to mine. Walking out from the lines of shops, we head directly back to the hotel, hand and hand.

——————— AFTER ʕ·͡ˑ·ཻʔ♥︎ DINNER ———————

"The moon is beautiful tonight..." I mutter as I look at the full moon, surrounded by blanket of stars. The sound of paddles rowing in the water stops and I look around. Taking our lanterns and grabbing our brushes, we dip it in the bottle of ink. "Let's write our wishes~"

"Mm." He nods as he starts to write. I think I know what to wish for. My lips quirks up as I write my wish, the brush leaving black ink in the paper.

"To spend my time and whole life with someone I love."

I smile, looking at my written wish. And I'm confident, really confident that this one will come true. Putting the brush down, I look at Gavin who's still writing his wish. His features are a bit stern as he writes, his brows furrowing cutely and puts his brush down. "Finished yours?" He asks as he takes out a box of matches, lighting his and my lantern. "Don't peek!"

"I won't." He chuckles, his amber eyes shinning like gold from the light coming from the lantern. "Ready?"

"Mhm." I nod and we raise our hands, letting go of our lanterns and watch them float up high into the sky. Then, we lanterns starts to appear one by one, filling up the sky, joining ours. Something was flickering faraway that I didn't notice. Lights surrounds the shore, drifting towards us. "So beautiful..." Mesmerized by the water lanterns, I didn't feel him change places and sit beside me untile he puts a hand on my waist, pulling me closer to him.

I rest my head on his shoulder, watching the sea of star-like lanterns float around us. The moon peaks out from the lanterns, shinning brightly.

"Beautiful..."

"Hm?"

"The moon is beautiful tonight, Gavin..." I smile softly, twining my fingers with his before squeezing it. His hand squeezes mine back. He takes my chin with his other hand, tilting my face to look at him, our lips almost touching. "I love you to the moon and back, Kazie..." He spoke softly as I stare at his handsome face. He closes the distance between us, his lips meeting mine.

Gavin breaks the kiss first, looking at me tenderly. Wind suddenly surrounds us as he stands up and steps out of the boat, standing in the water, his hand tugging mine. I stand up and step out hesitantly, and when I did, his evol supports us both. Letting go of my hand, I giggle as he steps back and bows down. "Can I ask this beautiful girl..." His ears turns red adorably, holding his hand out to me.

"Ahem... May I have this dance?" Amber orbs shinning, while looking straight to mine. "Yes~" He kisses the back of my hand after I put it above his.

I put my other hand in his shoulder and his hands pulls me close to him, our bodies pressed together. We start to move when a familiar music from the shore reaches our ears. He starts to hums along with the music, guiding me through the dance, carefully avoiding the lanterns as we do. We dance around, smiling happily to each other.

Water lanterns moves along with us while drifting further into the lake. Soon, the music slows down and so are our movements. I rest my head in his shoulder as we dance slowly, matching the new music. "Thank you for taking me here Gavin... I really like it, no... Love it. I really enjoyed everything. Starting when we're passing by the fields of flowers, when we just got here in this small beautiful down, the candle lit dinner... And this..."

I pause, looking straight into his eyes. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome Pumpkin. You looked stress lately and you made me worry. And I heard from Eli that there's a lantern festival here... So I plan to take you here to relax and enjoy." With a warm glint in his eyes, he kisses my forehead. "We'll go back here again... In the future."

"Mm."

'Even he, himself is busy... He really cleared his schedule just for me...' I hug him tightly, burying my face in his chest.

"Thank you so much, love."

"Anything for you, my love"

He kisses me once more and we stayed like that, embracing each other as we watch the lanterns float around us like blankets of stars.

May our wishes come true and let us spend our time together until we grow old. Spending my whole life with you.

[random-imagines-blog]

Vampire Town {Lestat de Lioncourt x Reader}

Requested by: I’m so sorry, I couldn’t find the conversation so I can’t remember. :( Wordcount: 2778 Summary: Happiness and Love can appear when least expected.

During the long span of your life, a lot of your nights had been sent in solitary. You wandered through the world, seeing the beautiful sights of history; the architecture, the music, the literature, the wars, but never had anyone to share that with. Until you came across the broken form of a blonde vampire - Lestat. “Oh, my dear, my dear,” You said, sensing the poor vampire. Broken, without a home, ready to give up on his life after his partner had left him. You sat on the stoop of a burned down mansion beside him, tore your wrist open and forced him to drink from you. He became greedy, which you encouraged. You had just fed on three mortals, willing victims who walked away just as safe as they had come, just a little anemic. You put your hand on the back of his neck and tilted his head back, letting the blood pour down his throat. You squeezed a few more drops, and he let you go, hanging his head upon your shoulder like a hungover human.

You took him to the abode you were staying in. Nothing so gothic as what Lestat may have been living in, but a home nonetheless. A three-story brownstone with a basement that concealed your coffin. You put Lestat into it before the dawn arrived, and looked down at him with a tilt of your head. He was a very handsome vampire, and would only look better with more blood flowing through his veins. He would need a trough-full, however. You would need to wake early to prepare that for him.

Your long fingers stroked his face, turning it towards the candlelight to get a better look. His skin was pale, his hair flaxen. He had been through a lot of pain - even his sleeping face showed that. It may take a dozen nights, perhaps, to get him to peak performance. But you did love a challenge, and were a sucker for a disaster of a person. Loneliness had grown old along side of you - why not try something new for once.

It took some time for the vampire, whom you learned to be named Lestat, to look alive again. Or, perhaps, a little less dead. He was far too beautiful to ever be considered a human being. Those dull creatures, though you were one of them once, bored you with their generic looks. You enticed a few of them towards the house, let Lestat feed. You found out one thing about him instantly - he was absolutely vicious when it came to feeding. Not at all as elegant as his demeanor might make it seem. And you allowed him to finish victims to nearly the point of death, then disposed of the bodies yourself.

“You seem to be feeling much better,” You said, joining him in your parlor. It was just you and he, as you knew no one else in New Orleans. You had only stopped here because it was where the first boat you came across was going. “How could you give up on your life like that?”

Another thing you learned about Lestat; he was very convinced of his own righteousness.

“It is my right to give up my life if I so wish,” He hissed, despite the blood dripping from his mouth. You did not say anything to contrary, just licked your thumb and plucked the droplet from his face. You let it rest on the tip of your tongue, savoring the flavor. “Who are you to try to bring me back?”

“You may call me y/n,” You said with a soft smile, ignoring his harsh tone. “I am noticing that you are alone, but you are well versed in talking to people. Were you a social one, Lestat?”

He was quiet for a little while after that, in some sort of reflection. He stared at nothing, and you left him to that, sleeping in a box rather than your coffin for you still allowed him to take over yours. That was the most intimate gesture that you had ever given to someone. You had shared your clothes with him, even, until you had gotten him some of his own. He looked as pretty as a painting in your white blouses, in your long dark skirts. In this world, for the first time, you had someone to share everything with.

His perpetually bad mood never bothered you. Nor did his dramatic nature. Because you knew that one day, he would either open up to you, or he would leave. You would prefer the first. But would have to quietly accept the second.

But after two years, a blink of an eye for someone like you, he opened up. He told you all about Louis, about Claudio, about Armand. About the reporter whom he had turned who was who-knows-where. About Marius, even, and how he had turned which was further back than you had expected him to go. And so in return, you told him about your loneliness, about how you had traveled from town to town and only run into a few like you. You did not know your maker. You didn’t remember him, or her. You didn’t even remember where it was that you were changed, only that you were high up in the mountains. Why you were there, you could not recall either. But you did not dwell on the mysteries of the past; only your present time.

And on Lestat, because for the present, and forseeable future, you were stuck with him. Lead a stray dog to a home and you have a pet, as you’ve heard someone say.

-

Half of the candles in the parlor remained unlit, for neither of you needed much light in order to see in the dark. Lestat had one of your hands in his as he lead you in a waltz around the room. You could not stop smiling - a facial expression that you hadn’t used too often over the years. A dance! You’ve never danced before, hence why Lestat was currently giving you a lesson. You were even wearing a gown that he had gifted to you - custom made in one of the best shops. He still had his connections in the city of New Orleans. A real vampire’s town, as you had discovered.

“You are a natural!” He praised with a smile of his own, showing off his glinting, sharp, white teeth. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“I’ve never had a partner. I haven’t met many of our kind before and dancing with a human just seems so...” You struggled to find the words. “Slow.”

“Very slow indeed,” Lestat agreed. He had picked a roses from the garden, and had them in a vase to add something living to the house. He now took one of them, and stuck it into his mouth, the thorns cutting at his lips but he did not have a care about that. You laughed at that - what a silly vampire you had ended up with.

“How is the pain, my darling?” You asked, licking your lips at the sight of that little bit of blood.

“Agonizing,” He droned, swinging you around into a spin, then returned you into his strong arms. The blouse that he wore, another thing custom made, was of a silk fabric, and felt soft upon your cheek. You suddenly remembered what it was like to cry, just from that light touch. Agonizing - you recalled what that felt like. It had been well over a century.

“The same as when you were betrayed by your love, Louis?” You questioned. Lestat cut the dance short, but he still held you.

“I don’t wish to talk about him any further,” He said, harshly. “There are more important things in my life now! I am free of him and his ... whining. I am being treated in the way that I deserve. And you - you are finally being treated as you deserve.”

Lestat wielded compliments as a weapon. He used them to distract you from asking further questions. And it worked, every time. You sighed contently as  he kissed your hand, then went up your arm towards your shoulder, then all the way back down. You could feel his cold lips through the fabric of your sleeves. It made you feel like a flower bulb in Spring, sprouting up for the first time from the damp dirt into the beautiful world above.

“You flatter me deeply, Lestat. You are better than I deserve.”

He spun you around once more, and you continued to spin in the middle of the room, arms outstretched as he watched you. Thanks to being a vampire, you did not feel dizziness like the humans did, and could outdance them all if you so wished. Lestat was a grand teacher. He then caught you, then dipped you low to the ground, so much so you could smell the dust of the floor.

“No, that is what you are to me.” His fangs were exposed as he smiled down at you, a fearsome image for anyone else, but not for you. You smiled back at him, and held him tightly as he brought you back up to your feet, humming along with the song.

“I should get cleaning this place, Lestat. It takes more than dancing to make a house a home.” You let go of him to go and grab a broom, but the blonde vampire grabbed you again. Ever since he had opened up to you, he loved to be in your presence. And it wasn’t something that you were going to complain about after being alone for so long.

“Don’t tease,” He said, holding onto your hands with his long fingers. “I’ll hire us a thousand maids, so you don’t have to get these wonderful hands dirty.” You let out a child-like laugh of glee at his amazing words. You were a sucker for them, mind the pun. “And a thousand more dresses for if you get a speck of dust on this one.”

“I don’t need a thousand dresses, Lestat. I could live in rags as long as I still had you.”

-

Five years later, you and Lestat still resided in New Orleans. It was a town of pleasure, of magic, of long nights - and plenty of swampland in order to hide bodies if you went too far with any victims. You did your best not to, but sometimes temptations swept in and you nearly drank to the point of death. But apart from that, you were living in a near-domestic bliss.

“Now, why are you doing this when you don’t get cold?” Lestat asked, walking in from the outside world with coins in his pocket and a well-fed look on his face. You were holding knitting needles in your hand, working on a shawl pattern that you had seen a woman working on last time you were out shopping. He kissed the top of your head and placed a bag on your lap before you could even answer him.

“I like to keep busy - it keeps eternity interesting,” You insisted. You set aside the knitting and started to examine the shopping bag that was on your lap. “What is this?”

“Why don’t you open it and see?” Lestat asked, with a cocky smile. You looked at him with amusement, then delicately opened up the bag. Inside was something ... something fabric. You pulled it out then stood with it in front of you. A long black gown - the color that you always wore, and which Lestat said you wore so well - and it was made of the softest velvet that you had ever felt. He looked pleased as you brought a sleeve to your face to feel the fabric even better. “Do you like it?”

“It’s wonderful, Lestat, thank you. What’s the occasion?”

“It is the anniversary of the day that you found me. The day that everything changed,” He held his hands up in the air as if he were an actor on a stage, something that you always found entertaining. You loved encouraging the odder aspects of his personality, just as he did the same for you, even when he could not understand.

“What a cheerful gown, I’ll wear it on our next night out.” You exclaimed, twirling with it. Though you would never be able to see yourself wearing it in a mirror, you thought that you would feel beautiful in it. And Lestat would tell you that you were. He was growing predictable in the most wonderful way.

“Why not today?” He questioned, approaching you and held it onto your body to emphasize how lovely you would look in it. “Wear it to bed with me. I want to feel it upon my cheek while I sleep.”

“I wouldn’t want it to get wrinkled... oh, alright,” You said, seeing his earnest expression. He helped you out of the simple dress that you were wearing, one that you had picked yourself. He was much more into the luxurious fashion of the day, favorite bright colors that made him stand out. You were not so flamboyant, and preferred to let him be the center of attention rather than yourself. It worked out well, though you did get occasional glances from other ladies, wondering how someone such as yourself had managed to gain the love of such a charmer.

You wondered the same thing yourself.

As his fingers tickled at your spine, as his hair swept against your face, you questioned how you could have grown so lucky. Were the years of isolation just a pre-payment for the years of happiness that you were having now?

You stepped into the new gown, and he pulled it up, over your thighs, your waist, your bust, your shoulders, and smoothed everything down so it draped you perfectly. He must have came home just in time, for a flash of lightning came through the windows, and the rumble of thunder. The sound of rain upon the roof and on the sidewalk. “Music to my ears,” You said, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“A most marvelous lullaby,” Lestat said, unable to stop feeling the fabric. The seamstress must have put a lot of work into this gown, for it fit you perfectly, emphasizing your waist and bust in a way you haven’t seen before without a corset, and fell to the ground without pooling at your feet. “May I take you to bed, beautiful?”

“Oh, you divine charmer,” You said, pressing your hand upon his cheek. He whisked you away, down to the basement where your coffin lay.

A while back, you had traded in your usual sarcophagus bed for something much better. It was Lestat’s idea initially, complaining about the long, cold days alone inside of a tomb. It had been an unexpected surprise when he actually did something about it, instead of expecting you to do so. When you came home from a feeding and a walk, he presented to you the double coffin. It was exactly as it sounded - two built into one, with room for both of you, and no inner wall to keep you apart.

He held your hand to help you climb inside, then followed you right in. Velvet dress on velvet interior; it felt both warm and rather sexual. With the lid closed, and the two of you in complete darkness, you felt confident, wrapping your arms around your blonde lover and pulled him close.

It took you some time to realize that this was the love that you deserved. That you were worthy of affection and love, despite all of the years that you had gone without it. And you were just lucky enough to find it with another vampire, so the only limit that you had was not time, but imagination.

As for Lestat, you had truly saved him from the misery that he had put himself through after Louis. He was ready to lock himself up for a hundred years or more, just to avoid the pain. To take the sleep of the immortal ones and awake in a brand new age. But this one still had a lot to offer, that much was clear with you. He never thought of that; only that he would remain in a state of purgatory, rather than a life of shooting stars and velvet gowns.

He was glad he stayed in this Vampire Town.

[apossessionadaybreak]

Halloween Special

Gary looked up from the TV just in time to see his son come out from his room for what was probably the fifth time that day to stare intently at him. He supposed this was some sort of new-age method of showing disapproval. He had to admit, it was a little unnerving, but someone had to be the disciplinarian.

“Ryan, I know you’re bored but you’re grounded for good reason and you know it. Just because it’s Halloween tonight doesn’t mean you can go around egging and TPing people’s houses, especially not poor old Mr. Quille. You know that he can’t get around so easily anymore.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, whatever you say dad.” 

Gary heard the sounds of shuffling feet and the slamming of a door. He sighed again.

Shaking his head to himself, he was about to turn his attention back to his programme only to be distracted by a stab of light coming from the table.

He turned, annoyed, to the source, only to find himself staring at a book. He looked quizzically at it for a moment, before abruptly recalling it was a gift from Mr. Quille from when he had gone over to talk about Ryan’s atrocious behaviour. ‘No hard feelings,’ as the man himself had put it. It was a sleek, leather-bound volume that seemed to be coated in some sort of reflective black material. He had never seen a book so… shiny before. Hell, it was probably brighter than his car parked alongside the sidewalk. Curious, he picked it up and was taken aback by how heavy it was. It felt nice though, as he weighed it in his palms, smooth and luxurious. He searched the cover for the title but could only make out the embossed shape of a ghost, the kind of shapeless blob malls usually sold during this time of year as a decoration. It looked amateurish compared to the rest of the item but somehow he couldn’t help but feel drawn by it.

He caught himself staring into the circles which represented the eyes for a bit too long before he realised he was sitting ramrod straight and the hairs on his arms were standing on end. He chuckled nervously to himself as he looked around the room but he was alone, naturally. A book of ghost stories it seemed, he used to devour these as a kid. Maybe Mr. Quille had thought Ryan would enjoy reading through them, though why he would think that, Gary couldn’t say. He cracked it open to reveal brand new, bone-white pages. He paused, up till now he had assumed that it had been an old possession of Mr. Quille’s, maybe some relic from his childhood. Yet, everything seemed to be pointing to the contrary. With his curiosity mounting, he settled down for a good read. He turned and plumped up the cushions, figuring he’d flip through a story or two. He flicked the pages at random, as images, clearer and more vibrant than he had ever envisioned began to form in his mind…

Blood Ties

The package on the doorstep was soft and shapeless but Saul still couldn’t help but feel threatened by it. It didn’t make any sense, the amount of anxiety he felt towards this inanimate object. No label, no card.  Just plain, waxy, brown paper. He didn’t know why he felt so worried, it was probably a gift from a friend, or perhaps some long-lost family member?

He pondered still, for a few minutes more, wondering why he was wondering so much about it, before finally gritting his teeth and ripping open the wrapping. He stared at the contents for a moment before bursting out in laughter at his own foolishness. The package he had been so worried about simply contained some pieces of what looked to be a formal suit. A… very expensive one at that. The strange, unsettling feeling crept in again. He shook his head, he wondered what his forefathers would have thought of him, losing his mind over clothing of all things. Saul did his best to maintain his composure as he unfolded it, holding it up against his own body. Whoever sent this package definitely seemed to know him. If he didn’t know any better he’d have said it was tailor-made for him but that was a ridiculous idea, wasn’t it?

He tried the shirt on first, marvelling at the smooth, buttery feel of the fabric. He relished the effortless way his knuckles slid along the length of the sleeve, so flawless was the craftsmanship. If it didn’t feel so good to wear it, he might have been more creeped out by how well it wrapped around him, how nicely it sat on his chest and shoulders. He struck a pose in front of the mirror, smiling in spite of himself. Did he look paler than usual? Maybe he hadn’t been getting enough sun lately. He shuddered at the thought.

The rest of the suit was just as exquisite, if not more. With each new article of clothing, Saul could feel his incredulity and enjoyment growing in equal parts. Whatever suspicions he had had evaporated as he savoured the act of dressing himself. He felt, no, he knew he was irresistible in all this finery. Dressed like this, he’d be able to charm the pants off of anyone, everyone. He stopped to take a look at himself in the mirror again, taking a moment to fish his heavy pocket watch out of the vest. He smiled to himself as he checked his timing, he still had it… though what exactly he still had he couldn’t remember for the life of him. He didn’t know why such a thought had popped into his head, unbidden. He looked good no doubt but for the barest moment, he thought he had seen his face turn mean, the shadow of a split-second sneer. What was scarier was how he could feel some part of him was wishing for it to come back. He stared intently at his reflection in a mix of fear and reverence, almost daring it to act before him. It was only when he felt his gaze begin to blur until he could barely see anything anymore that he blinked himself back to reality.

At last, came the tie. He picked it up and let it flow across his open palm, admiring the red and gold fabric. It felt so small in his beefy hands. He hadn’t realised before today how built up he was but now he relished it, rolling his haunches as he appreciated his own width. Apparently sometimes a perfectly tailored suit helped you to appreciate yourself better, who could have guessed? He certainly knew he’d never be able to wear anything else after today, the material fit him as snugly as a second skin, made him feel powerful, in control. He wrapped it around his neck, letting it hang loosely over his frame. Bringing his hands up, he knotted it in one swift, practiced motion. So mesmerised was he with his own appearance, he barely even registered that his hands seemed to be moving of their own accord, tightening the knot until it felt like it was biting into his soft exposed neck. His eyelids drooped down, and then, darkness.

Saul laid on the floor for a few moments, blinking. He sat up and gave himself a once over, then did so a second time but he knew he’d be alright, he was himself now. He stood and looked at the mirror, smirking as he did so. No reflection, but he’d expected as much. He rolled his shoulders, and once again, ran his hands along the fabric, feeling his clothes, feeling himself. He ran his newly claimed tongue over his teeth, noting that they still retained the familial sharpness. 

It had been a long time since he had last fed. People generally didn’t respond well to his kind. He couldn’t blame them for driving him out of town and threatening to burn his estate. But that didn’t matter now. He had done what was necessary to survive. Anyone who might have known him was long dead by now and people in general had long forgotten that creatures like him even existed. The paperwork would arrive soon enough, for the great-grandson who shared his name. In time, he would return to his rightful home and resume his old life there. Until then, Saul Senior had a terrible thirst to quench… 

~~~~

Gary looked up from the book, a little stunned. He thought Mr. Quille had said that it was for Ryan as much as him, that ‘your son could learn a lot from it’. This certainly wasn’t a book he could describe as being educational to anyone, not with the contents thus far. He couldn’t deny he had enjoyed himself though. As creepy as the tale was, it had fired his imagination, filled his mind with vivid scenes in a way that he hadn’t experienced before. He looked at the words on the page, secretly replaying the pictures in his head, again, and again, and again. He turned the page and kept reading…

Halloween Spirit

“I told you already Cole, I’ll take you trick or treating later-”

“But Dad, it’s 5pm already! The streetlights are coming on and all the pumpkins have been lit…”

“Cole Alphonsus Daniels, for the last time, we’ll go out, when I say we go out. Is that clear?”

“...yes sir.”

“Good. Now find some way to entertain yourself while I finish work. After that we’ll hit the streets.” 

Cole scowled as his father ruffled his hair. He ducked to avoid any further displays of affection and found his way to the front yard to sit on the porch. Holding his head in his hands, he stared glumly as people had begun to fill the streets. He longed to join but here he was, confined to waiting for his dad. 

His gaze wandered, looking for something, anything, interesting to look at and found himself staring dead ahead at the pumpkin sitting on the fence. There was something weird about it, other than the way it seemed to be evenly matching his gaze. Then it hit him, the pumpkin was unlit. Cole frowned, he thought he had made sure to get all of them earlier. He got up to light it, grabbing the candle from the lantern nearest to him. 

“Guess you’re missing out too huh, little guy?” He said as he waited for the wick to catch flame. He smiled as the pumpkin flickered to life.

“Well that’s you taken care of. Now if only my dad could hurry up and get out here.” The pumpkin flickered again. If Cole didn’t know better, he would have said it was winking at him. 

---

Gil Daniels tapped away at his keyboard, muttering to himself. He moved to open another document, glancing at the clock as he did so. Another hour before he planned to leave the house, plenty of time. He rubbed at his temples to try to alleviate some of his headache. Damn, he was getting old, if not in body, then in spirit. He picked up his mug and took a sip of coffee, leaning back in his chair as he did so. He licked his lips. The coffee sure tasted good today. Did Lauren do something special to it? He took another sip. Kind of like a pumpkin spice latte. Usually he hated those but this one tasted fresher somehow, more authentic. He closed his eyes and drank deeply, downing it in one go. He felt a warm glow permeate through his body, washing through every fibre of his being. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and smiled.

---

“Ready to go sport?” 

Cole jumped, nearly dropping the candle he was still holding. His father was standing in the doorway, beaming away, arms akimbo.

“Ye-yeah! Let me put this candle back.” He turned to the pumpkin he had just been talking to. “Did you do this?” The pumpkin stared merrily back at him but the flame held steady. “Well, if you did, thanks.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking to but I’m over here kiddo!” His father laughed as he spoke, a loud, hearty, chuckle. He took the candle from Cole as he approached and set it back in the original pumpkin. He turned to Cole, with mischief in his eyes.

“Race you to the next house.” Cole watched with wonder as his dad set off on a brisk jog. He giggled and dashed ahead of him, heading straight for the neighbour’s door, and rang the doorbell thrice for good measure.

“Beat you dad!” Cole laughed as his father saluted his victory. 

“What’s all this then?” Cole turned to the source of the harsh new voice and his smile wilted. He had forgotten about the cranky old man who lived here. He opened his mouth to say something but words failed him. He felt a reassuring hand clapped onto his shoulder and turned to see his dad.

“Pardon my son’s enthusiasm, we’re trick or treating for Halloween. Surely you understand?” He said, reaching his hand out. Cole watched as the old man initially jerked backwards, ready to slam the door shut but the instant his dad grabbed onto him, he stopped. The old man closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them with a wide smile. 

“Of course, of course, wait here, I’ll be only a moment.” The old man winked at Cole and walked back into the house, ostensibly to fetch some candy. Cole smiled warily back at him. Once he was out of earshot, Cole turned to his father.

“That was… kind of weird.”

His father shrugged good-naturedly.

“Seems the holiday spirit is particularly infectious today.” He said with a grin.

~~~~

Gary felt his head snap up as he finished the last word. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been reading for but it suddenly felt like it must have been hours. He looked at the TV to check the clock but was greeted by a black screen. When had he switched it off? He turned to his watch, still early in the afternoon, as evidenced by the sunlight streaming in through the windows. He wasn’t sure why he was so concerned about the time, it wasn’t as if he was going to go anywhere, he needed to take care of Ryan at home. Mr. Quille had told him as much. ‘A boy needs his father.’ He found himself nodding along in agreement, before realising how silly he must have looked to anyone watching. Thankfully Ryan was still in his room. Besides, he was really getting into a reading groove now, he looked back down as he turned the page, eager for the next story…

Bared Souls

Bernard was running. He wished that he knew where he was moving to but he knew that didn’t matter as much as staying on the move. He’d gone too deep into the forest this time and now there was a bear chasing after him. He knew his chances weren’t good but what choice did he have? He threw cautionary glances behind him every now and then, hoping the beast would get bored and wander off but he couldn’t be sure, so he kept running.

As his lungs began to scream for oxygen and his legs threatened to give out, he slowed down and thrust his hand against a thick tree trunk for support. He tried to steady his breathing, not quite willing to look around just yet. Either he had lost the bear, or he’d be overtaken in seconds due to exhaustion. He closed his eyes, hoping against hope it was the former. After a few minutes of not being mauled to death, he allowed himself a cautious look around. No bear, thank goodness. But… no signs of civilisation either. He frowned.

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire eh old boy?” He whispered to himself, trying to calm his nerves. He sat down and pulled his compass and map out, trying to get a sense of where he could go from here. Unfortunately he couldn’t see any landmarks near his position. He tried to stand up but sat back down almost immediately, his head spinning. He knew he’d probably find his way out with enough time but it suddenly occurred to him that he was very, very, very tired. He leaned against the tree trunk, figuring he’d rest his eyes for just a few minutes. Just a few minutes, that’s all… 

---

When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was how much darker it was. Cursing his own foolishness, he stood up, alert, and angry with himself. Grumbling, he pulled out his compass and map again, squinting as best as he could in the fading light. Then he heard a growl. No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening. The growl came again, louder this time. He swung around, cursing under his breath, trying to locate the source of the noise. With the third and loudest growl yet, he bolted off in the opposite direction, fleeing for his life. 

He ran until he once again could not run anymore. He looked around even as he panted for breath. More trees, still no sign of where he could be. With the sunlight rapidly fading, it was looking like he’d have to spend the night in the woods. How could he have been so ill-prepared? He’d be lucky not to freeze to death. That was, if the bears didn’t find him first. He walked with one hand outstretched, as the woods grew darker still. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was trying to find, if anything. He just kept putting one foot in front of the other. 

Then the growling started again. Bernard grit his teeth, trying not to scream out in frustration and despair. This time he didn’t even have the slightest idea where it had come from. It was as if it had sounded all around, or maybe even from inside him. Insanity had come for him it seemed. He tilted his head, straining his ears, begging them to help him pick out which direction the bear was. He could scarcely trust his own senses as the growling began to fade away. Bernard breathed easily for a few moments. He turned his head to the front, only to find himself face to face with the bear.

He yelped out in fright, before he even realised he should not have been able to see anything in the darkness, let alone the bear. The bear did not blend in against the dark woods. Instead it glowed, brightly at that. Tendrils of light radiated off of its body and dissipated lazily into the air. The bear licked its nose, apparently entirely unbothered by Bernard or his palpable fear. It stepped closer and Bernard realised it made no noise as it moved. Even though he knew it made no sense, he could see through the bear. He could see the leaves it stepped on remain as scattered and unflattened as they were before. 

The bear tilted its head and yawned at him, before pawing the ground and walking past him. Bernard didn’t realise he was holding his breath until the bear turned to look at him. Incredulous, he watched as the bear gestured with its head, twice. Follow me, it seemed to be saying. He stepped forward cautiously, shivering as he did so. Whether it was from the cold or fear, he couldn’t say. He stepped forward again, closer and closer, until he was directly alongside the bear.

And then the bear stepped into him.

Bernard stood stock still, certain he was going mad and seeing things. Yet, he could feel the bear as it continued to align itself against his flesh. Against all logic, he felt obliged to get on all fours so the bear could do so more comfortably. As the bear filled him, he felt a sense of extraordinary calm. His face twitched as he felt his senses heighten. New smells, new sounds, a completely different way of experiencing the world. He crawled forward, expecting to feel foolish, only to realise how natural his movements felt.

He broke into a running gait, as if he had known how to do so his entire life. His heart beat a steady thrum in his chest as he navigated the woods. It was all so simple, so obvious. How had he not realised it before? He headed easily through the winding roads, following the smells and clues towards where he knew humans would be. He ran for what must have been hours but not once did he grow tired. He felt alive, more than he had ever known throughout his years of existence. No need for fear, no sense of urgency, just purity of movement towards the goal that was emblazoned in his mind. 

He came to the edge of the woods as the solid darkness began to give way to a pale blue. Not that he had needed the light to make his way through the night. He arched his back and felt himself stand up straight. At the same time he felt as if something was slipping out of him. His senses dulled rapidly back to normalcy but now it was jarring and unfamiliar. He turned back to see the same radiant bear again. He looked towards the road, the one that would take him back to civilisation. After the night he had had, it would be nice to return back home to a warm shower and bed. Even as he thought of his modern comforts, he couldn’t help feeling that something was missing, that he’d remain forever incomplete if he walked out of these woods as he was now.

He turned to look at the bear again. This time, it was he who gestured with his head. Twice. The bear looked as impassive as ever and he worried for a moment that it would turn back into the woods. Then it stepped forward, until it was alongside him. This time, it was Bernard who stepped willingly into the waiting spirit, for now he knew what it was. Their bodies aligned once more, the two took a few tentative steps, before throwing their head back and roaring as one.

~~~~

Gary sat with the book open in his lap. He stared blankly at the ceiling as his lips parted ever so slightly. The book rose into the air but Gary made no sign that he was aware of it, or anything at all for that matter. The pages began to flip rapidly but even as they flapped in his face, they remained neat, uncreased, orderly. As they approached the ends of the book, the pages picked up speed until it snapped shut. Whatever enchantment it was under seemed to come to an end as the book began to fall to the ground, only to be caught by a thick, deft hand. Gary blinked, and smiled as he looked over the book once again. Gone was any design that might have been tattooed on it. The front and back were now identical smooth dark faces. He smiled to see his own name now written in bold gold lettering down the length of the spine. He popped the book open, to the page he knew the dedications would be written on. 

“To my neighbour, Gary, whose door is always open to me.”

Chuckling, he closed the book just as Ryan came out of the room.

“Hey Ryan.”

“Wha-uh, yeah dad?”

“Want to go trick or treating?”

“Uhhhhh, I thought I was grounded.”

“You still are mister but I can make an exception as long as you’re with me.”

Ryan looked as if he wanted to roll his eyes but the chance to get out of the house was too golden to pass up.

“...Ok, let me get changed.” Ryan said, before bounding back into his room, clearly eager to leave.

Gary smiled. He got up and stretched out his arms, flexing his fingers as he looked at them admiringly. He called out to Ryan.

“Let’s visit Mr. Quille next door first. I-uh, I mean he will be more than happy to see us, I should think.”

[hearkensentinel]

Self-Care for the Rest of Us

Self-care is hard for lots of us, for many reasons. But it doesn’t help that most of the popular suggestions are a friggin' sensory nightmare (temperature changes, fragrances, nudity, new places, bright lights, having stuff touching you, strangers looking at various body parts, etc. etc.) Obviously everyone has different positive and negative sensory experiences, but just once I'd like to see a list that's a little more generally neurodivergent-friendly. some random ideas to get us started:

Wear your favorite jacket indoors, or your favorite fuzzy pajamas outdoors.

Buy a weighted blanket.

Fiddle with something that has a texture you appreciate.

Sit as weirdly as possible. (If you can do so safely, of course)

Try adjusting the environment so you’re really comfortable. Just for a little while, ignore everyone else and arrange the universe to your precise specifications. (If you live with someone else, obviously you’ll want to get buy-in from them first.)

Turn all the lights off (or on). Wear sunglasses if it helps. Get some soft yellow LEDs and/or opaque lampshades for diffuse lighting.

Turn down the brightness/contrast on your monitor. Try Dark Mode in your browser or your whole computer.

Turn off/unplug chargers, surge protectors, TVs, smart outlets, and any other electronics that make That Sound.

Wear earplugs or headphones around the house, even with no music. Or, try turning music up (safely) loud, if that helps you breathe.

Turn up the heat/AC/fan and sit right next to the radiator/vent.

Close your eyes and rock back and forth. (It’s a classic for a reason.)

Tell people you’re going on a social media break. If at all possible, arrange to avoid seeing the words "yoga", "mindfulness", "positive", "holistic", and "wellness" for 48 hours.

I can’t promise any of these will work for you, of course, and not everyone has the resources to try them. But the idea is to think of things that might make you more comfortable and help you relax, and try doing them sometimes, whether that means lighting scented candles or banning scented candles (even unlit ones) from the house for a week. You might find that some of these changes could even be made permanent.

[alloftheimagines]

billy hargrove | heaven-sent | part six

masterlist | series | part five

words: 2k+

warnings: mentions of death, abuse, fighting, swearing, drinking, aggression, non-consensual kiss

disclaimer: i in no way support the actions of billy. i just find his character interesting and want to explore it more with my oc. takes place from season 2. OC is hopper’s daughter.

summary:  she’s an angel. he may as well be the devil. one would not exist without the other.

The gentle hum of the engine is peaceful as the Camaro cruises through Hawkins. Billy doesn’t try to cover it with his music the way he usually would. After the night he’s had, he’s grateful for the quiet. He’s unable to forget the way his father’s fist collided with his face earlier, his cheek still throbbing painfully. His jaw aches, too, and he realises he’s been clenching it for hours. He relaxes it now as best he can, his attention drawn away from it entirely when they pass a bunch of wilted flowers placed randomly on the side of the road. There are unlit candles, too, the wax melted into the concrete.

“Someone die there or somethin’?” he asks without thinking.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Frances flinch and regrets asking. “Yeah. Her name was Barb.”

“Did you know her?” He glances at her, but she isn’t looking at him, her head turned away as she gazes out of the window.

“She was my best friend.”

Jesus. I’m—” He sucks in a breath, his grip tightening on the steering wheel sub-consciously. Sorry, he wants to say, but somehow the word doesn’t do it justice. “What happened to her?”

“She was killed.” She tucks a strand of brown hair behind her ear, her eyes hardening as she turns them back on the road ahead. She still won’t look at him.

“Shit,” he whispers. “Did they catch ‘em?”

“No.” She shakes her head, her voice cracking. Her chest is heaving as though she’s suppressing a sob or is struggling to breathe. He shuffles in his seat, unsure what to do or say. He doesn’t need to force anything out: she continues before the right words come. “I should have been there that night. She begged and begged for me to come to this stupid party with her at Steve Harrington’s house. Nancy was forcing her. She wasn’t really part of that crowd and she didn’t wanna be alone, always said it was easier for her when I was there. She died alone.”

“It’s not your fault,” Billy replies softly. It’s easier for him to be soft in the dark; easier to allow himself to sound as though he gives a damn. “You couldn’t have known.”

“But I did,” she hits back, looking at him now. Her eyes are shiny with tears, her hands clinging to her camera desperately. “I had this awful feeling in my chest, like I couldn’t breathe, all fucking night—only I thought it was because Jonathan’s brother was missing. I was so busy looking for him with my dad that I wasn’t there for Barb. Now she’s gone. And I knew.”

Her face is illuminated in the pale headlights passing on the other side of the road, and for a moment her eyes seem to flicker, blaze, change. Her irises, once a green that reminded Billy of the Californian sea on a rare, grey day, are now golden. He does a double take, almost swerving the car in the process, but when he looks again they look as they always did: murky ocean eyes half-hiding behind dark lashes and unruly bangs.

“Shit,” he curses, forcing his eyes back on the road. “Your eyes.”

She frowns, paling and pulling down the overhead mirror with enough force that Billy is worried she might break his damn car. “What?”

“Nothin’, I—” he stutters, blinking and looking at her again. Had he imagined it? Was it the light off the other car? “I thought you had something in your eye. It was nothin’.”

He pulls into the clearing where the trailer stands, lonely and grey against the black lake. The tyres roll against the gravel unevenly, the engine cutting out and replaced with silence.

“Your dad home?” he asks, just as he had the previous night. The trailer’s windows are dark, the house empty and solitary where it stands. He can’t imagine calling this place a home, even with his own circumstances.

“No,” she replies, unfastening her seat-belt slowly. “You wanna come in for a while? I could use that drink, now.”

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips as he takes the keys out of the ignition and grabs the bottle of whisky from beside him. “Sure. Why not?”

* * *

The trailer isn’t as small as it looks from the outside. It’s cosy, earthy, and he can imagine Frances pottering about on it on a Saturday, drinking coffee with the patterned curtains closed to block out the low winter sun. Still, he can’t imagine sleeping in this thing alone. They’re basically in the middle of nowhere. He can’t even smell cow shit out here, and the lake is eerily still even in the wind.

“Your dad work a lot?” He places the whiskey on the kitchen counter and she pulls out two glasses from the oak cupboards, standing on her tip-toes and arching her back to reach.

“Yeah. I’m used to it now.”

“You don’t get scared out here alone?” he teases, leaning against the counter.

She pours the whiskey carefully and slides his tumbler towards him, taking a sip of her own. If the burn fazes her, she doesn’t show it. “I’m always scared. Doesn’t make a difference if I’m out here or in the middle of town.”

“Because of Barb?”

She shrugs. Her cheeks are flushed from the short walk between the car and the trailer, making the small cut on her cheek appear redder than it did before. “Because of a lot of things. You need ice for that bruise?”

He had forgotten about it for the first time tonight. He touches it now as if to remind himself, trying to hide his wince as he realises how tender it is. “I’m good,” he says despite himself.

She rolls her eyes, kneeling down to rifle through the freezer. When she comes up, she’s holding frozen peas. She chucks them at him, and he catches reluctantly, pressing them gently to his face. “Thanks.”

“So, where did you move from?” she questions, leading him to the couch and sitting down, whiskey in hand. He follows, sitting beside her, perhaps a little closer than he had meant to. He doesn’t make an effort to budge down.

“California.”

“Yeah?” Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “That’s a little different than Hawkins. What was it like?”

“It was …,” he sighs, unable to find the right words. Nobody had asked him that yet, really. Nobody in Hawkins cared about Billy’s old life. Sometimes, it no longer feels as though it exists at all. “It was home. I basically lived on the beach. Had bonfires most nights, spent my days out in the sun. There was always something happening, too. Carnivals, fairs, gigs. You’d love it. You'd get some amazing photographs.”

“Yeah,” she smiles, hanging on his every word. He can’t help but look at her again, at her eyes that he’d been sure had changed. They were still green, still the closest he could get to his favourite place. “I bet. You must miss it like crazy.”

“More than anything,” he admits, sipping his drink to distract himself from the sudden attention. “What about you, you lived here your whole life?”

“Actually, I lived in New York for a while when I was a kid. My mom still lives there with her new husband.”

“Did you like it?”

She shakes her head, leaning back into the couch as her eyes glaze over for a moment, remembering. “I did. Now, it just reminds me of things I’d rather forget.”

“Like?”

“I think I’ve told you enough of my little sob story tonight,” she laughs, but Billy can tell it isn’t genuine. He can’t help but wonder if they’re more alike than he thought, looking at the cut on her cheek again. Did the chief do that? He seems to walk around town in an eternally foul mood: it wouldn’t necessarily surprise him if he took it out on her.

He finds himself inching closer to her, so close that their foreheads are almost touching. “I like talking to you. You’re the only person in this shitty town I can stand to be around, even if you are all gloom and doom.”

“Gee, thanks.” Sarcasm drips from her words without conviction. He can hear her breath coming out quicker as he looks down at her soft, pink lips longingly. She doesn’t close the distance, so he takes it upon himself.

Their lips press together for only a moment before her hands are on his stomach, pushing him away. She stands up, crossing her arms over her chest as though she’s naked rather than fully clothed with layers of knitwear. Her face is bright red, her eyes blazing. “What the fuck, Billy?”

“What?” he replies cluelessly, raking his hand through his hair and pretending as though his cheeks aren’t heating up in embarrassment. He can’t remember the last time he was rejected.

“What?” Frances repeats in disbelief. “God, what was this? Were you just trying to get into my pants the entire fucking time? Driving me home, getting back my camera, listening to me when I talk about my dead friend and my cheating boyfriend because I’m a fucking idiot who thought that maybe you weren’t so bad, that maybe you actually gave a shit?”

He’s speechless, licking his dry lips as he tries to figure out what to say. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Why would I ever want that? I just ended a two-year relationship with my best fucking friend.”

“And I’m great at rebound sex,” he answers as though it’s obvious. He can feel anger beginning to bubble in him, not because he’s mad at her words, but because she’s yelling—and he still doesn’t know why. “Why else am I hear, Fran? You wanna talk about feelings all night while you braid my damn hair? Cuddle by the fuckin’ fire with a mug of hot cocoa, marshmallows on top? You’re not stupid. You know I’m not that guy.”

Tears are pricking her eyes again, and this time she doesn’t blink them back. He’s not sure she even knows she’s crying in her own, blind rage. “So all of this was just for sex? All of it?”

Billy softens at the sadness in her voice, his elbows digging painfully into his thighs as he puts his head in his hands and takes a breath. “No, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t plan all this just to screw you. I just … When you invited me in, I thought—”

“Thought you’d shoot your shot,” she finished bitterly. “Of course you did; of course opening my door to you automatically meant opening my legs, too. You’re a fucking asshole, Billy. I don’t know why I let you in. I don’t know why I let any of this happen. Just get out.”

“Fran—” he says desperately, standing up from the couch and walking around the coffee table to meet her.

“Get out, Billy!” Frances shouts. “Get the fuck out!”

She pushes him backwards with more force than he’d been expecting, sending him flying straight into the door. It falls open against his weight, and he falls with it, landing on the porch. His defeated, shocked body is illuminated by the white porch light.

Frances stands in the doorway, speechless. Clearly, she had been expecting this as much as he had.

“Jesus!” he yells when he’s able to find the words. It hurts him, being treated this way. He could take it from his father, his friends, the shitheads he beats up at school and parties, but he hadn’t been expecting her to touch him like that—and it’s clear she hadn’t meant to by the way she looks at him as though he’s broken, as though she’s broken him, though she can’t know what this means to him. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re a crazy bitch, you know that?”

“Fuck you,” she whispers weakly as he pulls himself up, using the fence as support. “Leave me alone, Hargrove.”

“Gladly,” he responds, his upper lip curling in contempt. His hands are balled into fists as he marches away, barely sparing her a glance as he slams the door of the Camaro shut after sliding into the driver’s seat. His tyres struggle against the gravel, spitting out dust and dirt as he speeds away, watching her retreating figure standing in the threshold of the trailer in the rear-view mirror.

part seven

[robinskey]

99, 72, 56 please. Your character choice.

Dustin’s Surprise Party

Prompts: “How could you forget your son’s birthday?” (99), “Just smile, I really need to see you smile right now” (72), and “I’m late” (56)

A/N: I did it for Steve (bc OF COURSE I did). Also, we have a Henderson! reader (bc OF COURSE we do. As I have previously stated, I am trash for Steve x Henderson! Reader.) Thanks for the request!!

Warnings: Swearing

Steve’s in the middle of leisurely closing up shop on a weeknight. Bohemian Rhapsody’s playing on the radio, and Steve hums along as he sweeps the floor. When the phone rings, he takes his sweet time sauntering across the store to pick it up.

“Hawkins Family Video. How may I help you?”

“Where are you, dingus?”

If it hadn’t been for the nickname, Steve might not have recognized the voice on the other end of the line. However, his best friend refers to him almost exclusively with that name. Steve sighs before inquiring what she’s talking about.

“Don’t you remember what today is?”

Steve wracks his brain but still comes up short. “Um...Tuesday?”

“Oh my god. Your girlfriend’s here freaking out, trying to get everything ready before the boys get home from AV club, and you can’t even remember what day it is.”

That’s when the lightbulb finally clicks in Steve’s head.

“Shit. Dustin’s surprise party is tonight, isn’t it?”

“Ding, ding, ding! We have a...I would say ‘winner,’ but you’re really more of a ‘wiener.’ How could you forget your son’s birthday?”

“Okay, first of all, don’t call him my son. I’m dating his sister, so that’s weird as hell,” Steve says. “Second of all-“

Robin, being Robin, interrupts. “Mrs. Henderson just left to pick the kids up from school, so they’ll be arriving any minute. Just get here, okay? Preferably before Y/N loses it.”

There’s a screech as Robin slams the phone onto the receiver-a clear sign that Steve needs to get moving ASAP, unless he wants Robin to give him crap about it for the rest of his life.

***

Steve drives almost twice the speed limit the entire way there. However, it’s not fast enough to outpace Mrs. Henderson. Her station wagon is already parked in the driveway by the time Steve pulls up. He hops out of his car and sprints to the front door, trying to avoid missing another minute of the party he’s supposed to be co-hosting.

When he steps onto the front porch, the door automatically swings open. Robin stands there, eyebrows raised so high that they blend into her hairline.

“So you finally decided to show up, huh?” she chuckles. “Come on. Everyone’s in here.”

Steve follows Robin into the kitchen. The entire party is gathered around the table, along with Mrs. Henderson, Nancy, and Jonathan. (I don’t know why I felt the need to include Jancy, but I wanted Robin to be there, and I only felt it was fair for them to be invited, too.) There’s a homemade sheet cake in the center of the table, decorated with fifteen unlit candles and the words “Happy Birthday Dustin” written in your looping cursive. The guest of honor sits at the head of the table, practically salivating at the sight of his cake. But when his eyes fall on Steve, they light up even more.

“Hey, dude! You made it.” Dustin walks up to Steve and performs their handshake, which ends in a bro hug.

“Yeah, I did. Happy birthday, man. Sorry I’m late.”

Dustin laughs. “Normally, that wouldn’t bother me, but Y/N was making us wait to cut the cake until you got here.”

“Really?” Steve’s cheeks heat up. You’re so considerate, always thinking of others. Meanwhile, he can’t even make it to a party he helped plan on time.

“Yeah. I think she wanted you to see how much of a domestic goddess she is or some shit.”

“Dusty!”

“Sorry, Mom,” Dustin says.

Steve scratches the back of his neck. “Hey, um-where is Y/N?”

“Right here.” You appear around the corner, waving the box of matches you’ve spent the last ten minutes searching for. Then, you glare at your little brother. “By the way, I heard what you said about me, Dustin. You’re lucky it’s your birthday. Otherwise, I’d kick your ass.”

“Y/N!”

“Sorry, Mom,” you echo your brother’s words from earlier before nodding to your boyfriend. “Glad to see you finally decided to turn up.”

Steve stands there awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. He watches as you scrape a match against the side of the box, then migrates toward you to help light the candles. When his hand twitches in the direction of the matches, you subtly scoot them out of his reach.

The flush rises back up to his face when he catches El whisper something in Max’s ear, and the two of them giggle. Nonetheless, he still tries to help you serve up the cake. He continuously gets in your way, so you finally allow him to take charge of scooping the ice cream.

It isn’t until fifteen minutes later that you actually get a chance to sample the cake you baked from scratch. Steve’s barely eaten all day, so he’s famished, but he makes sure you get the bigger slice of cake and a generous helping of ice cream. There’s not enough room at the table, so the two of you head into the living room.

The spot you choose reveals how angry you are with him. You’re not pissed enough to sit on a different piece of furniture, even though there are other chairs available. However, judging by the fact that you create as much distance as possible by nestling into the corner of the loveseat, Steve knows you’re still not pleased with him.

“You did a really nice job with the cake. It looks beautiful.” When he’s met with silence, Steve digs his fork into the dessert, shovels it into his mouth, and lets out an exaggerated moan. “Oh, my god. It tastes even better than it looks.”

You still don’t respond-just swirl your spoon through your bowl of ice cream. However, the corners of your lips quirk slightly upward. He nudges your foot with his.

“Look, babe, I’m really sorry about tonight. I just-lost track of time.” You give him a pointed look. “Okay, okay. I also lost track of the day. But I’ll make it up to you, baby. I promise. Let me make it up to you.”

Steve places a kiss on your neck-a bold move, considering all your family and friends are in the next room. It sends a shiver down your spine, but you still shove him away. He’s not getting off the hook that easily.

Besides, it’s your brother’s birthday party. Someone’s probably going to catch you if you just start making out on the couch. The options for that “someone” include your mom, little brother, one of your brother’s friends, Steve’s ex-girlfriend, Steve’s ex-girlfriend’s current boyfriend, and/or Steve’s best friend. (On paper, the last seems like the best option, but Robin would probably actually be the worst, considering she’d never let you live it down.)

So, yeah. Not happening.

“Come on, Y/N. I know I screwed up. But surely, there’s something-“

“Just smile. I really need to see you smile right now.”

The words tumble off your lips as you think of them. You’re not really sure why you make this request, but you do. And Steve doesn’t question it; he just breaks out into the cheesiest grin you’ve ever seen. It melts your heart like the long-forgotten ice cream turning into a puddle on your paper plate. You set it on the coffee table, and Steve follows suit-still flashing his pearly whites.

“Okay, you can stop now. It’s starting to get creepy.”

“Creepy, eh? You’re the one who requested this. And now you’re insulting me for it? That’s a little hypocritical of you, don’t you think?” When you respond with a giggle, Steve adds, “Don’t you laugh at me! Or I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

His hands travel to your waist, and as soon as you realize what he’s doing, you playfully swat at them. “Steve Harrington, don’t you dare.”

“Or what?” he asks, pausing for a moment to tilt his head slightly to the side.

“Or...else.”

Of course, that vague threat is not enough to stop him from tackling you with tickles. You giggle uncontrollably as he pins you to the couch. His fingers graze your sides, leaving fluttering butterflies in their wake. You’re not sure if it’s his close proximity making you dizzy or the fact that you’re taking in an inadequate amount of oxygen. You haven’t gotten an actual breath of air in several minutes; even between fits of laughter, you don’t get a chance to breathe, since Steve’s constantly stealing kisses. You get lost in the taste of sugar on his lips and the musky smell of his cologne

You get so lost, in fact, that you don’t hear the approaching footsteps until it’s already too late.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Steve pulls himself off you so quickly that he almost tumbles off the sofa. You both recoil into your separate corners of the couch and run fingers through your hair, trying (and failing) to smooth it back down.

Robin stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest and a smirk on her face. Steve’s face flushes for the third time tonight. This time, however, he doesn’t just turn a little pink; his skin burns fire-truck red. He stumbles over his words.

“It wasn’t-I don’t know how it looked, but we weren’t-“

“Yeah, yeah, sure you weren’t, dingus. You’re lucky it was just me and not, like, Dustin. You would’ve scarred the kid for life,” she says. “Anyway, I was just looking for the restroom, so...”

Unlike Steve, you’re too shell-shocked to be embarrassed. You raise a single finger to point down the hall.

“Thanks. Carry on...with whatever you definitely weren’t doing,” Robin says with a wink.

At this point, Steve’s skin is so hot that it’s just a matter of time before he bursts into flames.

Meanwhile, Robin’s already planning how she’s going to incorporate this story into the future toast for her favorite couple’s wedding.

Taglist: @novaddictx @anabundance0ffand0ms @rexorangecouny @broadwayandnetflix @explode-a-pult @whormotional @readinthegarden12 @lacunaclouds

If you want to be added to the tag list for a specific character/my writing in general, leave a reply or send me a message! Thanks again for reading. <3

If you want to check out more of my writing, here’s my masterlist. :)

[harmonioussolve]

Proper Nice - Chapter 13

Twenty Five candles.

After your run earlier, you made a trip to the store in an anxiety ridden haze. You had a hard time picking out exactly which candles to go with. You settled for twenty five vanilla, cream colored candles, all of various heights and sizes. It wasn’t the kind of fake vanilla scent that made you nauseous, but the kind that was noted in most feminine fragrances. Sensual. Sweet.

Now, you were standing in the middle of your apartment, wrapped in a towel just as you were the night that Arthur helped you move in, reveling at the placements of your unlit candles. Some were placed on your kitchen bar, your dining table, and your coffee table. You decided against placing them on your precious living room centerpiece - your bookshelf - knowing that with your bad luck, they might accidentally catch one of your plants or vinyls on fire.

You moved to the bedroom to see what they would look like as you entered. Candles were perched on top of the nightstand and your vanity, accompanying your makeup and makeup mirror. Three were placed on the dresser, all of different heights like Russian dolls. You unwrapped yourself and tossed the towel onto your bed.

After curling your hair into glossy, loose, vintage waves, you pinned one size back, flattering your jawline. When you were applying the finishing touches of your makeup, your hands started to tremble.

You looked over at the tumbling red satin that hung delicately from a black velvet hanger, hooked to the top edge of your bathroom door.

You stood bare before your dress, basking in its shine and flawless hems. Ishtar is the best. You ran your fingers along the bunched up fabric at the hips and your perfect red gel manicure scratched against the grain of the satin. Your cheeks burned as the corners of your lips were tempted to curl into a smile. You thought of Ishtar’s words from a few days before. He’s different, yes?

You dropped your hand to your side and moved to the dresser. Earlier that week, you had found time within your busy schedule to visit a high end boutique just outside of the city. The fact that you had hardly seen Arthur had motivated you even more to spend the money that was burning a hole in your pocket. You took out the lingerie and placed each piece on the bed - a red lacy bra with matching panties and a garter belt, with beige stockings. 

You’ve never made the effort for someone like this before, not even serious boyfriends that you dated in the past for extensive periods of time.

You dressed yourself in the lingerie, gently pulling up the fragile stockings as to not create runs in them, and cinched them to the dangling clasps of the garter belt. You put on your nude red bottomed heels & finally stepped into your dress - shimmying it upwards and holding your breath as you reached behind to pull up the zipper.

It was five minutes to 7pm and by Arthur’s track record, he would knock on your door at 7 on the spot. Hell, he might even be pacing around in the hallway.

You fastened your dangling earrings in as you walked towards the door. You extended your hand out to the knob and, before you could reach it, Arthur knocked.

You inhaled deeply through your nose before opening the door. Arthur was standing nervously with his hands behind his back. The truth was that you were just as nervous as him - if not more. It was hard to bear the thought that everything could change after tonight.

He was dressed in a rich red suit - a three piece paired with a striped tie and a cream button down shirt. His hair was styled in his signature loose waves and the color of his suit brought out his bright chartreuse eyes. You exhaled and relaxed your shoulders just at the sight of him. However, the sight of you seemed to have the opposite effect.

When he raised his eyes to look at you, he tensed up immediately and his eyes went wide. An event such as tonight would be intimidating and a sensory overload for anyone who met your family, let alone at a gala event. We’ll try to make the most of it, for now.

“Wow,” he whispered. “You look stunning.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thank you. You look perfect,” you beamed.

“Thank you…” He smiled sheepishly at the floor. “I got something for you.”

Before you could ask what? he withdrew his hands from behind his back to present a small bouquet of flowers - seven red roses.

“You deserve real ones.”

You gasped. “Oh, Arthur. Thank you so much.”

You inhaled their scent deeply before placing the bouquet on your kitchen counter and traded them for your evening clutch.

“Ready?” You asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Should we call a cab?” Arthur asked upon exiting the elevator. You turned your head to hide the smile on your face. You wouldn't dare to get in a cab with this gown on, but you weren’t going to say that. 

“No, I already called us a car.”

“Oh.”

When the two of you stepped through the front doors, Arthur quickened his pace so that he could open the car door for you, but your driver appeared from around the corner. As Arthur was about to reach for the handle, he stopped him. 

“Allow me, sir.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Arthur paused and glanced at you. He motioned with his hand for you to get settled in first. 

Arthur slid in after you and sat at a respectable distance away without looking in your direction. It’s amazing how someone can continue to amuse you with just the simplest gestures. 

The driver closed the door behind him before rounding the corner to his door. He got situated in his seat while you pulled out your phone to check it after it had buzzed.

See you later, bitch!

Sabrina. You huffed out a laugh as you replaced your phone into your clutch. You exhaled and rolled your neck in an effort to relax. You knew you had to say something - to at least warn Arthur about what he was about to get himself into. You were afraid that he wouldn't be interested anymore, not just in going to the gala but, being with you. Would he find you too unrelatable? 

The ironic thing is that you’ve never found someone as relatable as Arthur. It didn’t matter what background either of you came from. You felt as though he understood you more than anyone else on a level that couldn’t be articulated - and you were very afraid to lose that. But, the truth was a lot of people - not just guys - did not cared for your background. It was hardly your lifestyle choice, but when the dreaded moment came for someone to finally see where you truly came from, it made them uncomfortable. You understood though. Hardly anyone lived the way that your family did. It was the kind of lush life that people were sure it was unattainable.

You were so far removed from your privileged upbringing that you refused to accept any kind of help from your parents. You knew better. Your mother would hold it above your head, even if she was repaid twice over. 

And some previous lovers had come from almost the same upbringing as you, but it never made a difference. You thought that maybe if you gave those types of guys a chance that it would work. But, it didn’t. You couldn’t relate to them, ironically. The Wall Streeters, the trust fund babies, the Hampton dwellers. You couldn’t care less.

You reached over and placed your hand on top on his. He smiled up at you shyly. His hands were ice cold against your anxiously hot skin. You decided to change the subject in your mind. The two of you had plenty of time during this car ride - it wasn’t going to be a short one after all.

At the end of this, your family and what Arthur thought of you were the least of your worries, because there was something else that you still needed to tell him.

But, that too, could wait.

The glow of the traffic lights lit up Arthur’s face and the backseat in a wash of red. It occurred to you that you still knew nothing about this guy. “Can you tell me something?” You whispered.

Arthur peered up at you puzzlingly. “L-like what?”

You cleared your throat. “Sir, can you roll up the partition, please?”

“Yes, miss.” The driver obliged.

You looked back at Arthur. “Anything.”

-

Thank you guys for still keeping up! Read it on AO3 by the same name.

[mianite-3-unofficial]

Merry and Bright

Authors note: I’m not usually fond of holidays. They’re always stressful and make me anxious. But I wanted to extend a happy holidays to everyone who follows this blog, and has been around for the journey thus far. Thank you so much, every single one of you. This blog and all your support has been the best gift I could ever ask for. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Special thanks for @syndianites for editing and @lady-krystine for giving me character details. Enjoy!

Winter had shrouded the world. Tall, leaning acacia trees carried frost on their branches while the mountaintops and forests were swamped in heavy, wet snow. The whole world carried a chill. Even the sun seemed colder, doing nothing but reflecting off the snow, glimmering, blinding. Animals donned thicker pelts and traveled silently, any sound they made caught in the thick drifts of snow. In and out they went, staying out of sight. Even the people in the city were staying out of sight, each hidden in their house, little plumes of smoke rising into the sky, instead of beholding the bright, gleaming sunrise.

Only one person was outdoors, leaning against a building in full armor, a winter coat thrown haphazardly over his shoulders. If Jeriah felt the cold, he simply didn’t care. His eyes were blind to the sunrise, too lost in thought. Jeriah scratched his beard.

So much had changed. How long had it been. Ten years? Ten years since they went tumbling down the void and found themselves here, a world of strangeness. No technology. Materials were easier to come by, some found in the earth or pulled from the land, but most came from ruins. A huge tree shadowed the land and there were statues, faces built into mountain sides and by these strange ruins. Someone once lived here, they all knew it. Sure, Mot had claimed a castle, but the empty houses sent chills up Jeriah’s spine. Along the coast on the other side of the island, there was a humble city of tents and makeshift wooden buildings. Pirates or travelers, most of them, drawn to the island by the stories of some heroes. The four of them didn’t find the city on the first day, however.

Their first day on the island was spent grieving. Mot and Alyssa wept for Dianite, the rest of them for the world they had just left behind. They found the tents the third day, the gods the fourth. Somehow, this universe had mangled the gods beyond recognition. Jeriah shuddered just thinking about it.

Ianite took the form of a human woman, sure, with long purple hair, and a long, purple gown, but that’s where the similarities ended. She smelled like flowers and something unnamable. None of them could be around her for long, else their bodies would start to ache with the power barely contained in her false flesh. The Ianite Spark had known was so sweet, gentle, a good wife and a benevolent goddess. Sure, Jeriah only knew the benevolent goddess, but he understood why Spark was so shaken when she first showed herself to him. It was the same reason why Mot was scared when he met this universe’s Dianite. There was no suave businessman, only a shadow, a wraith, an invisible hand that rubbed salt into the wound of his grief. He showed himself in weak heat and raspy words, no true power, as if it had been siphoned from him. And Mianite…

Jeriah exhaled slowly, seeing his breath cloud before him. Ten years. Now the tents had turned into a proper city, bustling and prosperous. Ten years. Alyssa was a young woman, the strongest person he knew. A warrior, a diplomat, a daughter that Mot would be proud of. Mot, speaking of, was nowhere to be seen. And yet Ianite said that he was okay. That was all she said. That he was okay. The portal had broken after he left and, while Spark worked on it day in and day out, no good results ever came.

Ten years. Jeriah looked down at himself. He was older, certainly, his beard and hair greying, more from stress than age, but it made him look old. So did the feeling of another Winter Festival coming and going. The townspeople celebrated in the comforts of their homes, but Jeriah had better things to do than that. More important things. He pushed himself off the side of the building and pulled his coat tighter around himself.

It was a short walk from the town to Mianite’s temple, only half a mile along the coast. The grey sea lapped at his feet, chilling them even through his armored boots. The sun slowly rose, the grey ocean turning warm pink from its ascent. Snow and sand swished under his feet as he came to the coast, the temple across the cold, choppy sea. Jeriah dragged his boat from where it was kept-- hidden in a shallow cave on shore-- and hopped into it, sending himself out to the temple. The marble shone as white and pure as snow, yet it only filled him with dread as he came upon it. He tied the boat to one of the columns, letting it bob in the ocean. The stench of plants filled his senses, mingled with ozone and some strange, warm smell. Yes, Mianite certainly was here.

Jeriah stepped into the temple, his footsteps echoing loudly. The once gorgeous gardens were overgrown and mangled, filled with hardy weeds and all sorts of plants, like asphodel and marigold, blooming in spite of the cold. The torches were burnt out, the only light in the temple from the glowstone, which gave light but no heat. The floor was absolutely filthy, white marble marred with the footsteps of hundreds of people, thousands of footsteps all going there to kneel before him.

And there Mianite was. Strong and tall upon his throne, staring blankly as Jeriah walked in. This Mianite was the most different. A god of order and the overworld, yes, but he carried no poise or care. His hair, curly and long— down to his ankles— was braided with flowers that were kept alive by godly will alone, a crown of mallow and primrose upon his head. He wore a black toga that flowed over his tan, muscular body like ocean waves and sand. In his hands a sprig of wormwood, which he plucked at, fiddled with. The god didn’t seem to care for his duties to order anymore, only nature. Jeriah reached into his pocket, pulling out a small box.

“If this is your idea of an assassination attempt,” Mianite rumbled, “I ask you to get it over with.”

Jeriah blinked, staring up at Mianite. He did not kneel.

“It is no assassination attempt. It’s a gift, for winter festival.”

Mianite looked up from his wormwood, a long lock of hair falling in his face. His beard was filled with flowers, too. Mianite made a small gesture and the box floated out of Jeriah’s hands. He watched as Mianite caught the gift, then set it on the armrest of his throne.

“There,” He slowly drawled, “Now go. I have matters to attend to.”

Jeriah blinked.

“I stil need to talk to you—“

“I said go.” Mianite looked back to the wormwood, frowning.

“No!” Jeriah snapped, surprising himself and Mianite. But for the past ten years, there had been nothing but frustration and tiredness and, now, what could he do besides this?

“No,” Jeriah repeated, “No, I’m not leaving. You’ve been ignoring me, ignoring all of your other followers, letting nature and the universe fall into chaos. Lady Ianite has been keeping order. Not you. That is your domain.”

“And here I thought you had faith in me.”

Jeriah sputtered indignantly, glaring at Mianite. His whole body felt like it was on fire, an exhausted rage making him too bold for his own good.

“My lord, you might not be my god, but you are still a version of him, and I have some faith in you. Yet all you do is sit here, day in, day out, grieving--”

Mianite stood, glaring down at him.

“I am not grieving. You… You cannot grieve for someone who is alive,” He decreed, voice thick.

“Then what is with this, my lord? Wearing black, the flowers… It’s like you have made yourself nothing more than a living funeral service for whoever these people were. And even if they’re alive, they’re not here. I’m here! So is everyone else, the people whose footsteps stain the halls. It’s been ten years. It’s time to let go, my lord. I have, I’ve let go long ago. Because I know I’m never going back home, and... “ Jeriah took in a shaking breath, feeling tears well in his eyes. Fuck this, fuck this “...And I’ve accepted it. This is my home now, whether or not I like it. This is my world. It is yours, too, your people, who are all looking up to you. There has to be something I can do to help, to get you to stop being so… despondent. Hence the gift, my lord.”

Mianite stared blankly. He picked up the box.

“Now then. What is this?”

“A gift. To try to help cheer you up. Tis the season, my lord.”

Mianite nodded, brows furrowed, and opened the box. With shaking hands, he pulled out the contents. A candle, crudely made of white wax, the wick straight, like a soldier standing at attention. Mianite looked blankly at the candle. His brows furrowed, and the candle remained unlit, as if Mianite was fond of the cold darkness of the temple.

Jeriah turned on his heel to leave, wiping his face with his cold hands as he did so. His footsteps echoed loudly.

“Tucker. That was his name,” Mianite whispered.

Jeriah stopped dead in his tracks, looking over his shoulder at Mianite.

“There was also Sonja, Jordan, and Tom. Tucker, Sonja, Jordan, Tom. Now they’re gone. They have fallen out of my sight, and I could do nothing to save them. All I could do was watch.”

Jeriah looked down at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, voice echoing in the vast walls of the temple. But when he looked back to Mianite, the god was curled up in his throne, his face tucked between his knees. In one hand, the wormwood, in the other, the unlit candle.

Jeriah’s head spun as he left the temple, not looking back until he was safely ashore, choking back tears as salty as the freezing ocean before him.

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The forests were deep and filled with snow, the perfect place to spend a day like this. Winter festival. Ha. Alyssa felt like she had nothing to celebrate-- not since Mot left, at least. Sure, the growth of the city was beautiful, almost humbling how many people called it home, but the forest beckoned her. Maybe she could shoot something for dinner, make a stew or roast, something hot and filling for a day like this.

Alyssa held her bow steady, an arrow notched and ready for whatever might cross her path. It was a beautiful bow, carved of sturdy birch and reinforced with dark obsidian. The arrows all had a drop of dragons breath and spiders eye on the tip, a slowness potion that immobilized her prey-- long enough for a second arrow, at least.

Despite all of this, the iridescent purple string was the most interesting part of the longbow. It was made of a single strand of Ianite’s long hair, twisted and curled in on itself. Even with only two fingers touching the string, Alyssa could feel some sort of cosmic magic thrumming through her bones. The sensation felt as familiar as a hug, the feeling of the void, of Ianite. Alyssa pulled her white scarf over her mouth and nose, and crouched by a tree, waiting patiently. Ah, the winter wind over the frozen ground was such a calming noise, a haunting howl that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention.

It made her feel like death was approaching. Such macabre thoughts didn’t belong in her head on what was supposed to be a festival day, a day of hope and festivity and love, and yet she couldn't shake the feeling. Death scarred her soul. Ever since she was a child. But she did have to admit, she was fond of this new world, its people-- people that didn’t seem to age, bodies weathering slowly. The cold took some, injury others, but never age, it seemed.

She did enjoy the company, though. From the people in the city Spark made, to the hunters that linger in the woods, to the hunters that secluded themselves from all people besides the ones in their stories, she enjoyed talking to them, even if they squabbled. Mot taught her how to do it properly. He was never one to deal with petty arguments. Now Mot was gone. The only answer Ianite ever gave when asked about him was ‘he’s safe’. Any more questions were met with a strange look, and Ianite saying ‘it is not my story to tell’. As if that made any sense.

Alyssa shuddered against the cold. Here again came the feeling of death approaching.

Ianite always comforted her, told her that he was okay, in a different place with Uncle Dia, who somehow wasn’t dead. Death. What a thing to think about. And even though he was alive, a part of her felt crushed with a cold weight, as if she had been buried in snow, or that there was an iron spike driven between her ribs, pinning her to the ground. He wasn’t dead. Mot lived, off in some far other-universe, but that did nothing to stop the weight from crushing her. Anything that he had left behind felt like another slap in the face. Screziato Enterprises, a castle that Mot had claimed as his own, made her feel heavy and sick, and, on some days, even the mention of the name sent her into a cold tizzy. She took a deep breath through the scarf, trying to ground herself.

Grief, that’s what it was. Grieving the fact that Mot might not ever return, and that he would never see her again. Grieving her father, her family, the life they could have had together as a big, happy family. All the things he had left behind were nothing but spectres, haunting her relentlessly. Alyssa didn’t move her hand from the bowstring.

She thought of Ianite, the day the goddess had taught her how to shoot a bow. Lady Ianite had held that bow so steady, a simple practice bow that strained and almost broke because of her inhuman strength. They shot arrows by a lake, warmed by the summer sun, all the living creatures hiding from Ianite’s strange aura. Alyssa didn’t mind it, though, the aura of Ianite felt like nothing but a gentle humming, as if someone was singing far, far away. Mot watched her shoot and said he was proud, so did Lady Ianite, and she felt as warm as the summer sun beaming down on them.

Now it was cold. Alyssa squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. There, in a clearing surrounded by trees, a deer stumbled forward. The cold air hit her neck again. She drew her bow with the quiet hiss of an arrow on obsidian, breaths muffled by her scarf. For only a second, she thought of shooting her arrow into a tree. But instead, she stared into the deer’s glassy, black eyes, and loosed the arrow. It flew perfectly through the air, before impaling itself into the deer’s skull. The deer fell silently to the ground and laid there, still. Alyssa stared at it blankly, not knowing how to feel.

Alyssa pulled her scarf down. She walked through the clearing, to the deer laying on its side. Dead. Fully dead. Alyssa slowly crouched down into the snow, then laid down, her cheek in the snow. The deer died with its eyes wide open, an arrow now pinned between the two onyx pearls. Alyssa got up from the snow, grabbed it by the leg, and started pulling it through the snow, towards the city.

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Spark watched the snow fall from inside his home. It bathed the other houses in the city in sparkling white, now reflecting the yellow streetlights— an invention of his creation, with redstone packed into little glass bulbs and hooked up to wiring and sensors, only turning on when it was dark. The light they let off was pleasant and yellow. Or at least yellow-ish. It gave the whole city a homey feeling, which made sense. It was his home, after all, the city he built with his own two hands and years of work. Ten years, to be exact.

Now another winter festival had come. Not like the fall festival, where the people donned masks and ran all around the town, or in spring where they planted crops and sang songs that washed down the hill.

No, Winter Festival was a family affair. Everyone stayed in their houses, with the people they loved most. The sound was the only thing that slipped outside, laughter and happy voices that Spark heard when he walked down the streets with Jeriah earlier in the day. They talked about Ruxomar, their memories, and their plans to rebuild once they got home. Spark wanted to make Dagrun bigger than ever, and build more statues to Ianite. Jeriah, meanwhile, blabbered about alters and blood stuff fast enough to make his head spin, the bad mood he was in forgotten.

Now Jeriah was silently chopping veggies in the kitchen, not saying a word as Spark stared. The only noise in the house was Alyssa, humming to herself as she chopped chunks of deer meat for stew.

Winter festival was supposed to be a family affair. Spark shut his eyes, letting himself be carried off by memories. Helgrind and Martha bickering as always, Andor and Alva chasing one another around a tree lit up with magical lights, courtesy of Ianite. His Ianite. His goddess, his wife, the love of his life and the sun in the storm. A halo of lit candles would rest like a crown on her head, not a drop of wax scalding her porcelain features. Her dress was blue as the sky, but she wore a shawl of ice, geometric and fine, that somehow felt warm to the touch. And all of them— his whole family, children, grandchildren, sat around the fire and swapped little gifts, enjoyed the snow that fell on vast fields.

Spark sighed, the sound of Alyssa cursing behind him snapping him out of the memory. Never did he get any answer out of this Ianite- not his wife, but this universe’s goddess— about his family. All she said was that Mot was safe. Martha? Not her story to tell. Helgrind? Not her story to tell. His wife? Not her story to tell. Andor? Definitely not her story to tell.

Now all he had was Alyssa and Jeriah. His beacons. The only thing separating his dreams of home from the reality— that once there was Ruxomar and Dagrun. That once upon a time, he had a family. Now they were oh so far away…

Well. For now, at least. All he needed to do was get that portal to work, then he’d be home.

“Spark, you old coot,” Jeriah called, “come help Alyssa before she cuts herself again.”

“Now you know full damn well I don’t need any help!” Alyssa cried, pouting. Jeriah smirked.

“If I had known you were so good at cutting yourself, I’d have asked you to join the blood knights.”

“If I had known how big of an ass you were—“

Spark couldn’t help but laugh. God, they sounded just like Martha and Helgrind. Or Andor and Alva, bickering like siblings. But nonetheless, he walked over to Jeriah and wrapped an arm around him, squeezing him in a tight hug. Jeriah froze for a few seconds, then squeezed back. Alyssa soon joined, wrapping her muscular arms around the both of them. Sure, she was still holding a knife and had a bit of deer blood on her, but none of them cared.

It felt like they were home again.

But they weren’t.

They would be. And someday they would find their shoes on solid ground, home. Whatever that meant, they would find it again.

Snow fell peacefully outside for the rest of the night, and Spark’s heart overflowed with hope.

[mattzerella-sticks]

A Common Thread, Day 3 of Batflash Week - Spells & Missions

John Constantine awoke to discover one of his old enemies had broken free from Hell again. How? By a bloodstained message left in his bathroom mirror. If he doesn't come to where she wants him, he'll never see one of the best things that had ever happened to him. All he needs to do is walk into her trap alone and everything will work itself out.

Unfortunately Batman throws a wrench into the plan by storming in.

Are they brave and bold enough to rescue Barry?

John Constantine stares up at the faded sign of the warehouse, spray painted in a mess of symbols any self-respecting warlock would spit at. It’s one of many graffitied markers of kids playing with forces they know nothing about. Lucky that none of the sigils were any good sewn together by the hands of a novice.

Except luck runs out. Evident by the dried blood splattering the ground next to a perfect symbol used to summon demons. Kicking over an upturned crate John finds a severed hand clutching a dirty page with instructions on it.

“Doesn’t anyone know,” he mutters, inspecting the spell printed out, “that by tampering with forces you can’t begin to understand there’ll be hell to pay?”

And it’s usually at John’s doorstep they show up, aiming to collect.

Blythe takes what’s hers in blood .

He hadn’t expected her sorry ass to climb its way from Hell so soon, especially since he left her ground under the hell of Neron’s well-polished boot. Underestimating her resourcefulness proved much to dangerous, yet he does it constantly. John thought he learned his lesson when she kidnapped Oliver. In school the teacher always had to go over her lessons more than once before John understood, and the habit’s followed him like a horrid stench.

Now someone else he cares for is suffering under her clutches. John hopes he isn’t too late.

A rustle sounds from nearby. John drops the page, tensing in his squat. Mud squelches underfoot as an intruder steps closer, human from the sound of it. If Blythe wanted to surprise him she wouldn’t announce her presence in such a pedestrian manner.

“Whoever’s there,” he starts, sparks dancing at his fingertips, “I’m half-cocked and ready to fire off like it’s nobody’s business. Announce your presence or spend the next millenium picking yourself from between brimstone.”

“John…”

Sighing, John relaxes somewhat. He recognizes the broody timbre of the man waiting nearby. While it wasn’t a demon, John suspects an ounce of the devil runs through his blood. Why else would someone choose to dress like a giant bat?

“Batman,” he stands, lips thinning into a masked smile, “What brings you around these haunts? I know it must remind you of home but…” John drops the sentence, Batman catching it perfectly from the sneer crossing his expressions.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, skipping pleasantries. Of course.

“Fancy a bit of a stroll,” John shrugs, “bilge water does wonders for the body’s health…”

“ John …”

John levels a glare at Batman, readying a cigarette. “Why should I say what you already know. I’m here for the same’s you are.”

Although for vastly different reasons, John supposes. Batman was his colleague, one of the original seven. A detective who could follow the clues Diana in all her grandstanding glory wouldn’t have been able to notice. Trying to find the bigger picture where there is none. Because this wasn’t some prophecy or plan to take over the world.

It was the consequences of a mistake finally catching up. Doesn’t matter how fast you can run when there’s a blemish on your soul. A dark print where John brushed up against his life, if only for a moment.

Batman peers from behind his cowl, scanning him. “Zatanna send you?”

“Didn’t have to,” John says, “got a direct line from the perp herself.” He snaps his fingers, a photograph appearing instantly. John shows Batman, letting him keep the picture as he drifts closer towards the doors. John memorized exactly what was on it.

Blood smeared across his bathroom mirror in an imitation of a crack. Upon closer inspection, John realized what it was.

A lightning bolt.

He reaches the door when Batman slams him against it, crushing his face against the rusted metal. “Easy!” he whines, “I never got my tetanus shot!”

“This,” he growls, “This is your fault?”

“When isn’t it my fault!”

“What did you do? What did you do !”

“Back… off!” John throws Batman to the ground with a quick spell, eyes glowing when he sees the other hero skittering to a fighting stance. Red edges at the corner of his eyes, driven by a bottomless fury. Curious, if he weren’t on the receiving end. “Listen,” he starts, “you could get your rocks off beating the shit out of me or we can go in and save him. Which do you prefer?”

Batman huffs heavy breaths, thinking. Ultimately he relents, fists hovering at his sides. He strides forward. John plants his feet, hoping the mud will keep him from instinctively flinching backwards.

Stopping inches from his face, Batman growls. “If he’s hurt - in any way - than there’s no cheap parlor trick you can do that’ll save you.”

John scoffs, drunk on false bravado. “You haven’t seen my best cheap parlor trick, then.”

Batman shoulders him on his way towards the door. “Hurry up,” he says, “let’s not waste time.”

A beat passes, John crossing his arms as his cigarette dangles - unlit - between his lips. He curses and flings it down. Stomps over it while moving towards the warehouse.

While barren on the outside, signs of life were more evident inside the cavernous building. Mussed floors, littered with abandoned beer bottles and an amp or two, remind John of his wilder days years ago. Could picture himself and Chaz a few yards away rocking to a cruddy band performing on a makeshift stage. Sees the perfect place to snog, hidden from the view of the crowds. Where you can slip a finger or two in and hide moans under angry screams and shredded licks.

Those thoughts lead him to another time in another place. A bedroom with mussed sheets and hands that scoured every inch of his skin while trembling instinctively. Achieving orgasm was like being struck by lightning.

Sobered, he casts a dim eye towards Batman. The detective scans the room with an objective eye, bouncing from shadow to shadow. “You see anything?”

“No,” he says, “do you sense anything?”

“Not without a little help,” John says. He flicks open his lighter, a small flame bursting forth. Spinning it in small, concentric circles, John whispers Latin until the fire grows in size. It changes from a bright orange to an enchanting blue, hopping off the lighter. Dancing around John, the flame drifts over to Batman and circles him.

“What is this?”

“A little tracking spell,” John shrugs, watching the fire shift dangerously close to Batman’s cape. Only to veer suddenly on a different curve. “Like our own will o’ the wisp. It’ll follow the energy of the person we’re looking for.”

“You sure it’ll work?”

“I believe it will. And with magic that’s half the battle.” They fall into silence as the flame finally flies from Batman. Darting towards the right, it hovers by a faded poster briefly until it charges through it. Burning the poster to a crisp. “Now that’s one way to find a secret entrance!”

Batman huffs, cape fluttering after him while he leaves to follow John’s wisp.

“It was no problem at all, Batty Boy… I can show you how to do it after we’ve wrapped this up… right…”

John chases the detective before he fades from sight.

Past the poster was an ominous staircase descending into the bowels of the Earth. A little on the nose for a demon, but John bets she didn’t have much time to decorate to her liking. If she wanted to cause dread to bloom in the hearts of her enemies, she hit the nail on the head.

Distracting himself from all the horrors waiting for them at the end of the staircase, of what Blythe might have done to him - John guesses why Batman stepped from off his pedestal for such a personal vendetta that didn’t involve him.

From his earlier display John doubts the League knows he’s here. Asking about Zatanna, like she sent John there to fetch the errant hero. Like John wasn’t the whole reason Blythe had a valuable bargaining chip that could fetch her ten kingdoms in Hell. And then the violent outburst at finding out John was at the root of their problem...

John faced down angels and demons alike yet none made him want to cower from the full force of their glare like Batman. If he were able to smite John wouldn’t even have atoms left.

“So,” he starts, voice echoing in the cavernous staircase, “how did you figure out this was the place to find him.”

“Clues.”

“Any elaboration on that or…?”

“ No .”

John sighs, fiddling with his lighter. “Look, I get it. You’re worried… so am I. Blythe she - she’s done this once before, to someone I care about. The first time didn’t end so well and I… I’d really hate it if something were to happen to him. He… he doesn’t deserve it. So you can trust me on this, I’m here to help .”

Batman pauses, John nearly slamming into him. He slowly cranes his neck and reveals half his face in the light of the wisp. John bites back a gasp, surprised at the venom dripping from his features. The words of encouragement were supposed to fling the bullseye from his person, except John managed to tattoo it to his forehead.

“ Care ?” Batman asks, “I don’t know what personal stake you think you have in this but - but you do not get it. Not at all . So stay out of the way, let me save him, and we’ll never have to see each other again. Understand ?”

The wisp snuffs out their light before he can answer. In its place thousands of candles lighting the walls. Reveals the true darkness of the stretch below them, how one misplaced foot could lead to an eternity of falling. Thankfully the stairs end in a few steps.

Right by the door, where they will most definitely find Blythe waiting for them inside.

Batman nearly knocks him over with his cape, closing the distance to the door. “Like I said,” he reminds John, “stay out… of the way…”

John fixes his jacket, glaring at the disgruntled detective. “Seriously,” he mutters, “what did I step in to have to deal with this team-up?”

Closing the gap, they walk confidently into Blythe’s lair - sure that a trap awaits them. On first glance John doubts his first conclusion. Nothing about the gauzy drapery or the lazy river littered with reeds and lily pads seemed dangerous. All the deadliness sucked into the mannequin posed elegantly across a blood red chaise lounge.

“Oh John! I was waiting for you,” Blythe crows, dumping her wine glass over top a stout demon with a tray soldered to his horns. “And you brought a guest! I warned you about that didn’t I… but I guess I’ll forgive it for such a handsome devil he is…”

“I didn’t bring him,” John defends, jerking his thumb at his dour companion, “He and I are after the same thing… separately.”

“Of course. Because that makes absolute sense…”

“Cut the bullshit,” Batman growls, “where is he?”

Blythe shifts her features into faux innocence, tapping a sharp nail to her chin. “Hmm… he … I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about - oh !” The illusion shatters, a shark’s grin cracking her face. “ Of course … how could I forget! He’s been such a lovely guest…” She claps her hands, a figure shuffling from out of the shadows.

John chokes on air as he sees the haggard slump of Barry’s body. Arms swinging while he walks, Barry stumbles into view. His skin lost the golden tan he remembered, instead a sickly pallor that makes his heart stutter.

Batman drifts closer, shaking. “Barry…” he whispers. His shoulders droop for a moment. In the next, they climb back to where they were. Stiff and ready for combat. “What have you done to him?”

“Nothing too noticeable ,” she coos, reaching up to squish his cheeks together. Forcing drool to dribble down his chin. “I think he looks like every other adult his age. Lifeless, hopeless, without a soul -”

“You took his soul?” John yells.

Blythe smirks, revealing a glowing amulet around her neck. It crackles with unbridled power, a wild storm trapped within. “It looks absolutely lovely. I’ll be the envy of every creature when I return with it.”

“Like hell you will!” He spits a quick spell into his hand, summoning a fireball to hurl at her. It passes between her and Flash, Blythe flinching out of its path. Barry remains frozen.

She snarls, “If that’s the game you want to play…” Four more arms erupt from her sides as she stands, green fire crackling in her palms. John curses when she launches all of them like a catapult. He skitters to the side, hiding behind a column.

Readying another spell, John sees Batman opposite him fire two bat-a-rangs at Blythe. She catches them both, only they explode and coat those hands with quick drying foam. “Disgusting!” she screams, “Don’t you know how difficult it is to get this type of blood as nail polish?”

John smirks, “Doesn’t matter what you paint ‘em love, it won’t help you look better.”

Another fireball chars the marble pillar, a few embers too close to his skin. He waits for another barrage of attacks to move. Runs over to Batman’s newest hiding spot behind a large, wooden chest while summoning a line of spectral knives in his wake. They fly for Blythe.

Skidding next to Batman, he sees Blythe dodging knife after knife. “Damn…”

“Pretty good trick,” Batman says, prepping a few more of his weapons, “where’d you learn it?”

“Your girl Zatanna -”

“Not my girl -” “Used it on me after a bad night in Vegas when I wouldn’t leave. Not that it did much good. She’s more powerful than before.”

“So,” Batman frowns at him, “how do we defeat her?” “Usually it wouldn’t be so easy,” John tells him, “I could do a quick banishing spell, send her to Hell like all the other times. But if I did it now, where she goes Barry does, too.”

“How did he get involved in all this?” Batman asks, “Why go after him?”

John finds a loose cigarette in his pocket and lights it, sucking on the bitter smoke. “Because she knew it’d hurt me.”

He can’t explain further, their shield splintering from a concussive force. John hears a splash, Batman no doubt landing in the river. John luckily skids close enough for his fingers to dangle at the edge. Quickly he pulls them close, in time to dodge the piranha-esque demon jumping up to feast on him.

Safety isn’t long. Blythe grabs his jacket, pulling him up until his feet dangle. Tips of his shoes scuffing the floor.

She drags him close enough he can smell the hideous sulfur-and-carnation perfume she wears. See the lines in each hideously sharp tooth. “I could do so many things to you,” she says, “To make up for all the knives you planted in my back -”

“Had to…” he huffs, struggling in her grasp, “Otherwise it’d be the other way around. And I can’t recover as fast as you can.”

Blythe caresses his face with a free hand, nails digging into skin hard enough to draw blood. “You talk big, John. But you’re as weak as every other human. Let your heart lead you even though it hurts itself thousands of times. Provide fodder for the many enemies you create by existing .”

John chuckles, “You been talking to my dad?”

“Oliver was one thing but him …” Blythe looks at Barry, souring his routine. “Do you know the number of demons wanting to carve their name into the soul of a hero ? You’ve given me the best kind of gift I never could’ve asked for…”

He glances behind at where Barry’s soulless body rests, his eyes gazing at him with a frightening emptiness inside. John never prays for himself, and the few times he does it’s for other people more deserving. Barry Allen deserves a miracle, and John Constantine is far from that.

But Batman delivers.

Jumping from the river, he latches onto Blythe’s neck with a shout. She drops John to fend off Batman’s attack, stumbling around due to the other man’s grapple.

“John!” Batman shouts, “Now! Do it now!” He stabs her shoulders with bat-a-rangs, Blythe’s screams shaking the room. Batman drops and rolls away, over to John. “John!” “But what about -”

Batman dangles Barry’s soul in his sand, the chain wrapped around his fist.

John pauses briefly, in awe of the soul. He breaks from the spell when he hears Blythe’s cursing and metal clattering to the floor. Nodding, John stands and begins chanting the exorcism.

“You can’t do this to me again!” Blythe screams, stomping towards them, “Every time you send me there I come back angrier. Tougher. More vicious.” The ground under her feet begins crumbling, hellfire shooting upwards. “You can’t save anyone . His soul was damned the moment he allowed you into his bed!”

Columns fall around them, crushed by debris. Batman turns to him, “What’s going on?”

“This whole place is coming down around us!” he yells over the roar of demolition, “Grab our boy and make a run for it. Otherwise we’ll be seeing more of Blythe!”

John finishes the incantation, watching Blythe’s shadow disappear. He then spins on his heel and follows Batman up the stairs, Barry over his shoulder. Steps crumble as he jumps off them. Racing to the top, they keep running until they’re outside the warehouse where they began.

Panting, John leans against a few crates. “That’s my cardio for the year…”

No time for rest, Batman grabs his lapels and drags him over to where Barry stands still soulless. “ Fix him .”

“All right, mate, the hardest part’s over… Hand me his soul.” Batman carefully gives John Barry’s soul, his inner lighting snapping against the container. Holding it feels like being stung by a thousand loving jellyfish or covered in a large blanket that carries a fantastic amount of static cling. His skin puckers and hair stands on end. “Okay, love,” he whispers to the soul, “time to get you home…”

Muttering a quick spell, John cups the soul ever so daintily in his hand. Then he slams his fist into it, shattering the glass.

Batman jumps him, “What’re you -”

“Easy,” he says, pointing, “look!”

The soul flies around, a storm cloud pulsing with life. It zips between Batman and John - brushing affectionately against the former’s head for far too long - and circles Barry’s body. Growing in size, the soul obscures Barry leaving only a shadow. Glowing brightly, it seeps into his skin.

Barry gasps for breath, life returning to him. “God,” he sighs, collapsing to the ground, “what happened?”

“Wouldn’t bother asking Them, love,” John says, lighting his third cigarette of the hour, “They had nothing to do with where you were.”

Batman helps Barry to his feet, arms wrapped around his sides protectively. Barry leans into the embrace, resting against the brooding hero. John watches with interest as Gotham’s knight speaks in the softest of whispers against the shell of Barry’s ear, the speedster nodding every few seconds.

Feeling ignored, John clears his throat. Both of them turn to him. “Listen, Barry,” John starts, scratching his neck, “I want to apologize for what happened back there -”

“John…”

“If it weren’t for me, Blythe never have pinged you on her radar -”

“John -”

“And I’d understand if you’d never want to see me again -”

“ John .”

He casts a baleful gaze at the other man, shocked at the warmth coloring his features. “John,” he continues, “it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But, but…” the smoke drifts off his cigarette, “if we’d never… and I hadn’t… don’t you regret what we did?”

Barry shakes his head. “No, of course not.”

Their silence is charged with the infinite possibilities of what could have been. John’s heart fills with memories of when their ships passed each other all those nights ago. Docking briefly at the same port, tied to the same post.

Now Batman interrupts, glaring at John. “What are you talking about?” he asks, “Why did that demon want Barry?”

It’s an awkward and intimate conversation, to be handled delicately. John steams through it with his stubborn charm. Reveals how Barry and he first met when he followed a trail of bodies to Central City on the hunt for a demon. Guessed the next bar he would target for his next victim. Only the demon wasn’t all he found waiting there.

Barry escaped to this place, even though alcohol wouldn’t affect him, for peace of mind. Where John goes, peace never stays. John didn’t realize who he was at first, and chatted him up while waiting for the demon.

“I looked miserable.”

“And hot .”

While distracted, John missed the demon slither away with another villain. After figuring out who Barry was, he convinced Barry they should work together to take the monster down. It took all his best charms to win the argument.

“Ran out,” John shrugs, “Couldn’t even attempt to get him to carry me everywhere in his big, strong arms.”

Barry laughs, shoving him weakly. “Shove it.”

“Gladly.”

Throughout their investigation John continued flirting with Barry. Noticed with each new compliment the walls were crumbling. When he thought he had a chance, though, the demon appeared and grabbed Barry.

“Found him, though,” John says, “Wasn’t hard to track him… Got to him in good time, too. Not many people can resist the wiles of an incubus.”

When John found them, the incubus’s mirage had faded. Leaving the horned, crocodile-faced killer striking at places Barry stood. He joined the fray immediately, firing off a lightning spell that electrocuted the demon.

Together they sent the demon to Hell. “And without thought,” John tells Batman, “I asked if I could shower off the skunk of the demon’s final attack. Real stinker it was.”

Barry agreed, showing John where he lived. After a steamy shower and a low-slung towel, John tried one last flirting attempt.

“And the rest was history…”

Batman scowls, glaring at him. “You two slept together?”

“Only once,” Barry says, rubbing Batman’s wrist, “I was questioning a lot at the time… and he really helped me figure out exactly how I felt about... certain things .”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?”

“John…”

Batman’s expression twitches with the faintest traces of curiosity. “What?”

He grins, tapping the excess ashes off his cigarette. “Ol’ Barry was hung up on some daft loon he didn’t know he had feelings for. Wasn’t sure if what he felt was attraction or friendship and… what was it? Wanted to see if you could be attracted to another guy, yeah? I think I helped you sort through those things mighty well given the three orgasms you had.”

“Three,” Batman chokes, gaping at Barry, “you had… three ?”

Barry blushes under the scrutiny. “So?”

Delighting in the other man’s embarrassment, John continues poking. “And we cuddled. Little ol’ spoon, he is,” he winks, chuckling. With Barry’s face beet red, John lays off the nipple twisting. “In the end, though, he let me know where we stood. His heart belonged to some other luckybastard…” Smiling, he asks Barry. “Did you ever tell him how you felt?”

Nodding, Barry glances at Batman. His hand rubs his chin affectionately. “Yeah… he knows.”

John drops his cigarette, shocked. Batman’s face shifts into a smug mask as he tugs Barry closer to him, pressing their faces together. Presses his lips against Barry’s cheek as a claim. “Oh,” John says, “um… congratulations?”

“Thanks, John,” Barry says, pulling away from Batman. Stretching, he continues talking. “If you ever need me, feel free to reach out. Even if it’s just for coffee… I’m not going to hold this against you, and you shouldn’t beat yourself up about it.” Barry speeds over to Batman, scooping him in the blink of an eye. “Get home safely!”

They disappear, leaving a dust cloud to put out the smoldering embers of John’s cigarette.

As it clears, John feels a seed of happiness blossoming in his heart. Because while Barry might not be his, he has someone who can love him the way John can’t.

And that’s all that matters.

[eerythingisshaka]

Going Up?

[Trevante Rhodes x Black!PlusSize Reader]

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings:  Smut of some kind

A/N:  I FINALLY have a bday fic present for @nickidub718!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉 Happy Birthday to you, I hope you had a good one and see a many more!  You’ve been a great internet fam member to me, supportive, engaging and I couldn’t rest until this fic was finished (sis, this was a challenge lol I ain’t written smut in so long).  This is my first Trevante fic, so hopefully it suffices!

The elevator dings after what felt like an eternity of waiting after you pressed the call button.  You stand by the gold gilded doors, patiently standing by until finally opened.  You do an internal fist pump at the sight of an empty car, strolling in quickly and punching your floor number and the close door button to make a clean getaway.

“Wait, hold up!”  A deep voice calls.  A hand comes between the closing doors, followed by a strong arm pushing them back forcefully.  You jump at the action breaking your peace, watching as a man exhales in relief, walking on to the elevator with a smile that would make a turkey on Thanksgiving feel at ease about their life.  

“Hey, sorry about that.  I’d hate to wait for a new one.”  The man stands across the way from you as you look ahead, giving a tight smile.  As much as you were looking forward to a ride up alone, you see out of your peripheral his wide shoulders under his dark colored jacket, beautiful dark skin tone, 6 ft at least with a voice that can make a maniac sane.

“If you don’t mind me asking, you live here?”  He asks bluntly.  You look at him in confusion.

“Um...yeah, it’s a hotel.”  You say.

He scratches the back of his head.  “Yeah I know, I just wondered were you visiting or staying.”

You watch the numbers light up as the elevator travels.

“What’s your name?”  He asks.

You scoff.  “ I honestly think you're doing a lot right now asking all these questions.”

He shakes his head.  “No...no I’m not.  It’s just….a beautiful woman like you, going home alone….must have a name.”

His smile does you in this time, making you smile back but you look away.  “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t if it weren’t for me getting stood up.  I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but work comes first….it always does.”

He clicks his thick tongue at you.  “That ain’t right.  If you were mine, I would leave work early just to see you.”  His voice drags the sentence out deep and slow.

“Yeah?”

He makes a face of disbelief.  “Hell yeah!  Dinner ready, table set, bath ran, the works!”

You shuffle anxiously, feeling yourself get warm from all of this complimentary conversation from a stranger.  “Well,  I appreciate that.  I’m sure a guy like you has his pick of the litter when it comes to women.”

He cocks his head to the side, closing the space between you ever so carefully.  “I don’t pick them, they pick me.  And I’m hoping you do tonight.”

You look up at him, studying his eyes as he becomes just inches away from your face, his soft cucumber scented cologne wafting.  You can tell in his face he was a cutie as a kid and for some reason that makes you feel safe next to him.  You can tell he is a problem, but in this moment, you really don’t care.  As long as he wasn't starting an issue with you, why not walk on the wild side for once.

“What’s your name?  You ask.

“I asked first.”  He retorts.  You give your name, and he gives his: Trevante.

“What floor are you on?” You ask.

He shrugs, eyes beginning to wander your body.  “Whatever floor you’re on.”

You decided in that moment to take a chance on him.  Your night was not going to be ruined by some asshole who wanted to neglect you on your night of much needed romance.  If another man as fine as this one comes along to volunteer to give you what you needed, who were you to look a gift horse in the dick.  

The elevator finally makes it to your floor and you both step off to walk down the hall.  Your room isn’t far as you take your keycard out to open the door.  It appears your man had intentions on making an effort, but abandoned it halfway through.  The plush carpet now has the pattern of scattered rose petals leading to the comforter of your bed.  You stare in awe of the candles on you bedside dresser and table waiting to be lit, 90s R&B playlist musing your soul as you clutch your pearls.

Trevante looks around making a low whistle with his lips.  “You really know how to wine and dine a nigga.”

You scoff at him.  “This isn’t me, this is FOR me.”  A card rests on a pillow with your name on it, handwritten by someone else obviously because your man had no good writing capabilities.  

“Read it out loud for me.”  Tre asks, coming up behind you.

You roll your eyes,, tearing open the envelope to read the note.

“‘In this place you’ll find great jewels, but these rubies were once a fools.’  Oh my God, this dude was sending me on a scavenger hunt.

Trevante looks at the note front and back.  “Huh.  Seems kinda lame but it might be fun.”   He hops on the bed, causing the rose petals to jump, stretching out like an alley cat.  “Let’s see what he got for you.”

You roll your eyes, kicking off your heels and taking off your jacket.  “Fine!  It better get tougher because this one is real elementary.”  You say as you walk over to your beveled glass jewelry box, lifting the handle to find a box of large, juicy strawberries from the farmer’s market.

“Oooh, these look delicious!  Mm, can’t wait to wrap my mouth around these…”  You moan in delight as you pick one up to enjoy.

“Aye!  Let’s make a bet?”  Trevante says as he flicks a lighter on, kneeling on the bed as he works on the bedside candles.  “Find these clues he giving you before I finish lighting these candles, and you can set the rhythm for what we do tonight.  But if I win, I do.”

You look back at Trevante, who has taken off his jacket and shoes, getting real comfortable, but agree because what else was there to do?  You pick the strawberries out the box to find a familiar looking card along the bottom of the box.  Opening it up, you read the next riddle.

“‘The city lights look so bright, good enough for an evening delight’....Ok, question.”

“Answer.”  Trevante retorts, lighting the last candle on the table and walking over to the ones on your dresser.

“You think all the riddles related to things in this room?  Cuz I’m not trying to look like a fool looking for shit on the street.”

Trevante guffaws, throwing his head back as he sets a candle down gracefully.  “It wouldn’t make sense to set all this shit up here and make you leave.  Use your head, you on the clock.”

You nod, looking at the note again.  “Ok, then I’ll check this window and see…”  Your windows were closed with heavy bamboo blinds, rolling one up you find a bottle of chocolate syrup and a can of whipped cream.

Picking them up, you turn to him, making a confused face but laughing all the same.  “I hope you not lactose, because I will definitely make a split outta you in a minute.”

Trevante had two candles left on the dresser.  “You soundin a little nervous over there, tryna tell jokes and shit.  You got one more clue before I win my night with you.”  He wiggles his eyebrows at you tauntingly.  

You roll your eyes, peeling a card off the back of the syrup bottle.  “It’s fine, I’m not a sore loser.”

“Yeah, you bout to be though.”  He mutters.

“‘Treats aren’t sweet until they are in the right wrapper.  Open this door to find yours.’  Ok, I don’t think they’re making this big of a deal for a condom, so let’s see...Should I go ahead and check my closet?”

Trevante is holding the last candle in his hand, unlit and tossing it up in the air like a softball repeatedly.  “Couldn’t hurt to check.”

You put the cream and syrup down, making a beeline for your closet, pulling back the doors to find a black box with a red ribbon wrapped around it.  Your mouth fell open as your fingers traced the embedded Savage x Fenty label on the top.  

“You got two minutes to put that on before I order you forfeit.”  Trevante’s voice carries across the room as a warning.

“This isn’t a very fair game, I gotta say.”  You whine, picking up the box to head to the bathroom.

“Where you goin?”  Trevante questions your path with a quickness.

You freeze in place.  “I’m goin to change…”

Trevante shakes his head slow.  “Uh uh, I want you to change out here.  Make sure things are fitting right.”  He sits on the edge of the bed, wide legged to study your every move.

You balk at him.  “I don’t know you and you’re just being really extra right now, but I fucks with it so lemme shut up.”

You see Trevante’s white teeth like the Cheshire cat in the shadows as you untie the knot and open the box.  You’ve been eyeing some new shit from Rihanna’s line for a minute but didn’t have the courage to bite the bullet for fear of disappointing quality or sizing problems.  Past the wrapping paper, you find a royal purple bra and panty matching set.  Both have a satin applique embroidery across the material that made the sexy set so cute.

“Aww, look!  This is one of the ones I wanted to try!”  You exclaim, tossing the items on the bed to proceed to snatch your shirt and skirt off without shame.

You hear the flick of his lighter as he ignites the last candle.  “Yeah, you got good taste.  That color gonna look bomb on you too.”

You turn away from him as you take off your tired bra to replace it with the new Fenty certified one.  You felt your girls lift with pride as you clasp the hooks behind you and adjust the straps.  A little recalibrating of your titties and BAM!  You were ready to work work work!  Next you drop your draws kick them off to the side and pull up the matching new pair.  These also have an adorable peekaboo lace up right above your booty that you quickly admire as you run to the mirror to turn and look at.  

The panties have little charms on either side, no bigger than your pinky nail:  a dice block, heart, x and o’s, and a cherry.  You couldn’t help drinking in your reflection in the mirror, sliding your hands across the material holding up your breasts, running your fingers down your cleavage over your belly to the top of your waistband.  The material leaves little to the imagination due to it being sheer as well as tightly fitted around your waist and thighs.

You barely notice Trevante walking up behind you in the reflection, feeling yourself get shy again as he breaks your trance in your own world.

“How you like em?”  He asks, licking his lips as he stands just inches behind you, lightly twirling a charm between his fingers against your hip.

You nod biting your lips.  “It’s perfect, so damn sexy and cute, just my speed.”

Trevante breathes in deeply as he wraps his arms around you, putting a steady squeeze on your frame as he chin rests against your shoulder.  “I don’t think we hit your speed yet.”

“No?”  You ask quietly, resting your hands on top of his.

He shakes his head, spreading his hands wide across your stomach, appreciating the softness of your lingerie and body under his grasp, squeezing your hips roughly, you feel his presence against you even more.

“I like this on you, for sure.  But I think you could use a few extra...toppings to set you off.”  He looks at you in the reflection mischievously.

Your eyes squint as the gears start to turn in your head.  “And that means…”

Trevante pecks your cheek lightly as he points to the table with your scavenger items lined up:  whipped cream, strawberries, and chocolate syrup.

You laugh out loud, bumping your butt against him to push him off you.  “I’m not trying to be a sundae for you,  I just wanna fuck.”

Trevante’s mouth hangs open in a wide as he struts slowly across the floor to pick up the items.  “You see the room right?  Lit up, aromatic, turned down just so that we can turn up, yeah?”

You nod in agreeance.

“But, the bet at the beginning was that if I beat you at putting on the final touches, i.e. the candle lighting, then I get to use this on you as I so choose.  You remember that?”

His tone is cocky, conniving, yet so charismatic as he convinces you of the deal you agreed to.

You cross your arms defensively.  “I ain’t into food fights man, this just seems extra complicated and boring to me.”

Trevante shakes his head, smiling all the same.  “You don’t know me well enough.  I’ll make it interesting, I promise.  Just sit back on the bed there.”

You scoff at him walking in the direction hesitantly.  “If you get one drop of that chocolate on these good sheets, I swear.”

“You better be glad you look good walking away, or I wouldn’t make this as fun for you no more.”  Trevante says,  putting the goods on his side of the bed, untucking his shirt, opening each button one by one.

“I don’t want fun, I want the business.”  You mutter, laying back with a plop on the pillows.

Trevante shrugs his shoulders as he reaches to untie his tie.  “Put your hands up.”

You look at the tie in his hands and back at his face, shaking your head.  Trevante tuts at you, gripping your forearms firmly as he swings his leg over you to straddle.  He brings lowers himself over you, eyes moving slowly over your face, studying you.  

“You said you wouldn’t be a sore loser.  Now you know I won’t hurt you, so quit acting silly and relax for once.”

You mull over his words.  “You know you haven’t kissed me since I got here.”

Tre’s lips curl back at your words before landing softly on top of yours.  This is just enough to get you started as you parted your lips quickly to let your tongue loose across his lips.  You wanted him badly in between you but his straddling you made that impossible.  You allowed him to move your arms back as your tongues teased one another, he moans into your mouth while sucking down hard on your bottom lip, intoxicating your senses before you realized his hands worked the scarf around your wrists and the headboard.  

His hands run down the soft parts of your arm, reaching just above your armpit you begin to squirm.

“Tre!  Stop!  You not supposed to be tickling me, DAMN!”  You giggle between protests.  

Trevante laughs triumphantly as he reaches for the hem of his tank top to stretch it over his body, tossing it across the room safely away from the flames.  Your breath catches in your chest as you view his body.  He was not playing fair keeping you strapped down from feeling his beady curls decorating his proud chest, and not allowing your palms to caress the defined mountains and canyons that made up his abdominals.  If chocolate cake turned into a man with the snap of your fingers, Trevante would appear.  He looked just as succulent, rich, and left you licking your fingers wanting more.

“Ok, what now?”  You ask breathlessly.  Trevante gets up to walk casually to the end of the bed, grabbing the whipped cream.

“Open your them legs for me.”  He commands you, shaking the can as he growth in his pants.  You do so eagerly, feeling slight relief in letting your pussy breathe from the building pressure on her.  He walks on his knees toward you, laying prone between your thighs, aiming the can at your inner right thigh.  The air pressure sound of the can makes you jump a little as the white cream fluffs across the darker skin if your inner thigh, contrasting well for Trevante’s view.

He sets the can down, unfurling his wide tongue, spreading it across you skin to lap up the sweet indulgence between your legs.  Your leg jumps at the sensation making your core throb as you bite your lip at the sight, you laugh nervously.

“Do it taste good to you?”  You ask meekly.

Trevante nods.  “Of course you sweet to me.  You wanna try it?”  

You nod, opening your mouth as he grabs the can.  He tips the can to his mouth, filling it with cream before meandering his way up your body.  You try to hold back your laughter as you toys with your mouth, nudging it with his nose and lips to feed you the cream.  

“You are ridiculous!”  You exclaim but eventually opening your to his, he uses his tongue to give you a taste, letting you suck the sweetness from his mouth.  The action becomes more natural as his hips instinctually rock against your heat, stiffening against you.  You get excited from his quiet ‘shit’ you hear him say as he breaks away from your mouth.

He shakes his head to clear his mind, blinking a few times as he straightens up to grab the syrup.  “Ok, punishment almost done.”

You stick your bottom lip out.  “Darn!”

His muscles flex as he breaks the seal of the bottle, popping the top.  “Where should I put this?”

“Do I get a say in that?”  You ask.

He smirks shaking his head.  “It was rhetorical.”  His wide hand lays flat against your throat, not applying pressure but caressing the sensitivity of your windpipe and what could be.  His chest rises and falls while his eyelids grow heavy.  His hand travels down your neck to massage your titty, thumbing across the peak of one of your nipples, your back caves toward him begging for his touch to deepen.  

He tips the bottle bottle over your midsection, making a circle around your belly button.  He bends down to bring his tongue across you, enjoying dessert on your belly.  His tongue linger over one area of your stomach.

“I like this scar here.”  He says softly, tracing the bolt of stretch marks across your belly like a treasure map.  

You grow anxious from this intimacy.  Noticing details about your body, worshiping the ‘imperfections’ made you feel more beautiful than he could ever understand.  

“I earned them.  This thickness doesn’t come cheap.”  You quip.

Trevante looks up at you with a look of desire you barely had time to decipher.  

“I’m glad you’re giving me a chance to enjoy it.  It’s so damn sexy.”  His tone drops an octave causing you to writhe under him.

“How sexy am I to you?”

His eyes lock on your as his fingers reach the tops of your cups, to free your breasts from their binds.  He brings them together gently, kissing around your areola slowly.  Each audible peck, seeing the softness of this hard boy over you made your senses go into overdrive, threatening your shoulder sockets as you begin to buck your ties when his mouth locks onto your nipples.  

You gasp, melting yourself into his mouth as much as possible as you encourage him through gritted teeth.  Your legs rub along his sides, hooking him closer to your core as you hope for more of him to come soon.  

Trevante pulls himself from your chest to crawl downward, firmly but carefully pulling down your charmed underwear.

“Tre, wait!”  

Trevante wasn’t looking for that reaction as he peered at you in confusion.

“I mean, just untie me.  I can’t take anymore of this without some control of my body, and I know that mouth will make me dislocate my arms.”

Trevante shakes his head as he crawls over you to turn you loose.  “Aight, but don’t be wildin on me.”

Soon as you felt the loosening of your wrists, you tore yourself away pushing Tre on his back.

“Whoa, the fuck?  I thought I -”

“That’s not what I wanna hear.  Get to work!”  You adjust yourself across his face, splaying your pussy above his mouth.  “You wanna eat so damn bad, eat something good for you.”

You pat his head between your legs as he looks up at you playfully while you unhook your bra to free your titties completely.  His hands wrap around your thighs before dipping into your treasure, spreading your lips with his tongue, painting his name inside of you.  

Your jaw drops at first lick, contracting your stomach as he teases your clit with a smart occasion flick that makes you putty in his hands.  Your dare to sit yourself down further on his face, which Tre moans gleefully over.  The sucking, tasting sounds of his mouth against you make you shiver as you connect it to your orgasm building.  

“Stay right there, that’s….the rhythm I….OH!”  You grip his skull like a bowling ball as you become unhinged.  Tre smacks your ass, shaking it to and fro while you ride your orgasm out arching backward on a high.  You work your hips into his mouth while reaching backward. Finding the top of his trousers.  

Expertly, you undo his top button, sliding his fly down carefully as his erection threatens the room left in his pants.  You look over your shoulder seeing his dick resting against his stomach, thick and heavy, and jerking every so often.  Taking the tip in your hands, you massage his already moistened head, stretching the wetness along his shaft.

Tre smacks your ass again.  “You gonna kill me with this pussy of yours.” He says with a southern drawl.

You laugh breathlessly as you feel him grow under your grip.  “And imma bring that ass back to life just so I can ride this dick again.”

You smile to yourself proudly jacking him off while he eats you out, a happy prequel to your love making.  

But Tre isn't one to keep you comfortable in one spot too long.  Before you knew, his grip on your backside grows stronger.  You feel his thighs tightening and soon you're up in the air.  Tre went from completely flat to lifting you in the air with nothing to hold onto but his head.  Your hands and thighs grip around him with a death grip.

“Tre! Don't you EVER do that without telling me first!”  you scold him, thank God and cursing him.

Trevante’s hands find the center of your back and leans forward.  Your thigh grip lessens but you keep a firm grip on his head as your legs roll down his shoulders.

You look up at him petrified in this circus act while he just grins at you all goofy.  “If I told you, you wouldn't wanna do it.”

Your heart rate begins to calm down some.  “Yeah you right!”

Tre shrugs.  “I can't help but want my baby sitting high on her throne.  That pussy motivates me to do some crazy shit, and that look on your face was worth it.”

“That so? Or you just tryna make sure you don’t cum too fast on me?” You rebuttal.

He looks up a moment in thought.  “nah, i don't think that's ever happened.  That was a cute trick though.”

“You're not the only one with em.”  You say, stroking his beard shining with your juices embedded in his curls.  You couldn't help but want a taste as you kissed him, hungrier than before with the whipped cream.  You couldn't take much more foreplay and Tre read that too as you feel one hand playing with his dick between you, slapping it across your pussy lips.  He exhaled sharply through his teeth as you massage his scalp, scooting to line yourself up with his dick more; a feat more difficult given your legs on his shoulders.  But once he found his way inside, your extremities unanimously degraded under his girth.  Your back bent outta shape as your neck gave way to moan.  He hadn't even made his way completely inside and you were already a mess.

“Shhh, don't start acting up.  I ain't even started with you yet.”  Tre says, kissing your chin softly.

“Just go slow, gatdamn.”  You wince.

“Don't worry, I plan to savor every surface of these walls.” He groans as you feel him stretch you out more and more.  The first stroke took forever to complete before he was deep inside you, your muscles contracting around his dick without control to become used to him, now you needed him to move.  Knees in your chest, dick in your gut, you could barely breathe.

“You want me to hit that pussy fast or slow?”  He asks, gripping your hips to move you on him slowly.

You feel flush and anxious.  “Just hit it daddy, please.  I need it.”

He nods laying his forehead against yours.  “Whatever you want.”  Sounded more like a warning as he splayed your legs wider to wrap around his body.  You rub his neck gingerly as he pulled in and out of you slow at first, your pussy makes soft, wet noises, pleasantly accepting his dick within you.  

Soon his pace begins to quicken, spreading his lap under you for stability as his hips rise against you.  His strokes create a recoil in your body, bouncing against him erratically.  You hold tight to his shoulders for dear life feeling yourself on the edge.

Trevante’s face fights for a stoic appearance but you make it hard for him.  “Who you been hiding this pussy from?”

You run your hands along his chest; soft skin over a hardened interior, your own personal human stress ball to squeeze.  

“I haven’t...hid from nobody…”  You say broken up by your passions.  

Trevante’s  pulls you into him, holding you tightly as he suckles on your neck and chest, using his full arm strength to bounce you on top of him vigorously.  The sudden change in position shocked the hell out of your clit, now getting direct stimulation with his rhythm.  

“Mm, that ass sounds nice bouncing on me.  Make it sing baby.”  Tre encourages you as you attempt to keep up before your climax makes you almost tap out.  But Tre wasn’t a quitter, making sure you whimpered his name like it was your final wish.

Tre groans loudly, taking your hair in his hands to pull your mouth on his once more, his tongue dances inside your mouth so strong you knew it wasn’t over yet.

A smack on your left booty cheek brings you back down to earth again.  “Get on your hands and knees, I wanna see that ass bounce on me in real time.”

Before your could protest for a break, he picks you up with one arm wrapped around your waist before turning and tossing you on the bed.  

“Oh shit!  Damn you too strong!  You hulking out on me when I’m vulnerable.”  You whine as he twists your leg to turn you over.

“There you go talking again.  The game is over, and I ain’t come here to play with you.”  He lays on top of you starting at the nape of your neck, sliding kisses down your back.  Your muscles twitch with each massage of his mouth over your back, not missing a nook or cranny around before reaching your backside.  Tre creates an arch in your back, pulling your hips back and knees forward for the perfect position.

Tre chuckles as he rubs on your cheeks.  “I think we got this pussy going rabid now.”

“The fuck does that mean?”  You ask, face down in your comforter.

“Pussy lookin like it’s foaming at the mouth, it’s so creamed up.  Ain’t no dick like new dick for you, huh?”  Tre emphasizes his point with a simple stroke of his tip against your pussy lips

You nod, looking back at him sheepishly.  “Mhm, it’s my favorite.  You’ve been a big surprise.”

“We gotta make this happen more often…”  Tre pushes himself inside you again, renewing your arousal.  Gripping the sheets you steady yourself for him to pound away, but instead are met with a slow, almost lazy stroke.  

You whine.  “What’re you doing, give me something.”

Tre  just stands behind you rubbing your back.  “I said I wanna see that ass dance, make it dance.”  

You smirk as you catch his drift, pushing back into him until you feel your limit being reached, sliding down his shaft again.  You make a slight wind of your hips as you maintain a rhythm, bumping your cheeks against this pelvis.

“God, you feel so good.”  You moan as your head drops.

“Uh uh, come on, that shit looks too good, pick your head up and throw it back.”  Tre demands, sliding his hand up your back to pull your head back.  You seethe from the new pressure but fall in line with his encouragement.  Retaining your posture you bounce against him thoughtfully, squeezing around him periodically for good measure.  Tre leans over you keeping ahold of your hair as the applause of your bodies in motion raises in volume.

“That’s it, put all that shit on me.”  Tre  says, biting down as your pussy yanks his dick over and over again.

“Yes, daddy, mm hurt me please.”

“You say hurt you?”

You nod, grabbing your breasts to stabilize their bounce as he pounds against your ass, slapping you over and over.  You knees begin to give out, falling down on the bed as Tre follows behind you.

“I don’t know what you running from.  You want this ass whipped, Imma give you that.”  He says, throttling your pussy as you lay on your stomach, fingers clawing into your linens, toes gnarled in arousal as you scream into the mattress.

“What was that?”  Tre asks, pausing his assault as he lifts on leg to twist you around on your back while still inside you.  Putting one leg on your shoulder.  He leans over you with hands on either side of your body thrusting harder within you.  Your hand presses against his stomach,trying your best to remain in control.

“What were you saying when I had that ass in the air?”  Tre asks.

You stifle your moans, gritting your teeth.  “It.. wasn’t...nothing…”

“You look like you got a lot to say, so say it.”  Tre breathes hard over you, grabbing your titties as his strokes doesn’t relent.

“It’s...too….good…”  You squeak.

“What is?”  His hands find your throat.

“That...dick...ohhhh, it’s too good!”

“You ain’t telling me shit I don’t know.  This pussy takin it well.”  He squeezes his hands around you.

You sigh loudly feeling your arousal climb as your breathing shallows.  “You make it feel good daddy!”

“You gonna save this pussy for me later?”  Tre asks.

“I’ll save it for you again and again and-AH!”  You smack his chest in frustrated bliss as he makes you cum hard, strangling his shaft between you, your leg threatens to cramp up as he bears down on you, keeping you hollering at the top of your lungs as your hands fall, surrendering to his body.  

“I want stay in this.” Tre groans.

“Cum in me baby, please cum.”  You beg, holding his face carefully,  He turns his head to kiss your palm, digging you out dramatically as his pressure climbs.  Soon his body falls on top of you, filling you up.

“Ah, fuck. Oh shit, girl.  Damn….”  You both remain still a minute, heartbeat to heartbeat still excitedly beat as your bodies catch up to the current intermission.  

Tre rolls off of you and on his back, watching the ceiling.  You carefully roll over in his area, kissing his chest, twirling and rubbing the hairy, soft, firmness that is his magnificent body; feeling the rise and fall of his tightening stomach.  

“How long you want me around for?”  Trevante asks, running his fingers along your face.

You rest your chin on his chest, thinking.  “I would feel bad if I didn’t get you some room service by the time morning comes.”

“What about ole dude?  He not coming back tonight?”

“Honey, he’s not coming nowhere near me after this.  My pussy got a whole new muscle memory that he is no longer eligible for.”

Masterlist

[emospritelet]

Key to the Cell - chapter 9

Last time, Belle learned Rumplestiltskin’s name, and offered to try to retrieve his dagger.

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [AO3 link]

x

As soon as Rumplestiltskin disappeared again, Belle glanced around herself, thinking quickly about what she might need. Opening up the wardrobe, she pulled out a pair of soft leather boots and pulled them on under her silk nightdress. Not for the first time, she wished that she could wear breeches and boots, rather than silk dresses that needed a maid’s assistance to get in and out of. None of the clothes in her wardrobe could be donned without help, and her mouth twisted as she looked at herself in the standing mirror, thick silk robe over a nightdress that reached to the floor, the toes of her boots just poking out beneath. To the Dark One’s credit, he hadn’t batted an eye at seeing her in her dressing gown, but it was hardly suitable attire for late night adventuring. She shrugged it off, hanging it up in the wardrobe and pulling out a riding coat in fine blue wool. It covered her rear and the tops of her thighs, but the nightdress below was thin enough that the shape of her legs could be seen. She told herself firmly that it didn’t matter, and hoped that the search for the Dark One’s dagger wouldn’t take her anywhere too cold.

There was a leather satchel in the wardrobe, which she sometimes used to carry books, and she pulled it out, planning what to take with her. Next, she rummaged in the drawers of her dresser, taking out the small sewing kit that was kept there and dropping it into the satchel. Slipping from the bedroom with a lighted lantern in one hand and the satchel over one shoulder, she tiptoed downstairs into the library. Setting the lantern down on one of the small reading tables, she retrieved the books on curse breaking and light magic from their hiding places and stowed them in the satchel before hunting for the book she needed.

Flipping it open and laying it on the table next to her satchel, she found the page with the black circles and their strange inscriptions, and reached for her sewing kit. Carefully retrieving a needle, she took a deep breath and quickly pricked her finger, letting out an exclamation at the sharp pain. A bead of blood formed, glistening at the end of her finger, and she pressed it against the centre of the circle before turning the page. The strange hand with its dark nails and silk cuff was there, palm upward, waiting for her.

“If I offer it, will you accept?” she whispered. “Yes!”

This time, when the lights went out, she was not alarmed. She grasped her satchel, shouldering it, and smiled as warm light from above bathed her in gold.

“My Lady.” Rumplestiltskin’s voice was almost a purr. “This is becoming a habit.”

“If I can find your dagger, perhaps I won’t have to bleed in order to talk to you,” she said dryly. “Shall we get on with it?”

He chuckled, reaching inside the circle of light, one long finger beckoning to her. She grasped his hand firmly, and the light around her winked out.

Belle blinked rapidly as the interior of the Dark Castle appeared. The same heavy table and single chair. The same marble fireplace with a hearty blaze crackling and sending light and shadows dancing around the room. And Rumplestiltskin, watching her with a tiny grin on his face, firelight picking out the tiny scales of his skin. His eyes flicked over her, lingering a little on her legs, and Belle felt her cheeks heat.

“An unconventional choice of outfit,” he remarked.

“I could hardly ask one of the maids to come and dress me for a trip to the Dark Castle, could I?” she said impatiently. “Besides, it’s easier to move around in than a gown.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“If I had my way, my wardrobe would be full of breeches,” she added. “Father refused to let me get any. He thinks they’re unfeminine, but I don’t see how.”

“When our deal is done, you may have all the breeches you want,” said Rumplestiltskin, looking amused.

“We’d better get on with it then, hadn’t we?” she said. “Gaston may be unconscious for a few days, but the maids will still come to wake me in the morning. I’d rather not cause a panic if I can help it.”

“You do realise I can’t tell you where the dagger is,” he said. “This castle is vast: it could take you days to search it fully.”

Belle shot him a flat look.

“Well, you said you could enter all the rooms in your castle except one,” she said tartly. “Makes sense to start there, wouldn’t you say?”

He was smiling, his eyes gleaming, and she got the feeling he was enjoying her cleverness.

“Then follow me, my Lady.”

He set off at a brisk walk, heading out of the hall and down a long corridor, and she trotted to keep up, nightdress swishing around her legs beneath the coat. Rumplestiltskin carried no lantern, but the lamps on the wall flared to light as they approached before dimming once they had passed.

“Have you always lived here?” she asked, and he glanced at her over his shoulder.

“No,” he said. “I’ve had it for a couple of centuries, that’s all. Obtained it as part of a deal.”

“And before that?” she asked. “What was your home like before you were the Dark One?”

He was silent for a moment, and she thought perhaps he wouldn’t answer.

“Smaller,” he said eventually. “But not as quiet.”

She opened her mouth to ask another question, but he turned swiftly to the right and up a wide staircase, and she had to hurry to catch up.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, as they reached the landing.

“Let’s call it - the West Wing,” he said. “I can take you to the room in question, but after that, I’m afraid I’m of no use to you. I can’t enter the room; believe me, I’ve tried.”

“There’s an enchantment protecting the room itself, I suppose,” she said. “What can you tell me about it?”

He glanced at her, a smile curving his lips.

“It’s a powerful barrier spell, keeping out dark entities and anyone that wields dark magic,” he said. “As you can imagine, that rules me out completely.”

“Doesn’t mean that I can’t enter and you can’t guide me,” she said. “Perhaps I can tell you what I see, ask you questions. The Blue Fairy may be able to stop you physically entering, but that’s not to say I can’t take your mind with me, is it?”

Rumplestiltskin was looking at her with undisguised admiration, and it was making her blush.

“What?” she asked nervously.

“I was just thinking that this has been one of the most interesting deals I ever made,” he remarked.

“Well, we have a common interest, do we not?”

“We do indeed,” he agreed. “You have a sharp mind, my Lady. You think creatively, and in a battle of wits, I would not bet against you. Let’s see how clever the Blue Fairy is with her spellcasting, shall we?”

“She’s no match for us,” said Belle resolutely, and his smile grew.

“I’m beginning to believe that’s true.”

He turned into a wide corridor, and stopped before a set of double doors. Belle glanced at him as he paused, fingers flickering in the air. The doors swung open, revealing a large room beyond, bathed in blue moonlight. Belle gasped as she stepped inside, eyes running from left to right. Bookshelves were on every wall, filled with more books than she could ever read in a lifetime. A table sat off to the side with a leather-backed chair beside it. There was a chaise covered in heavy brocade, and two squashy armchairs with a lamp in between them. Lanterns hung on the walls, unlit candles in sconces. A large fireplace with a heavy marble surround was empty and cold, and it looked as though the place had been untouched for years. At the far end, suspended in the air and glowing faintly blue, was a shining dagger with a fluted blade. Belle blinked.

“She barred you from your own library!” she said, her voice rising with indignation. Rumplestiltskin let out a soft chuckle.

“She did indeed.”

Belle huffed, upset on his behalf.

“So you can see the dagger, right there, and never touch it?”

“Yes,” he said, in a dry tone. “I’d be exchanging one prison for another, but at least with the dagger I may come and go as I choose.”

“What do you mean, one prison for another?” she asked curiously, and he waved a hand.

“No matter. A tale for another day.”

Belle frowned, but he was right. She needed to concentrate on the dagger. She thought over what she knew thus far.

“So, the Blue Fairy has enchanted the dagger so that it hangs in your library, but you can’t enter the library to get it, nor can you ask someone to take it for you, nor tell them where it is,” she summarised.

“Indeed.”

“But you can see it, and you know where it is, it’s just - always out of reach to you.”

“Correct.”

“That’s so cruel.”

“Yes.”

Belle raised her chin, turning back to him.

“Alright,” she said. “How do I take it?”

He opened his mouth, and his tongue seemed to catch, making him shake his head.

“You can’t tell me,” she reasoned, getting angry at the Blue Fairy all over again. “Very well, in that case tell me what you can about this spell.”

“It’s light magic,” he said. “Fairy magic. It doesn’t mix well with what I am. Touching it would hurt, and probably bring the Blue Fairy from where she’s currently lurking. She wouldn’t confront me directly, but I’d prefer not to alert her to what we’re doing.”

“Go on.”

“The first barrier of the spell is just inside this doorway, and keeps out not only anyone using dark magic, but anyone who wants to use the dagger,” he said. “That covers me, of course, but also anyone else seeking to control me other than the Blue Fairy.”

“Well, I certainly have no desire to control you,” said Belle. “Perhaps I’ll be able to get past the first barrier.”

“Perhaps so,” he agreed. “Alas, I cannot sense what magic lies beyond. There may be barriers we can’t see.”

“I have my books,” said Belle, patting the satchel. “Perhaps they’ll be some help. What advice can you give me on breaking curses?”

“Perhaps I can give you something more useful,” he said.

He twirled his hand, and a plume of red smoke enveloped it. When it had cleared, a shining length of pale crystal lay in his palm, his fingers gently curled around it as he offered it to her.

“Is that - a wand?” she asked.

“It is,” he said. “A wand of great power, but useless to me.”

“Why?” she asked, taking it from him.

“It can only be wielded by one who uses light magic,” he said, and Belle pulled a face, turning the wand between her hands as she looked it over.

“But I have no power,” she said, and Rumplestiltskin tapped the side of his nose with a finger.

“You and I had a conversation at the ball,” he said. “A conversation about magic. Who could use it. Who was born to do so, and who could learn. I said that I believe you would make a good apprentice. Shall we see if that’s so?”

“But - but even if I could use magic, I have no idea how to - to summon it!” she protested.

“Well, magic is emotion,” he said lightly. “The stronger the emotion, the stronger the magic, I find. The trick is in controlling it.”

“That certainly echoes what I read in my books,” she admitted. “What else can you tell me?”

“Whenever I wish to use a large amount of magic, I simply think of something that makes me incandescent with rage,” he said, in a light, airy tone which she suspected disguised his true feelings. “However, I believe for the summoning of light magic, you may wish to find a more - pleasant - emotion.”

Belle glanced up from her study of the wand. He was watching her, his eyes gleaming gold, his gaze intent. She took a step forward.

“Like what?” she asked quietly. “Like - like a happy memory?”

“Try it,” he suggested.

Belle took a deep breath, and focused on the wand in her hand.

“Close your eyes,” he said softly.

She let her eyes slide closed.

“Now think of that memory,” he said, his voice low and lilting. “A memory that brings you the most happiness. Make it large and colourful in your mind. Make it real.”

Belle remembered a day spent with her mother, a ride in the sunshine on a perfect day, and a picnic by a waterfall. She tried to focus on how happy she had felt, how much she had loved her mother.

“Feel that memory,” he said softly. “Take it deep inside, and breathe life into it. Focus all your emotion, and try to pour it into the wand.”

It started as a tiny spark in her chest, spreading outwards, licking over her skin like the warmth of the sun in winter. Belle felt heat flow through her body and down her arm, and opened her eyes with a gasp. The wand was glowing with a faint silvery light, and Rumplestiltskin was looking very pleased with himself.

“I did it!” she squeaked, and the light winked out, the heat disappearing with it and leaving her feeling as though she had been doused with cold water.

“Oh!” she gasped, and heard his low chuckle.

“You channelled some magic,” he said. “I don’t think you’re going to be duelling the Blue Fairy any time soon, but you should at least be able to make the wand work. Just channel magic into it as you just did, and ask it to tell you what it sees. It should uncover any traps the Blue Fairy has left in that room, and how to get the dagger back from her.”

Belle nodded, clutching the wand to herself and turning back to him.

“So happiness is the key to light magic?” she said. “Are there other paths? Like - love?”

Rumplestiltskin’s mouth twitched in something that was not quite a smile.

“Ah yes,” he whispered. “Love - true love - is the most powerful magic of all.”

“I’ve read about that,” she said, taking a step closer. “I’ve read that true love is the only magic strong enough to break any curse.”

“And so it is.”

“Which means that it’s the only magic strong enough to best the Blue Fairy,” she added. “To best the Dark One himself, perhaps.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps so.”

“Is - is that what you meant?” she asked, inching closer. “When you said the Blue Fairy taunted you with something, with the key to your cell? A - a flicker of light in the darkness, you called it. Was that it?”

Rumplestiltskin’s smile was weary.

“Well, it’s not as though I was wrong,” he said. “True love is the only magic I have never been able to bottle. It cannot be conjured, it cannot be synthesised. The perfect key to my cell. The Dark One could never find true love for himself, after all.”

Belle put her head to the side.

“Where is that written?” she asked, and his mouth twisted.

“Not everything is contained in books, my Lady.”

“Not everything is predestined, either,” she said. “I like to think we make our own fate, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You’re speaking to one who sees the future,” he said wryly.

“You don’t see mine, remember?” she said. “Can you see your own?”

He eyed her for a moment, as though he was considering her point, but then shook his head.

“It’s not a matter of what’s predestined, but of what the Dark One is,” he said. “True love is - pure. Unselfish. It comes from a place of goodness, of sacrifice. The opposite to what I am.”

Belle raised her chin.

“I don’t believe you’re nearly as dark as you say,” she said. “But perhaps now is not the time for arguing points of magical philosophy.”

“Indeed,” he said briskly, stepping back. “You have a dagger to retrieve.”

“I do,” she said. “I should get on with it before the sun rises.”

She turned back to the library and squared her shoulders, before glancing back at him.

“Though I fully intend to continue this discussion with you later,” she added, and he grinned.

“I look forward to it.”

[bewaretheundead91]

The Devil’s Son Part 3

The Devil’s Son Part 3: The Beckoning of The Candles 

Part 1

Part 2

(Edited 10/27/19)

A/N: I feel that this update is written better and very much in tune with any halloween vibes that you all might be seeking out.

Also feel free to send me messages or suggestions. 

Michael Langdon X OC (vague descriptions for self insert)

WARNINGS:  Blood, graphic self inflicted wounds (Michael, like the ritual scene in AHS), some sexual content, use of a knife. You have been warned!

Music I listened to while writing this 

Leo sits in a chair in front of the fire that was always constantly ablaze in her room. Though it was always lively, the wood cackling and popping, it seems to never go out anymore ever since Michael had snapped his fingers together to relight it. Assumptions from witch craft, enchantments, to satanic magic, to somehow the fireplace being replaced with an electronic one while she had been in a deep sleep circulated in her mind. She chuckles at the thought of the fire being mildly entertaining and the only source of entrainment. As time was passing, she would only spend a small portion of time awake begging and pleading to be let out of the bed chamber. The other portion was staring at those very flames, thinking about leaving and what image Michael had recreated the earth in.  

The chairs in front of the fire, were red, velvet, with cushions, even she could admit that they were luxurious and comfortable against her frail state. But her favorite piece of furniture in the room was her bed, it was as every comforter was made of angel wings, so light weight and soft, yet capable of keeping the body a comfortable temperature. Every time she would lie down to go to bed she instantly falls asleep. It wasn’t always like this. The bed chamber was once hot, humid, and hard to live in. The mattress hard as concrete, the chairs hard and rough to sit on like cinderblocks. In a matter of a little time, the whole space was changing. 

Magic, she thinks to herself, Michael’s magic. She quickly erases the thoughts from her head. As her time passes she feels restless like something was missing. Not just her wings, but something else not physical, something in her mind.

One day the door to her room clicks open, breaking her gaze on the flickery fire. Leo turns her head expecting to see someone at the door, but it opens exposing only darkness. A lump appears in her throat and she swallows hard as a chill slithers down her spine. Something urges her to get to her feet and to broaden her shoulders to appear strong and courageous. The door continues to creak open with no one there to take up the space of the door frame. The only person with the capability to touch the door handles was Michael, but now it had opens on it’s own.

“What?” She whispers to herself crinkling her eyes trying to see in the dark.

She slowly approaches the empty door frame. The familiar scent of clove and cinnamon waft in the air in swirls. She closes her eyes and breaths in deeply, a feeling of pleasure overcomes her body. Starting from her shoulders, it travels down her spine to her feet, she curls her toes. Her body vibrates and the blood that circulates in her veins pulsates. She presses her hands to her chest afraid that her heart might burst through her ribcage. A warm breeze erupts from the door springing from out in the hallway. It dances around her neck and legs and flows up beneath her thin dress and caresses her hips and breasts. Her toes curl again by how great her body was feeling.

Michael, the first thought that crosses her mind. She opens her eyes. Her lids feel heavy and her body feels tired, and weighted down by the new feeling.

Leo presses her hands to the door frame cautiously, afraid that the wood might burn her finger tips. It was cool to the touch. She pokes her head out into the darkness. Red candles appear at the door and light themselves. Bravely she takes a step out into the darkness. More candles appear and become aflame as  they line the wall leading down the hallway. The warm breeze rustles her hair, carrying the same scent of clove and cinnamon around her beckoning to go forward. She swallows hard and took another step and another. 

Deep in the pit of her stomach it feels wrong and seductive. The door was open and she is walking down the hallway. She should make a run for it, but Leo does not want to. All she wants is to know what is at the end of the pathway of candles and why they want her to follow. More candles appear in front of her as she slowly walks down the empty, dimly lit hallway. She passes rooms and other dark hallways, taking anxious glances down them. She fears for staff members finding her outside of her bed chamber and especially fears Michael finding her outside of her bed chamber.

The candles want her to follow more quickly, to pick up her pace, appearing and lighting and disappearing. The door to her room closes with a click and she turns her head to look behind her frightened. The candles disappear behind her creating pitch, black darkness. 

And then then the candles appear at the front of a large black door. The doorknob turns and slowly opens not making a sound. It releases hot hair into the hallway along with another source of dim lighting. She breaths deeply and takes in more clove. It was strong. Michael.

The door creeps open wide enough for her body to fit through and stops. The same warm breeze found her skin again ushering her forward. If this was Michael’s bed chamber she would be in trouble, she thought, or even killed. The room smell of him, more strongly than the scent carrying breeze.

Leo pads her bare feet into the heavily scented room. The floor went from hardwood to white marble against the dim light. It was an a grand open space with minimal furniture from what the light exposes. A large canopy style bed sits toward the center of the room. It’s canopy was dark and left open, showing a made bed with a pile of pillows. A bed chamber. It has to be Michael’s bed chamber with it’s flaunted flamboyant luxury. There was a desire to know the color of it all in the back Leo’s mind, but it only appears black in the darkness. Against a far wall was a small desk and chair. The desk was lined with unlit candles and a closed computer.

She trails her eyes across the floor to find where the light was coming from. Her gaze moves up to a door where the light is forming an outline around, it was left ajar. Leo shakes her head. 

“Father!” A voice shouts and she jumps almost colliding with a chair. She tilts her head and closes her eyes. She didn’t understand what was happening to her body, but she feels as if she could collapse to her knees again. “Father, I’ve found her. The one from my dreams. Father hear me. The one who is to end me.”

The sound of metal scraping against marble make Leo open her eyes. She begins to walk forward. There was a new scent, metal, it was sharp. Blood. The cracks in door began to slowly open allowing more light to slip through. It hits her eyes and she quickly brings her arm up to block the light allowing her eyes to adjust. She continues to walk as the door opens more. The fear was now just curiosity laced with something else that was at the tip of her tongue. She didn’t know what it was, but it was hitting the pit of her stomach and making her legs feel weak.

The door opens more exposing the light of what looks to be hundreds of candles sitting on top of ledges on the wall and top of tables. They line the floor. And in the center of the room was Michael. He was fully nude, save for his long hair covering his shoulders. Leo’s eyes glided over every inch of him. He was a slender man, the bones poked through the skin of his shoulders and he had long limbs. She knew this from her dreams before. His hair falls forward as he holds a knife to his arm. 

“Father hear me,” He speaks as he runs the knife up his arm, applying more and more pressure. Blood oozes out and drips over his skin. He then brings the knife to the opposite arm and applies more pressure. He lets out a low his.

Michael can feel pain, Leo thinks to herself as she stared at him in amazement from the darkness of his assumed bed chamber. Eyes just watching as his bare skin became slick, coated with red. He stands up and the air hitches at her throat. He was fully exposed to her. He bends down and pressed the knife to the inside of his leg above his ankle and trails it up passing his calf muscle, then passing his knee, up his inner thigh and stops at his hip. Her eyes flicker over the sizable member between his leg as the blood from his bleeding arms drips down over his most intimate parts. He then moves to the other leg and slowly runs the knife up the inner parts of his legs. 

Leo swallows hard and tried to take a breath. There was no denying the beauty that Micheal had. He was beautiful. The air feels heavy and evil. Something dark was lurking. The feeling makes Leo want to press her body to the back wall and hide.

The knife slips from his hands and falls to the floor with a loud, echoing ping. He falls to his knees weakly and begins to gently rock slowly. Leo could almost feel the pulsation of his self inflicted wounds as if they were her own. He falls towards the marble floor and begins to slowly trace his arm across the hard service, creating a shape. 

“Father open my eyes and tell me what I should do with the fallen angel,” Michael shouts trailing his hands up his stomach now and over his ribcage. His movements were slow and sensual. He trails his fingers up toward his neck and begins messaging his blood into his skin. He quickly opens his eyes and they are fully black. Leo jumps. Evil. “Father I feel so alive in the angel’s presence. My body feels so good and free, but she is to end me. Tell me what I should do.”

Leo’s legs jolt with Michael’s words. Between her legs there was a pressure forming and it feels delicious. She too was feeling a live. She feels alive. The warm breeze caresses at her body again, gliding over her skin that produces a sweat. It massages her skin, the muscles of her back, her hips, and trails light touches across her breasts.

“Why don’t you join me?” Michael asks slowly turning his head toward the door. He runs his bloodied hands over his jawline. “Leo.”

Leo didn’t know what to do. She would be dealt with no matter what. She stands still.

“No,” Leo says firmly. “You’re calling on the devil.”

“Hmmmm,” His voice purrs and it comfort her ears. He then let out a chuckle. “It wasn’t a really a question. I said join me. You must meet my father.”

She moves forward and was met with Michael half way. His body swaying for a split second.

“Maybe you’ll die from blood loss,” Leo says as she begins to walk up to Michael. “Maybe this is the perfect opportunity to kill you.”

“I cannot die,” He says extending a hand. Blood droplets fall from his finger tips and splash up onto Leo white dress. “I should be dead now.”

“I wish I had salt to pour all over you.” Leo’s legs continue to move forward, but she wasn't being compelled to.

“Here,” He snaps his fingers and in his blood soaked hand, a jar of salt appears. He laughs amusingly rolls his eyes. Before speaking he opens his mouth and quite graphically runs his tongue over his upper lip. “Sprinkle it all over me. I love a pulsating, burning, blood oozing wound. Pain excites me in more ways than one.”

Leo quickly grabs at the jar and it vanishes before she can retrieve it. Michael grasps her floating wrist and pulls her forward, pressing her clothed body to his naked one. Her dress adheres to his skin. With his free hand he trailed wet finger over her temple down toward her cheek bones.

“You have such soft skin,” He whispers. “My blood will make you even more incredible. I’m willing to share it with you.”