#but its a bit musty so i need to wash and dry it

[cheeriochat]

Wig soop!!!

[kittykatinabag]

Got talked into a bed frame that can raise and lower each half of the bed (à la those old sleep number commercials back in the day) since it was on super clearance and holy shit I may never go back, it's so cool.

[iwaisuke]

confessions; but not remembering it

ft. kita shinsuke, sakusa kiyoomi x sick fem!reader

genre: fluff

masterlist

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and then i rushed bc i was getting tired 🙃 also. sakusa's is a little ooc. sorry ab that

-» ˚⸙͎۪۫⋆

» the clean yet musty smell of rain filled the gym as the boys practiced. it was a surprisingly humid and rainy spring day today here in the country side of hyogo

» "achoo" you had been sneezing and coughing all day. you also had a terrible headache but took some medicine to see if it would help. the spring allergies really getting to you

» you didnt reay have the time to be worrying about yourself. As a 2nd year manager of the inarizaki team, (recommend by suna) and the boys working so hard practicing for nationals there was no way you'd let this little cold get in the way. you had to work just as hard as everyone else!

» "hold on, im about to hang up your jerseys to dry"

» "i got you guys some fresh towels!"

» "i can run and grab that coach. im headed that way anyways"

» the coach called for a short break to rest up for a bit. everyone was sore and exhausted from practicing every day. "here. i filled your water bottles up!" handing them to all the boys. "y/n you're all wet" akagi sounded concerned.

» "hm? oh its alright. I'll dry off in a minute. i took the shortcut to the drinking fountain to refill your waterbottles instead of taking the long way" you nonchalantly said. "so you ran through the rain like an idiot?" suna threw a clean towel over your damp hair and ruffled it. "suna!! stop!! you're gonna ruin my hair"

» "like i said. its alright" you reassured the boys.

» kita, on the other hand had noticed your fatigue. although he wasnt as perceptive on peoples feeling and thoughts as well as others, he could easily pick up signs like yours. he admired you dearly for how hard you always work for the team. how you willingly did anything to make them smile. how you always put others first before yours. needless to say, he had a bit of a crush on you.

» "l/n san. i think you should take a break too. there's no need for you to be running around for us while we're resting" kita assured you. "i still have a few things left on my list to do.. but afterwards I'll take a break!" kita let out a sigh. you were stubborn sometimes and kita knew you were the kind of person to not stop until you're finished.

» "I'll be right back. i gotta grab the laundry"

» making an excuse to leave, your heart was beating fast. you knew kita's words were the kind he'd say to anyone, but it made your heart feel fuzzy when he'd look out for you.

» the stone cold captain who you thought he was, actually was so kind. he was just a little awkward like you, and a little blunt with what he said sometimes. but you learned the great qualities he carries and how much he actually cares about others well being. he was a hard worker and you couldnt help but absentmindedly fall for the captain.

» running up the stairs to the second floor of the gym, you felt a shift in your step. head becoming dizzier than it was just 5 minutes ago. legs trembling, you started falling before feeling a presence behind.

» kita's arm wrapped around your waist, supporting you in efforts to not letting you fall over. "i told you to rest l/n san" kita said sternly. "you wont benefit anyone if you keep overworking like this."

» you knew kita was right, but you really didnt want to rest knowing you'll be letting the team down by not working hard.

» "i promise I'll rest as soon as im done with this one thing" pleading with kita. he let out a sigh, knowing you really wouldnt until you did finish so he allowed you to do so.

» finishing grabbing all of the dry jerseys and bringing them downstairs to pass out to everyone, you didnt really notice atsumu and osamu spiking volleyballs at each other until aran yelled

» "y/n! watch out!" honestly, you were too tired to move out of the way so you figured, it do be like that sometimes, and allowed the ball to hit you.

» or... so you had planned the ball to hit you.

» kita stood in front, blocking the impact of the spike that you had prepared yourself for. there was agitation in kita's eyes. more than you usually noticed when then twins were miss behaving. concern washing over, he looked you straight in the eyes

» "... is there something wrong kita san?" lifting up his hand to your forehead, he let out a sigh. "why didnt you tell me earlier you had a fever", then walking over to the coach meanwhile atsumu and osamu come over to apologise for being reckless.

» "get your stuff. we're going home" kita said bluntly.

» "huh? but practice is-"

» "please l/n san. for me"

» kita would only take yes for an answer this time. no if's ands or buts. so here you were, walking home with kita. only the sound of raindrops hitting your shared umbrella being heard.

» muscles starting to ache a little more and your legs becoming more tired than they were when you left the gym, you began to walk a little slower every step

» "get on my back l/n" "its ok kita san, i can walk. its already enough that you're walking me home" "i didnt ask if you wanted to. im telling you to"

» you couldnt tell if it was the fever that made your face warmer or if it was kita's words. nonetheless, you got on kita's back. he was a lot stronger than he looked and you couldnt help but stifen at being so close to your own crush like this.

» "relax. I'll make sure you get home." he reassured. you leaned into his back, warmth seeping in, your eyes began to feel heavy.

» "kita san" "yes?" "thank you for always watching out for me"

» a comfortable silence was met as the sound of rain filled your ears.

» "kita san" "hm?" "did you know..." your voice softened "i like you a lot kita san"

» did he hear you correctly? if he wasnt paying attention he wouldve missed what you had said, being drowed out through the pitter patter of water. now his heart thumping louder than ever before.

» "l/n san-" he was about to go on but was met with the gentle rise and fall of your chest and the soft snores of you on his back, knocked out from exertion. kita let out a light chuckle, finally relieved you were resting.

» you had missed the next day of school, but when you came back the whole volleyball team bombarded you with love.

» "WE'RE A FAILURE TO NOT NOTICE YOU FEELING SICK" atsumu cried. "how could we let our one and only precious manager get ill for taking care of us" akagi, clearly dissapointed in himself. "please let us know when we can take care of you too y/n" aran said.

» "its no big deal. really!" waving your hands in defense. "it was just a small cold. but i do have a question though"

» all the boys gathered around to hear what you had to say

» "how did i get home?? i really dont remember what happened after i almost got hit by atsumu"

» it shocked the guys honestly. you genuinely didnt remember a single thing due to your fever. "wait? you don't remember kita taking you home?" suna replied, your face becoming red. "k-kita san took me home-?" "yah. he left in the middle of practice to do so" osamu added.

» immediately, you got up to find the captain that apparently took you home the other day. he was in the storage closet cleaning and grabbing the equipment for todays practice.

» "kita san" "oh. l/n. glad you're feeling better" his smile brightened the musty closet. "about that, im sorry for troubling you and having you take me home the other day. i honestly dont remember what happened after i almost got hit by atsumu. my mind was really fuzzy that day, but im truly thankful for you going out of your way for me. it really means a lot"

» kita was dumbfounded. you really dont remember? "no need to apologize l/n. it was my responsibility as a captain. and afterall, what good would i be if i couldnt even take care of the person who means the most to me"

» your heart raced. 'person who means the most to me' ? cheeks blushing a rosy pink, you were internally thanking the musty store room from being dim.

» with arms full of equipment, kita walked by you and stopped.

» "by the way l/n san. did you know?"

» ears perking up at the vague yet familiar line

» "i like you a lot too l/n san"

» now we all know sakusa HATES germs and for the past week and a half, he's been telling you to keep up with washing your hands, wearing a mask at all times even when you eat omi it doesnt work like that. pls especially since you are prone to getting sick easily no matter how hygenic you are. your immune system just hated you. PERIODT

» you remembered sakusa scolding you for running out of hand sanitizer and then the next day you were out of commission. bed ridden with laryngitis, cough, slight fever, the whole works. it was like your body was making fun of you or something

» you texted komori, asking him to take notes in class for you and relay homework information while you were at home resting up. but there was one request you had and made komori PROMISE.

» DO NOT TELL SAKUSA YOU GOT SICK

» "he's probably gonna notice your absence y/n. he'll find out about it either way"

» "well if you dont tell him then he wont know. its not like he even cares about where i am like that"

» "thats what you might think. but i know he's gonna say something i can garuntee it"

» the next day at school, sakusa did notice your presence missing. it was quieter not having a 3rd person in the group of friends. not having you around to talk to him when komori was gone.

» pulling out his phone to text you, he asked where you were that day.

» "on a family trip :D !!! forgot to tell you, but I'll tell you all about it when i come back!" you wrote, attaching an old selfie of a different trip you went on to make it more believable.

» you had hoped this silly cold would get better in a day, but soon that day turned into 2 and then 3 and then 4... you pretty much missed the whole week of school at that point

» Friday rolled around and komori was on his phone all day. sakusa noticed his cousin fidget in his chair more than usual and it irked him to see him like that

» "what's with you today?" one eye raised, sakusa finally asked. "uhhh nothing really" komori wasnt very good at keeping secrets lets just start off with that, but he was trying his best.

» "well clearly somethings wrong. you're fidgeting." "well haven't you noticed somethings been different all week?" komori hinted

» sakusa sat there in thought. nothing's been different? he ate the same breakfast he usually does every morning. all his studies have been well. there were no tests this week so there was no reason to be anxious like komori was and even if there was, he would've done well anyways.

» "just tell me what it is." sakusa was starting to get annoyed. "y/n..." komori started. "y/n?" "do you know where she's been this week?"

» did you not tell komori about your family trip? you usually told komori everything, but then again you didn't tell him either until he asked you about it.

» "she said shes on a trip?" he nonchalantly said. komori's eyes started watering. "A TRIP TO THE HOSPITAL THATS WHAT IT IS" he blurted out. komori didnt mean to let it slip , he was just so worried about your well being.

» "hospital?? what are you talking about. did she get injured on her trip?" "no omi. shes been sick all week and her mom just texted me saying she went to the hospital today because shes had a fever for 3 days straight. there is no family trip"

» sakusa's heart shattered. you were sick and didnt even tell him?

» before both he and komori knew it, his legs were running faster to get to the hospital than he had ever imagined he could ever run.

» and there you were. fast asleep in a bed with an IV drip. your face flushed, forehead sweaty and shallow breaths escaping your chapped lips. you were a hot mess but sakusa didnt care. stepping to your bedside to greet your mother she explained to him that she had to go to work and asked if he could watch over you until she gets back.

» sakusa said yes without even hearing the whole thing. his heart and mind saying yes to whatever it took to get you to feel better.

» gosh how he hated hospitals, but what he hated even more was the fact that you were in the hospital and he didnt even know.

» the doctor came in for their evening round and ensured sakusa that you were indeed getting better! your fever had broken not too long ago and your body was working extra hard to heal itself up!

» "is there anything i can do to help?" sakusa asked. he felt helpless in this situation just watching your face distort in uncomfort every now and then, and coughing your lungs out.

» patting sakusa's shoulder, the doctor told him that just being here for you is enough. "you gotta be a strong boyfriend for her alright son? she'll be able to go home tomorrow first thing in the morning if her fever doesnt come back"

» sakusa slumped in his chair at your bedside, the doctors words ringing through his head. 'boyfriend huh?' he thought to himself. "if i was her boyfriend..." he whispered to himself, "i would be a failure for not even knowing my girl was sick..."

» to kiyoomi, you were beautiful. even now in this sad state you were in. deep down he locked these growing feelings he had for you inside of him because he always felt like you were a better match with someone else and after this stunt you pulled of lying to him about going on a family trip, it only made him feel worse.

» it was now night time and you finally began to stir in your sleep, the fever finally gone. sakusa reached out to move some hair that was stuck to your face, fingers tracing the outline of your jaw. your eyes slowly opened and met with his dark orbs.

» "y/n?" "saku- wait this is just a dream. omi wouldn't be here. he hates hospitals" you let out a forced laugh and then a sigh through your sore throat.

» you reached out to sakusa's hands that were resting on the side of your bed. "omi would never let me hold his hand because he'd say im passing germs to him so hopefully dream omi wont be the same" you were aimlessly talking to yourself, not even realizing that this really wasnt a dream.

» he squeezed your hand in return. hoping that you wouldnt let go any time soon. a funny smile appeared on your face just at the thought of him. "even if you're stupid for not realizing how much i like you... i cant wait to see you again omi" you whispered before falling asleep again.

» sakusa didnt know what to do. he sat there frozen in his chair. it was his first time hearing you call him omi. heck. you literally just confessed to the boy. his brain was running wild. groaning in distress he let go of your hand to step out for a breath of fresh air now that you were back asleep.

» it was 5am and your mother came back to the hospital and thanked sakusa for staying by your side. He left in a hurry to make sure you didnt see him there.

» Monday rolled around and sakusa was waiting outside of the school gates for you. he had planned on asking you about your "trip"

» "good morning sakusa!!" your bright and cheery voice rang through his ears. honestly he was trembling inside. the memory of you confessing to him still fresh in his mind.

» "how was your trip?" you stopped dead in your tracks. "haha... it was good !! sorry i forgot to get you a souvenir" you were trying to play it cool but sakusa could tell you were forcing yourself. "i wouldnt want a souvenir from where you came from so its fine" sakusa's words threw you off. "i - im not sure im understanding what you're saying sakusa?"

» you felt a tug on your hand. "dont you mean omi?" his voice husky as he whispered into your ear. cheeks flushed, your brain felt like it short circuted. you've always tried your hardest to not let it slip that you want to call him omi since he hated when people called him that.

» sakusa smirked at your cute reaction he got out of you. letting go of your hand he began to walk into the school leaving you at the gate dumbfounded. "and by the way. you're just as stupid for not realizing how long ive liked you too"

-» ˚⸙͎۪۫⋆

thank you for your order! enjoy~!

[lupinlongbottom]

Shortie

Fred Weasley x Short!Reader

Summary: (Y/N) is short. Plain and simple. While she admits this to herself, she hates, more than anything, than the nickname a certain redhead has tagged her with.

Prompt: Can I request a Fred Weasley x Reader with a short reader? And Fred thinks she’s adorable and flirts with her all the time? - Anon

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: none

A/N: Yeah. I love Fred Weasley. I bet you do too, hm? Yeah you do!! Welcome to the club  we meet on every other Thursday

__

(Y/N) (L/N) loathed being called short. She was short, to their point, but it was always an awfully un-clever observation. No one ever thought to call her ‘bright’ or ‘pretty’, it was always ‘short’ or—

“Hey, shortie!” 

(Y/N) turned around, her books held tightly to her chest. It didn’t take a genius to know who’s voice it could’ve been, but she looked anyway, scowling.

“What do you want, Weasley?” She continued her previous steps, the flats of her feet slapping against the marble rhythmically.  

“Woah,” Fred said, holding his hands up, running to her side. “Such hostility, coming from such a small thing…”

(Y/N) pulled the books tighter into her chest, the covers reaching her chin. “What do you want?” She repeated, ignoring the redhead who was now matching her rather brisk pace.

“What? Can’t a guy try and flirt with the cutest little thing at school?” Fred said teasingly. (Y/N) could hardly tell if he was joking or not, a common theme from the Weasley brothers.

“Calling someone ‘shortie’ isn’t considered flirting,” (Y/N) huffed, feeling her fingers curl around the spines of her books, the tips tracing the musty covers. “Hardly would get you any points from anyone.”

“You see,” Fred clicked, pointing a finger. “I said ‘try’, didn’t say it was working,” he glanced up and down the girl quickly, grinning, “though, you’re talking to me, so something must’ve worked.”

“Do that with all the girls, do you? Flirt constantly to see if something sticks?” (Y/N) said, almost breaking a smile. A small tug at her lips peeked through the cracks, one that Fred noticed instantly, a warmth spreading quickly to his cheeks.

“No,” Fred said, shaking his head. “Just with you.”

“Right,” (Y/N) said, laughing genuinely. “Sure, Weasley,” she turned the corner, reaching her destination, her next class. “If you don’t mind, I actually have somewhere to be right now, so—”

“Funny,” Fred laughed, opening the classroom door. “Me too. Forgot we had Charms together, huh?”

She didn’t.

“Easy to forget,” (Y/N) said, pushing past Fred, hoping to reach her seat before Flitwick had their heads. “I focus entirely on the lecture, unlike somebody I know.”

“Hard to focus when the prettiest girl in school sits across the way from me,” Fred said, eyeing (Y/N) down.

“Oh sure,” (Y/N) scoffed, rolling her eyes, trying to ignore the creeping heat flowing across her face. “That’s your problem.”

“Though, it’s hard to see you behind your stack of books. I reckon you could use one of them to boost yourself up, it’d be easier to spot you—”

(Y/N) smacked his arm, hard, before fleeing to her assigned seat. She held back a scoff, not letting Fred get the better of her and her reactions. Pulling the various textbooks from her bag, (Y/N) scooted them slightly more to the left for no reason in particular.

__

Studying was a chore, something that (Y/N) loathed to do, but understood it’s importance in her academic life and future. As far as libraries go, the one at Hogwarts wasn’t the worst one she’d been in. Surely the temptation of practically anything and everything one would or could possibly know about the magical community and world around them was just at their fingertips, pages away from their young minds. However, instead of the fun material she could be reading, she was stuck scribbling lines from a textbook about various charms she’d never need to use.

“Honestly, making legs grow on teacups? How absurd…” (Y/N) mumbled to herself, scribbling the incantation down in a bolder ink, underlining it lightly.

“Reckon you could try it on yourself,” A voice said, pulling up into the chair next to her. “Maybe you’ll grow a bit, hm?” 

“Weasley,” (Y/N) clicked, setting her quill down harshly. “I’m trying to study, can’t you go bother some other poor soul? Throw a dungbomb around or whatever you and your brother get up to?”

“Nah, we ran out of dungbombs a bit back,” Fred said, picking at his fingernails, examining them closely. “We planted some frog spawn soap in the bathroom near here, but that’s going to take a while to kick in,” He glanced at the roll of parchment beneath (Y/N)’s hand, covering her writing. “What? Don’t want me to cheat off of you?”  

“Exactly,” (Y/N) hummed, placing another hand atop her words. “You haven’t done the assignment yet, so I’m not going to let you read mine.”

“Smart,” Fred said, nodding his head. “Really smart.”

“Thank you?” (Y/N) said, almost unsure. 

“Tell me, shortie,” Fred said, leaning in. “While you’re here hiding your work, do you need me to grab any books off the top shelf? I have long arms, you know…”

“Nope,” (Y/N) said warmly, her voice sickeningly sweet. “I’ve got all I need, thanks.”

“You sure?” He asked again, cracking his signature grin, his eyebrow pointed. “You sure you don’t need Charmingly Charming Charms by Gretchen Hopstock?” He pulled a red book from behind his back. “I know that Georgie and I needed to look at it when we were finishing our assignment…”

“You did the assignment? You’re bluffing!” (Y/N) said, bewildered and confused at the recent discovery. “There’s no way!”

“Yeah,” Fred laughed. “No way you’re reaching that book without my help,” he laughed again, the voice as smooth as honey, “it belongs on the sixth shelf, second case in. Seeing as you can barely reach the fifth shelf without your tiptoes—”

“Have you been watching me?”

“Hard not to,” Fred said, grinning. “It’s rather cute, watching you struggle just a bit. Of course, just say the word and I’ll leave the book here instead of putting it back.”

“I’m good,” (Y/N) said, shooting back an equally large grin, hoping the mockery would hit him in the face and let him leave. “But thanks!” 

Fred shrugged, turning quickly on his heels. He took five steps into the bookcase, eyes quickly scanning across the various covers, hoping to find the empty spot he had pulled the book from previously. With extra care, he slid the book back into its home, turning back to grin at (Y/N).

“I didn’t need it, anyway.”

“We’ll see, shortie,” Fred said, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “Though, tell me,” Fred said, pointing to (Y/N)’s hands, still covering her parchment. “You’ve let that ink dry before smacking your hand on your writing, right?”

(Y/N) froze.

“Nah,” Fred laughed, waving his hand. “I’m sure it’s fine, you’re a bright witch, there’s no way that you would’ve done that,” he laughed again, turning back to his table of friends, neatly settled on the other side of the library. “No way.”

(Y/N) waited a few beats before prying her fingers off the paper, sure enough, the ink wasn’t done drying when she placed her skin atop of it. A puddling of what could’ve been words flowed along her skin, thankfully her parchment was still somewhat legible. She hesitated for a moment, debating on packing up her things and leaving entirely, or excusing herself for a moment to wash her hands. She chose the latter. 

“Stupid Fred, stupid ‘shortie’, stupid book…” (Y/N) mumbled to herself, entering the girls lavatory quickly. The sooner she cleaned her stained hands, the sooner she could finish her assignment and the sooner she could ignore Fred Weasley. (Y/N) turned on the tap, allowing the hot water to cover her hands, a good majority of the black ink flowing directly into the water. 

“Honestly,” (Y/N) said, grabbing the bar of soap, scrubbing vigorously. “What is wrong with me? He’s just some stupid boy…” She glanced up at her reflection, the pink in her cheeks practically glowing. “A stupid boy with a stupid smile…” Her face softened, recalling the way he grinned at her, a face he only seemed to direct at her and her alone, she had noticed. She never stared too long, honest, but she wasn’t dumb. Maybe he did truly like her. Maybe she liked him. Maybe.

The moment, however, ended quickly, as (Y/N) felt the soap beneath her move slightly. She looked down, only to find tadpoles swimming in sink and wriggling between her fingers.

Her scream rang throughout the castle.

__

The orange autumn day basked over the courtyard, the gaggles of cliques and friends finally were returning from Hogsmeade that fateful Saturday. (Y/N) had spent more than she’d like to admit at Honeydukes, her friends egging her to buy ‘just one more’ chocolate frog. Though, to their point, having a few extras around wouldn’t have been the worst idea.

(Y/N) settled herself down next to the fountain, allowing herself to get her recommended fifteen minutes of solitude she desperately needed. The burbling of the water and the idle chatter of students around her was calming, a white noise to her loud thoughts.

“Shortie!” Fred called from across the courtyard, leaving George behind. The other twin looked almost shocked, but only for a moment, his gaze falling upon the girl at the base of the fountain. He shrugged and waltzed away, knowing very well that Fred would catch up later.

“Fred,” (Y/N) said, not opening her eyes. She continued to take in deep breaths, focusing harder on the fountain behind her. “What is it?”

“Woah,” Fred said, almost taken aback. “Not ‘Weasley’? We’re on a first-name basis now?” 

“Could you try and be quiet?” (Y/N) said, taking in another deep breath. “I’m trying to enjoy a few moments of silence,” she opened an eye, glancing at Fred, “I know how hard silence is for you.”

“Please,” Fred scoffed, falling down next to (Y/N), hands folded in his lap. “I can be silent.”

“Prove it,” (Y/N) said, closing her eyes again, taking a deep breath.

“Fine,” Fred said, staring straight ahead, trying to prove his point. The sounds of the fountain were calming, he noticed. Frankly, he wanted to make fun of the spot (Y/N) had chosen, but after thinking about it for a few moments, he understood.

Fred couldn’t help but glance over to the girl on his right, noting how even seated next to one another, their height difference rang true. He never sat next to her, not this close, she never gave him the chance. His eyes floated over to the bag at her side, a Honeydukes one, to be exact. Without a second thought, as silently as he could, he pulled the bag onto his lap. Thankfully, (Y/N) hadn’t heard. Fingering through the bag, he noted the various chocolate frogs, a box of fudge flies and a package of jelly slugs. All favorites of hers.

“Of course…” Fred laughed quietly, examining the bag a little deeper. A smaller bag reached his grasp, the packaging seeming familiar. He had seen these bags plenty of times before, in fact, George had been carrying one on their way back from Hogsmeade.

“What’re you doing?” (Y/N) said, careful not to shout, to draw more attention to herself. She noticed the bag in Fred’s lap after he had stayed quiet for a bit too long, a feat she clearly thought was a prank. She reached forward. “Gimme that!”

“Nope,” Fred said, standing up quickly, bag still in his grasp. “Why do you have a Zonko’s bag in here? I don’t think they have any products that’ll help you grow—”

“Will you quit it!?” (Y/N) finally shouted, rising to her feet. Fred froze, just for a moment. “Honestly! It’s all ‘shortie’ this and ‘shortie’ that! Could you cut it out for just—cut it out for a moment?!”

“(Y/N), I—”

“Yeah?” (Y/N) spat, ripping the bag from Fred’s grip, clutching it close to her side. “Gonna ask me to speak up because I’m so far away from you? You, all the way up there and me, so terribly close to the ground, might as well be dirt—”

“(Y/N) I’m sorry,” Fred said, almost sternly. Whatever grin he had on his face earlier surely dissipated. “I didn’t think that, that nickname bothered you so much, had you told me I would’ve—”

“Would’ve stopped? Yeah right. Biggest prankster in the whole school stopping something because someone asked nicely?”

“I would’ve stopped because you asked me,” Fred said, making his word choice clear. “Honest.”

“I don’t believe it,” (Y/N) said.

“Why do you think I call you shortie to begin with? Has it ever crossed your mind that I could’ve chosen anything else in the English—or perhaps French—language to call you?” Fred asked, not expecting a reply. “I mean, yeah, obviously you’re short—”

“You call people loads of other things, why not one of those?”

“What? Do you mean prat or git?” Fred laughed. “I could never think about calling you that, are you being serious?”

“What’s so hard to believe? You call everyone else things like that!” 

“Yeah? Well I don’t fancy everyone else, do I?”

“Fancy?” (Y/N) said, fighting back a laugh. “That’s how you treat someone you fancy? It’s so elementary, Fred. Would you like to pull on my hair to really drive your message home?”

“Oh shut it,” Fred said, his voice low, cheeks growing red. “I’m not good at things like this… affection, flirting…”

“You? Not good at flirting?” (Y/N) said, letting herself laugh. “Now that’s funny.”

“How so?”

“Please, half of the words that come out of your mouth make me want to crawl as far as I can in my jumper, hide from the embarrassment,” (Y/N) admitted, feeling a bit honest. “From what I’ve heard from the other girls in our year, you seem to have that effect on women.”

“Really?” Fred smiled. “I make you all flustered?”

“Y-you make other girls flustered, too!” (Y/N) said rather quickly. “Don’t go and twist my words.”

“Ah,” Fred clicked, rocking on his feet. “But you admit it, I make you flustered.”

“P-perhaps,” (Y/N) said, the back of her neck growing hot to the touch, the heat rising to her ears. “Perhaps a bit, yes.”

“Then, that’s all that matters, hm?” Fred said, smiling.

“What? Do you get some sort of pleasure of getting me flustered?” (Y/N) said, trying to keep a straight face.

“Of course I do,” Fred laughed. “Doesn’t every guy want to see the girl they like get all hot and bothered, especially by their own words and smirks?”

“I suppose,” (Y/N) said, nodding. “But, why me? Of call the girls you could possibly fancy, I’m the one you’ve gone after?”

“You challenge me, (Y/N),” Fred shrugged. “I like the chase, what can I say?” He let out another laugh, the sound ringing throughout the courtyard. “Besides, you’re rather pretty and have got the cutest laugh—little snorts and all—”

“I do not snort!” (Y/N) exclaimed. “I just—my laugh isn’t—I don’t… snort…”

“Awh,” Fred took a step closer, placing his hand hesitantly on (Y/N)’s shoulder. “S’all right, (Y/N), I think it’s cute. I think you’re cute.”

“Shut it…” (Y/N) said, looking away. After all that talk of getting flustered around Fred, why was her own body betraying her so poorly? Surely Fred could see the pink in her cheeks, there was no point in trying to hide it. “I think you’re cute too…” she mumbled, the words barely passing her lips.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch that?” Fred said, grinning.

“I said I think you’re cute too,” (Y/N) repeated, her voice louder. “There, happy?”

“Elated,” Fred said, his smile growing softer. “Since you think I’m terribly attractive—”

“That’s not what I said—”

“And since I think you’re terribly adorable, what do you say to us going on a date? Say… next weekend, Hogsmeade? You, me, a couple of butterbeers against the world?”

“I’d like that,” (Y/N) said. “I’d like that quite a bit, actually.”

“Wicked,” Fred said, removing his hand from (Y/N)’s shoulder, knowing if he didn’t, he’d probably do something stupid, something she’d slap him silly for even trying. “Now that we’re on the same page, tell me (Y/N)…” he slanted his eyes, “what did you purchase from Zonko’s? Doesn’t seem like your type of store.”

“I…” (Y/N) chose her words carefully, feeling the bag at her side grow almost heavy. “I bought some hiccoughing sweets… to… give to you…”

“You… were going to try and prank me?” Fred said, his finger pointed at his chest. “A woman after my own heart! Oh, (Y/N), you don’t know how attractive that is.”

“I didn’t buy them to seduce you, Weasley,” (Y/N) laughed. “I bought them for… revenge purposes only.”

“Revenge? For the shortie thing? That seems a bit much,” Fred said, crossing his arms. “Don’t you think?”

“Oh no,” (Y/N) said, waving her hand. “The shortie thing doesn’t bother me nearly that bad,” Fred gave her a look, “what? Can’t a girl apologize? Regardless, it wasn’t because of that.”

“Alright, shortie,” Fred said, using the nickname again, dipping a toe in the water. (Y/N) smiled, just a bit. “Then what could you possibly need to get revenge for?”

“Frog spawn soap, women’s lavatory near the library.”

“Holy shit,” Fred said, suppressing a laugh. “That was you? Your scream was so hilarious!”

“I went to go wash the ink off my hands and—”

“So you did get ink on your hands,” Fred said, leaning closer. “I knew it.”

“Your soap,” (Y/N) said, ignoring Fred’s teasing. “Probably will give me nightmares about hand washing for the rest of my life… I figured a few prank-sweets would compensate it fairly.”

“Well played,” Fred said, nodding. “It’s a good plan, though I’d re-think it now that I know all about your devious little scheme, wouldn’t you agree? Try something that’ll really grind my gears, hm?”

“Grind your gears?”

“Yeah, the key to a good revenge, or revenge prank is the one that while the other isn’t expecting, also annoys—”

Without a second thought, (Y/N) leaned upwards, reaching as far as her toes could get her. She grabbed Fred’s face, placing a soft peck to the space near his lips, dangerously close, but not quite touching. She fell back onto the flats of her feet, grinning widely at the now-speechless Weasley in front of her.

“One that the other isn’t expecting? I’ll have to remember that,” (Y/N) said, taking a few steps away from Fred, ready to leave the courtyard. “What? Kneazle have your tongue?”

“I just…” Fred sputtered, trying to find the words. Of all the things he had expected from (Y/N), teasing him to that caliber was not at the top of his list. “I just, didn’t expect you to reach that high,” he forced a laugh, trying to cover up his embarrassment, “shortie.”

(Y/N) smiled softly at the boy, turning her heels to leave. The sound of Fred’s soft laughter met her ears, him surely doing a little jig, something she knew she would see if she turned around, but (Y/N) let him have his moment. Turns out, she didn’t hate that nickname after all. More specifically, she didn’t hate the boy it came from, not one bit.

__

General Tag List: @maralisa124 / @leighxlover / @hey-its-me-rai / @missihart23 / @biatheintrovert / @luna-xxxxx / @chocolaterumble / @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy / @steve-thotgers / @greeneyedthief / @kitkatkl / @thelightsideoflife / @thataudreydork / @badgirlsdeaddreams

Fred Weasley Tag List: @carolinesbookworld / @flyawayjulianna

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

From Eden: One

Warnings: noncon sexual acts, mentions of mental illness; tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The mc suffers from agoraphobia. After a new neighbour moves in across the street, her home becomes even more of a prison.

Note: So I've decided to try something new. I'm hoping that you don't mind the new format. This story is written in first person in the form of diary entries. Transcripts will be included at the end of chapters to accomodate any who have issues reading the images.

I am still working on Omerta but chapter 12 is taking me a little bit longer to complete so hopefully this can tide you over until tomorrow. Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!

As always, if you are so inclined, please like, reblog, and comment. <3

Transcript:

Sunday

It rained today. I hoped it would break the humidity but the air is still balmy and thick. The garden is starting to droop without the usual June sunlight. The shrubs look healthy but I don’t know if the mums will bloom. It is late for them.

The windows are clouded now the rain is gone. Once they dry, it will be suffocating again. I should have pulled out the old patio set last weekend but Lorena was here for the groceries. My meds are running low, I’ll have to remind her.

Oh, I found the old afghan grandma used to use. The one with the knitted flowers. Not a single hole. I’ll wash it and hang it over the loveseat in the lounge. It still smells of her. It’ll be two years next week. I miss her.

The kettle is whistling. Lorena bought a new flavour of tea; a spiced rooibos. It smells more suited to the winter but I’m anxious to try. It’ll boil over if I keep writing. 

I found a documentary on a country house in the British Midlands. I might watch that with my tea. Or maybe fall asleep on the couch. Again.

Monday

I have a new neighbour.

Today, I went out to check the bulbs I planted two weeks ago. I don’t think they’ll bud. It was humid and I had sweat in my eyes as the large truck pulled up across the street. The orange moniker on its side was faded and its white paint was almost yellow. I peeked out the gate as they backed it up. 

The beeping was horrible, almost deafening.

A car was just behind it. I shouldn’t be so curious but grandma always said I was a watcher. Watching is easy; doing is… difficult. 

My new neighbour is a man. He has dark hair and a thick beard. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw the rest of him. His arm shone in the sunlight. It’s metal! I’ve never seen anything like it. I never saw a prosthetic that ended in anything but a hook or a blunt stump. I guess, I never really thought much about it.

I think he saw me too. It is hard to see behind the ivy that covers the front gate but I swore he could see me. I hid before I could make sure of it. It’s rude to stare. That’s what grandma would say. So went back to the flower bed and dug up the bulbs. They were dead.Lorena is coming tomorrow. I’ll ask her to grab more.

Tuesday

Lorena came buy today. She commented about my new neighbour. I acted surprised.

I gave her my list and reminded her of my pills. She was gone for a while before she returned. When she returned, I helped her bring in the bags. We unpacked them and she told me about her new niece; Cora. I think that’s a pretty name but Lorena thinks it’s too old fashioned. She said I would like it given my usual tastes. 

She asked if I was wearing grandma’s shirt. I lied and said I wasn’t.

I showed her the garden and she had some tea after helping me set up the heavy iron patio set with the mosaic tabletop. 

She showed me pictures of Cora. She said when she marries Shelby, she wants to adopt but her sister offered to be her surrogate. I thought that was nice.She left shortly after. I’m in the garden, staring at the old shed as I write. The frame around the window is starting to fall apart. I should fix it soon. And maybe clean the--

Later

The man was at the gate. The one with the metal arm. He scared me.

I hid behind the ivy as I looked out at him. His eyes are very blue. Piercing. Despite the heat, they made me want to shiver. His metal fingers wrapped around one of the curlicues of the gate. He said hello and that his name was Bucky.

I nearly swallowed my tongue as I ran away. I didn’t dare grab my diary until the sunset. He was gone, thank god. I hope he doesn’t come back.

Wednesday

Doctor Tisha called today. She wants me to come in at the end of the month to have my prescriptions reviewed. I told her they were helping much better than the old ones. No more vertigo or manic fits, but my dreams are really vivid. She also reminded me that I should make more of an effort to go beyond the garden. The pills can’t do all the work. Well, I think there are parts of me that just can’t be fixed.

I cleaned out the birdbath but the shed window is still drooping. There’s a spider web above the door and I’m working up the courage to open it. My grandma was always the brave one; she called her slippers ‘the exterminators’. She always made me laugh.

Then the man returned. His knuckles make an odd clinking on the gate when he knocks. I didn’t move at first. I’d rather have faced the spider and her web. But he kept on and it was getting rather annoying.

He pulled some of the ivy aside as I got close. I kept to the edge and peeked out at him. He held a box of freesias. 

“Hey again.” 

 He speaks as if he knows me. I don’t like that. He didn’t even care that I didn’t answer. 

“I see you like to garden so I thought I’d bring you some flowers. To introduce myself…. Better. I’m sorry if I scared you yesterday.”

I didn’t know what to say. The freesias were all shades of red, orange, and yellow. Young with a bit of growing still to do. I shook my head.

“You don’t want them?” He asked.

I frowned so hard it hurt my cheeks. I haven’t talked to anyone by Lorena or Doctor Tisha since grandma died. I was never good at that.

“No, I don’t know you.” I felt as if it was someone else talking.

He blinked and I suddenly felt very dizzy. I ran back to the shed and ripped the door open without thinking. The web caught in my hair as I slammed it shut behind me. I sat in the shadows as I tried to wipe away the web. The old rubbermaid lid warped beneath me, if not cracked. 

 I didn’t come out until the musty air made me sick. As I ran into the house, I noticed he had left the flowers on the other side of the gate. I locked the door behind me and shuddered. I swore I felt eight legs crawling down my arm.

Thursday

Sure enough, the flowers are still there. They haven’t wilted at all despite the intense heat of the sun. June is in full effect and the days get brighter and longer. 

 I found the old weather vane grandma said was swept away in a storm. It was hidden behind the row hedges along the stone wall around the yard. It’s bent but fixable.

 I went inside to eat at noon. I looked out the window as I ate; the strawberries were sour. I saw a shadow through the gate. I watched for a while, sure it was the shifting of the sun. Then I saw the metal fingers and the man’s square jaw as he tried to see past the ivy. He knelt and touched the dainty petals of the freesia. He lifted one of the small pots to sniff and placed it back in the box.

He left shortly after. I won’t go back out. I need to work on the house anyway. All this dust is making me sneeze.

Friday

The flowers are still there.

I refuse to look at them. Instead I focus on my own. I brought the old sony tape deck out to listen to the radio. Grandma always said it was older than me. I believe her. The speakers crackle and the antenna kept falling off.

The robins and sparrows were at the birdbath and a pair of cardinals have taken up in the old painted birdhouse around the back. The squirrels broke the window frame on the shed. Well, I’ll deal with that next week.

The flowers are starting to bloom nicely. I thought they might not, given the late showers and the sudden drought. 

There was a monarch butterfly by the carnations. It flew away before I got too close. My mother liked monarchs. I remember she had one framed in her room. Like the picture of her in grandma’s.

I try not to think of her. Or grandma, too much. 

It makes me sad. Doctor Tisha says this isn’t grandma’s house anymore, it’s mine. My life is mine, she tells me. It’s never really felt like it but I’m trying.

Saturday

The lock on the gate is broken and the flowers are gone. They didn’t go far. I found them planted by the lilies. I had tears in my eyes and my hands shook terribly as I wound an old bike lock around the gate. I picked up the pieces of the old latch. It’s totally ruined.

I haven’t been out since. I’m scared. Was it him? 

It seems like a kind gesture but the memory of the busted lock makes me think otherwise.I’m confused. What does he want?

He should’ve let the flowers wilt and die. Or maybe I should just learn to tell people to leave me alone. Out loud.

[corolune]

Breathing Underwater / Chapter One — Zephyr

AO3 / Tumblr Alex had always known he wasn’t like other children. They didn't hear the song of the ocean in their ears, or feel the thrumming rhythm of the waves in their hearts like he did. Then he finds a silvery coat made of seal fur, glistening and calling him to slip it on — and everything he thought he knew about himself washes away like foam on the sea. Alex Rider is a selkie, and this is the story of how a seal becomes a spy. Prologue 〰 Chapter 1: Zephyr 〰 Chapter 2: Nimbus

zeph·yr — a light wind from the west.

Alex Rider was seven years old when he learned that none of the other children heard the ocean’s song in their ears. A half-formed rhythm that beat in time with his breath, the way the Thames rushed in tune with the hustle and bustle of London.

Mrs. Smith held her finger to her lips, quieting the loud chatter of the class, and beckoned Katie to continue her show and tell.

“And this one,” Katie held up a large, spiralling shell in her hands, “is called a conch shell. When you hold it up to your ear, it sounds like you’re at the beach! It has ocean sounds in it and it’s really really cool. Miss, can I pass it around, for everyone to hear?”

“Yes, you may, but we’ll have to be quiet so we can hear the ocean waves, right class?”

As the shell made its way around the circle of children, Alex leaned into Tom and whispered, “Why would you need a shell to hear the ocean? I can hear it just fine wherever I am!”

Tom shot him a curious look from under his curly, dark fringe. “Yeah, you can imagine how it sounds, but with the shell you can really hear it!”

Alex furrowed his brow, shaking his head, but decided to wait and see what exactly this ocean sound was. The others oohed and ahhed excitedly, holding the conch up to their ears, and soon enough it was his turn.

Tom bounced in place, eyes going wide as he handed the shell over to him with a grin. Cupping it gently to his ear, he listened and waited, but there was nothing other than the sound of air rushing through the twists and turns in the spirally shell. Squeezing his eyes shut and clapping his hand over his other ear, he strained his hearing, but it still sounded nothing like the ocean.

When he blinked his eyes open, it was to Tom’s concerned look, and his neighbour poking his arm.

“Come on Alex, it’s my turn!” James whined, as Alex continued to stare at the shell in his hands. He passed it over to him, leaning over to Tom.

“That didn’t sound anything like the ocean.”

“What are you talking about, mate? That totally sounded like waves on a beach!”

“Waves? But the ocean sounds like a song Tom, and there’s just air in that shell!”

Mrs. Smith cleared her throat, and Alex realized that his whisper was perhaps not much of a whisper after all. “Would you boys like to share what’s going on?”

“Sorry Miss,” Alex mumbled, as Tom continued to glare righteously at him.

“Tom? Is something the matter?” Mrs. Smith raised her eyebrow pointedly.

“Sorry Miss, it’s just that Alex said the shell doesn’t sound like the ocean at all!” At this, the rest of his classmates' voices rose into a rumble and Alex’s cheeks grew pinker by the second.

“It sounds like waves, I suppose, but not like the ocean,” he tried to explain.

“But waves are the ocean!” James exclaimed, while Crystal gasped at him. “If it sounds like waves, it sounds like the ocean,” she said.

Alex sunk deeper into his seat and vowed to never bring up this topic again. Never ever. Especially the bit about the ocean song, which Tom teased him about for weeks afterward.

〰〰

Alex spent his days doing schoolwork, playing football, and sneaking onto the tube with Tom to go to the shops downtown. He learned to avoid other topics, too, like how Ian left him alone at home, or in a hotel when they were on holiday. Or how sometimes, Ian would come home from work trips covered in bruises and scrapes. He made friends easily enough, and then Ian hired Jack to keep him company. It helped him forget that feeling of loneliness that hovered over him like a rain cloud, as if there was something he was missing, like the melody of a song he couldn’t quite remember.

Sometimes, when he was alone at night, he stared up at the stars from his little window and wondered what his parents were like. He barely remembered much of when he was little. Sometimes he thought of the light on the surface of the sea, reflecting into the water below where kelp waved in giant fronds. He remembered cold air on his face and the smell of salt. His parents must have loved the sea, to have taken him to the beach as a baby.

The months passed by, and he got a new bicycle, learned Jack was terrible at cooking, and finally watched the X-Men films Tom had been gushing about. Soon enough, his tenth birthday had come and gone, and summer was upon them.

When the high tides came, at his uncle’s lake cottage in the country, Alex’s blood thrummed hard in his ears. The dark night blanketed the small hamlet, an inky sky bleeding into the city lights that he could see far into the distance. A little lake, too big to be a pond, rippled in the balmy breeze as he lay propped up on his elbows in the grass nearby. If he closed his eyes he could hear the water’s shush-shush-shush in time with his heartbeat.

He was a city boy, but something about the vast, empty lake called to him. He supposed other ten year olds would feel a bit frightened, left alone in the wilderness for hours, where the nearest city was a half hour’s drive away. He never liked the country very much, not when he and Ian went into the woods or hiked up a mountain. But here, there was something that quelled the itchy feeling that had him feeling lost, like he was holding a puzzle piece that wouldn’t fit.

When he heard the car rumbling on the dusty path, he rolled onto his knees and peered over the cattails in the moor. Ian was back from his trip into the little town, and maybe now he would finally stop being so mysterious and tell him the real reason they were here.

“Alex! Come and help me with these,” Ian called, opening up the boot of the car.

Scrambling down the grassy knoll, Alex reached him to see old crates and crumbling piles of paper amongst the grocery bags.

“What’s all this? Where’d you get all this old stuff?”

Ian smiled crookedly. “Help me haul it inside and I’ll tell you!”

The crates were splintered and creaky, rocking with every step on the uneven cobblestone of the driveway. The papers were bundled into musty files, but between the two of them it was short work to gather everything into the foyer of the little cottage.

“So did you drive us up here to go to an estate sale or something without me? Bet I could have found something a lot cooler than some old paperwork.” Alex grinned as he put down the last box.

Ian chuckled, shaking his head. “I didn’t buy any of this. Lucky for me no one had come across it yet.”

He pried one of the crates open. Inside, there were soft cotton dresses, yellowed with age, in floral prints and geometric lines in vibrant colours.

“These things, they’re your mother’s.”

He blinked, looking up sharply.

“My mum’s? But...I thought there wasn’t...” Alex stumbled over his words, confused and hopeful all at once. “I thought there wasn’t anything left of hers,” he finished in a soft, timid voice, feeling something pull at his chest. He ran his fingers over the soft fabric, trying to remember his mum’s face. The smell of sea salt wafted up from where he shook out the folds. A large seashell, curved into a spiral, fell out as he lifted it away, clattering onto the wooden floor, and he reached after it. In his hands, the shell was smooth.

“I didn’t think so either,” Ian said. “But last time I came up here, remember I had to check on some things for our holiday?”

Alex nodded, the sound of his blood rushing in his ears like the thrum of the ocean.

“Helen—your mum—she had a safe in the little bank in town. Just by chance that the man there recognized the name Rider, good thing we weren’t playing disguises, eh?”

Alex had moved onto untying the twine from the bundles of files. The folders were dry, caked with dust, and brittle. The papers inside were less dusty but equally crisp with age. Inside they held an eclectic mix of newspaper clippings and postcards, photographs of people he didn’t recognize, and pressed flowers. Little mementos of a life lived, a life that Alex had had little chance to wonder about.

His parents had died in an accident. But in him now, seeing these objects that his—mum—had once lovingly saved, a spark flared into a hopeful warmth. He read and read his mother’s journal until his eyes slid shut, and he felt Ian lift him up and tuck him into bed. He dreamt of Venice and Prague, of coffee shops and delicate flowers blooming under gentle care. His dreams were full of strange people and stranger plots surrounding both his mum and his dad.

〰〰

The next morning when he woke, he could feel the ocean’s rhythm in his ears, louder than it had ever been before. He stumbled out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, to see Ian already awake and halfway through his toast.

“Morning sleepyhead,” Ian said around a mouthful of crunchy bread.

Plopping into a chair, Alex stole some from the pile for himself, spreading a very generous amount of jam onto his piece.

“Hmmm,” he hummed. The jam was really very good. Actually, now that he thought about it, he felt very good too, light and happy for the first time in, well, a long time. If he concentrated hard enough, he could even make out words in the usually jumbled melody in his ears.

Come...sea...little...

He chewed over this development as he finished breakfast, glancing at the crates and papers still piled up in the foyer from the night before. There was just one box he hadn’t gotten to before falling asleep — it was sealed shut so tightly that he hadn’t been able to pry it open by himself.

Ian noticed his gaze. “We can bring those with us for you to keep, when we drive back home.”

“Yes, I’d like that,” Alex nodded. “But I didn’t get a chance to look inside that one, can you help me get it open?”

Without noticing it, he found himself in front of the small box and running his fingers over the little notches in the wood, as if he’d been pulled towards it. A dull rhythm echoed in his ears like a siren song.

Armed with a sharp knife, his uncle pried open the lid. Whatever was inside was wrapped in packing paper and plastic, and an unassuming beige envelope rested on top. “For Alex R.,” it read in curly script, and the back of it was sealed shut with a sticker in the shape of a round, pink heart.

Ian leaned over his shoulder, humming with interest at this new mystery. “I’d reckon your mum left you this, Alex. Strange that I never came across any of this when you were younger.”

“You mean this is all a lucky accident? If we hadn’t come here...if you hadn’t gone to that bank, I wouldn’t have ever gotten any of this?” It wasn’t the first time Alex had had this thought since Ian first told him what he’d brought, and it seemed a little too much like coincidence.

“Perhaps, but then again, maybe she’d assumed you’d go looking for her things one day or another. Either way, it doesn’t matter — go on, open that envelope, I’m dying to see what’s inside just as much as you are!” Ian grinned, and Alex could feel the excitement rolling off of his uncle, who was always thrilled to play detective. Truth be told, he was excited too — it wasn’t everyday that he discovered an old family treasure.

The sticker peeled open easily, its stickiness long since disappeared. Inside, there was thick, creamy stationery paper, folded into thirds, and something shifted inside with a dull clinking sound. A golden chain slid out, flowing into his palm like liquid metal. Tiny shells dotted the chain and a small seashell hung from the middle.

“I remember that necklace,” Ian said thoughtfully. “I only met your mother a few times, but I can remember her wearing it — the seashell opens like a locket, I think, though I can’t recall what was inside it.”

Alex was more interested in the letter than a piece of glittering, girly jewelry, and he was happy to hand it off to Ian to inspect. Unfolding the elegant paper, he shouldn’t have been surprised to see his name on it, but he still couldn’t hold back a small gasp. The curly letters were undoubtedly his mother’s.

Dearest Alex,

In this box is something that has been yours since the day you were born. I’ve kept it safe and hidden, and hopefully you will find it one day when you need it. I wish that I was able to share this with you, face to face.

You must know by now, that you are different from other children; I am sure you never had to be taught to swim, and that the waves call to you in a way unlike anything else. You make friends easily, and others are charmed by you when you smile. You get those traits from me.

There is something else you get from me, too. Like me, you are a selkie, and your life is equally in the sea as it is on land. The sealskin in this box — this is yours. Wear the coat and you will swim as a seal, slip it off and you will walk once more.

Make sure to never lose your skin, always keep it safe and hidden, always keep it a secret. If you lose your skin, you must find it before someone else takes it and holds power over you.

My mother gave me this necklace, and now I’m giving it to you—a rare shell that will be a compass to your coat should you ever lose it. I hope that one day, you will find someone you trust with your life, someone you can share your secret with.

I love you with all my heart, my darling son.

Your Mum,

Helen R.

With slightly watery eyes, he looked up to see Ian nonchalantly trying to read the letter from where he sat next to him. Nothing in the letter made any sense to him—he’d heard of selkies of course, but the idea that his long lost mother was a seal was so weird that it passed right over his head. Distantly he noticed Ian taking the letter from him to read properly, but Alex was too much in the midst of an identity crisis to notice.

The soft, crinkling sounds of paper roused him from his circling thoughts. He turned to see Ian crumpling up the packing paper and tearing open the thin plastic that covered the contents of the box, tipping it over.

Soft, white fur with patches of grey unfurled onto the floor, somehow familiar, beckoning Alex. Something in his chest unfurled along with it, and for the first time that feeling of something missing, that yearning for something more, dissolved like foam on the sea. He ran his hands through the short, white fur, and knew that this was what he’d lost, and now found.

“This is yours,” Ian said.

That night, as Ian sat at the dock and Alex, clad in the silvery fur, dove into the cold lake water shimmering with moonlight, everything he thought he knew about himself washed away.

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[takerfoxx]

Blood Island, Chapter 4

Climbing back down from the Carmilla’s Fancy was a slow and painful process, but Nuriel wasn’t left with much choice. She was hurt, and she needed to find out how badly.

Finally she dropped down to the sand. Her knees buckles and she staggered, which sent fresh lances of pain across her stomach. Wincing, she grabbed onto a nearby beech trunk and pulled herself back up to her feet and started limping toward the water.

The sun was dipping toward the horizon, but it hadn’t reached it yet, so there was still plenty of light to see by. She waded in up to her calves and slowly pulled the tails of her shirt out of her trousers to inspect the damage.

The cuts were painful, but fortunately shallow. They were bleeding freely, but it didn’t look like anything important had been punctured. Nuriel carefully knelt down and washed them the best she could. The salt water set the fires burning anew and brought fresh tears to her eyes, but she endured.

When she had gotten most of the filth off, she cupped water in her hand and gingerly washed her ear.

The information she got from her fingers wasn’t good. That bird had taken a decent chunk out of her ear, and the flesh that remained was torn and ragged. Just touching it caused the burning pain to flare up.

Nuriel shivered. She was fucked. She was utterly fucked. She might not be in any danger of bleeding out, but wounds like that were sure to get infected. She would die just as easily from that as she would from getting ripped apart, and probably a lot more slowly at that.

Biting down on her lower lip, she glanced around to ensure that nothing was stalking her. Then she yanked out the strips of linen that she had used to bind her breasts and wrapped them around the cuts on her stomach. The pressure brought fresh tears of pain to her eyes, but she knotted them tight and gingerly tucked her shirt back in.

With any luck, the cuts would close without infection. The missing chunk of her ear was gone for good, but it wasn’t the first time someone had taken a large piece of flesh from her, and it was a lot less crippling than last time. At least she could still hear. At least she could-

The white-hot blade sliced through flesh, charring in its wake. Nuriel shrieked and bucked, but the restraints held her in place as Master Reginald coldly made good on his threat.

Sitting restrained across from her, Father wept as he watched. He had to watch. Master Reginald had warned him not to turn away, lest he take off a larger chunk.

Finally it was done, and Nuriel collapsed, weeping around a mouthful of blood and pain. Ignoring her agony, Master Reginald took the lump of flesh into his gloved hands and turned to Father. “I trust I’ve made my point,” he said coldly, and tossed the lump right into Father’s lap. Father grimaced in disgust, but he said nothing. Master Reginald had told him that Nuriel would lose one finger for every word Father said.

“She will live,” Master Reginald continued as he dispassionately pulled off his gloves. “But disappoint me again, and I’ll take something she cannot afford to live without. Do you understand me?”

Nuriel was barely paying any attention. All she knew was pain. Pain, and a gaping emptiness where there hadn’t been one, an emptiness that told her that she would never be the same, never be-

Nuriel’s face twisted up, and she angrily wiped away the tears that had started forming. Stop it, she told herself. Nothing’s gained from going back there. Father’s dead. Master Reginald is dead. It’s just you. And if you survived that, you can survive this.

It was a nice thought, but she could only wish that it was true.

Once she had calmed herself down, Nuriel sighed and turned back to the Carmilla’s Fancy. Getting back aboard was not going to be easy, but it was her best chance to find someplace halfway safe.

The first time she had climbed up, she hadn’t had to worry about moving in any particular way. This time she had to make sure not to bend at the waist too much, to rely on her arms’ to pull herself up through the ladder of branches.

It hurt more than going down did.

Finally she was able to pull herself onto the deck. She rolled onto her back and just lay there, gasping in agony.

She was so fucked.

When the burning had ebbed down into a tolerable throbbing, Nuriel gingerly rolled over and pushed herself up with her palms. Her legs felt wobbly beneath her, but she could stand.

All right, she had the ship to herself now. The bird had fled, and with any luck it would stay away.

Then Nuriel cast a glare over to the captain’s quarters, where its nest was. So long as that was there, there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t be back.

It took some work, but Nuriel was able to wrestle both doors shut. There. At least that damn bird wasn’t going to be slinking back in while she slept.

In the meantime, she needed a place of her own to sleep, and it wasn’t going to be out in the open. Nuriel warily eyed the hatch that led down to the cargo hold. It was shut, so maybe there was a chance that nothing had crawled in.

Opening it sent fresh lances of pain across her belly, but she winced and endured. The sun was close to setting and provided little light down the wooden stairs. Nuriel turned her head this way and that, trying to catch some kind of glimpse of anything that might be lurking within.

When nothing leapt at her face or growled in warning, she began to climb down the steps.

The steps groaned under her feet, but they held her weight, which was good sign. Also, while the ship’s interior smelled plenty damp and musty, she couldn’t pick out anything that smelled especially animalistic, no sign of anything taking up residence in the crew’s absence. Another good sign.

Nuriel sniffed again. Speaking of the crew, she didn’t even smell anything like decaying flesh. Well, maybe fortune was favoring her for once. No angry beasts, and no angry ghosts. Two points in her new home’s favor.

Still, not being able to see much of her surrounding put her ill at ease. This was not the first time she had been forced to sleep in a strange, dark place, and those instances had not always gone well.

Hoping against hope that nothing would disturb her that night, Nuriel went back up the steps and pulled the hatch closed again. Then she carefully felt her way back down until she found a corner next to a post that seemed reasonably dry.

Nuriel eased herself down and stretched out her legs. She shifted her weight around until she found a position that put little pressure on her stomach. Then she closed her eyes.

Nuriel had a number of rituals that she employed whenever she needed to fall asleep quickly. Given the number of uncomfortable places and situations she had gotten herself into over the years, she had gotten quite adept at snatching whatever bits of rest that she could no matter where she was or how much danger she was in.

Counting rats. Yes. Just imagine a ship’s hold, with rats darting from one end to the other. Picture the gentle rocking of the ship, the creaking of the timbers, the clanging of the ship’s bell, and count. One rat, two rats…

She got as far as seven before the darkness took her.

…

Laying a hand on Nuriel’s chest, the native girl gently pushes her back, so that Nuriel is lying flat on her back in the sand. Her ears fill with the sound of the night surf washing against the shore, and far off, the crew is still singing merrily around the bonfire.

Nuriel doesn’t care about any of that. All she can see is the native girl’s dark eyes, like two pools of liquid night, and her smile, her teeth shining bright in the shadows that cover her face. Her curly black hair falls in waves around her bare shoulders, and when she slowly lays her body across Nuriel’s, it spills down onto Nuriel’s chest like a curtain.

Their lips meet, and Nuriel can’t keep herself from groaning out loud.

The native girl sits up again, her legs straddling Nuriel’s hips. Their gazes still locked, the girl calmly reaches up and unwraps her garment from around her middle, loosening it. A casual push, and it drops down in a pile around her waist.

Nuriel inhales sharply.

Still smiling, the girl closes her eyes and lets out a pleased sigh.

When she opens them again, they are now the color of freshly spilled blood and glowing like embers. Her smile widens, exposing knifelike fans.

And when she dips down again, she goes not for Nuriel’s lips, but her neck.

…

Thump.

Nuriel’s eyes snapped open. There was the rush of bewilderment that came from being abruptly wakened, but that was banished from her mind with practiced ease. Within moments the dream was forgotten, sleep was forgotten, she had remembered where she was and why, and was on high alert.

It was now in the dead of night, if the complete darkness surrounding her was any indication. Nuriel took quick stock of herself. Her stomach and ear still ached, but not as badly as they had before. More importantly, she was untouched.

However, she was not alone.

Thump. Skitter.

There was something on the deck. She could hear its claws scratching the wood.

Her right hand started shaking. She quickly covered it with her left and listened. Maybe it was just some tree-dwelling animal that had wandered on board, like another monkey or something like that.

Then she heard a hoarse, cackling cry, a very familiar one at that. Nuriel felt icy fingers of fear slide down her back. The bird was back.

She listened as it walked across the deck, sometimes pausing to claw at the timbers. She was pretty sure that it couldn’t get in, so all she had to do was wait until it left. In time it would realize that hunting her was futile and give up.

And maybe if she wished hard enough she would end up growing wings herself to fly her away.

The bird called out again. It wasn’t the harsh cackle of warning from before, nor was it the screeches of pain as it flew off. This call was shrill and drawn out, clearly some kind of message.

A message that was answered.

Another call responded from further off, and Nuriel heard the sound of flapping wings. Then there was another call, and another, and another. She closed her eyes and mentally recited every profanity that she knew. Not only was the bird back, but it had brought friends.

Soon the air was filled with flapping wings, angry cries, and thumps on the deck above as the birds all came in for a landing. She couldn’t even begin to guess how many there were; she just knew that if they somehow managed to get in then she would be torn apart.

She heard them hopping across the deck and scratching at the hatch. They knew where she was, and they had come for blood.

The scratching grew louder as the birds started to go at the deck itself, and something soft landed on her head. Nuriel jerked, and instinctively covered her hand. More of the stuff fell across her fingers. Sawdust. The birds were looking for weak points in the deck and trying to claw their way through.

Nuriel eased herself up and looked around. There was next to no light to see by, but here and there were tiny cracks and holes in the ship’s hull to let in slivers of moonlight. One hole in particular looked large enough for her to see through. She crept along, one hand feeling her way while the other clutched Saint George, with her heart pounding away the whole time.

She made it to the hole. Kneeling down, she got in close to take a look. Outside, she couldn’t see much other than the moonlit sands sinking into the water. She maneuvered her body around, trying to get a glimpse of the sky.

Suddenly her vision was taken up by a single golden eye, staring through the hole back at her.

Nuriel fell back as the bird screeched in anger. It went to work attacking the hole by jamming its beak through to widen it.

Nuriel stared in horror as the bird aggressively ripped at the decaying hull, sometimes using its beak while other times its talons. Other birds were answered its calls, and she could hear them swooping in to attach themselves to the ship.

Not knowing what else to do, she stabbed Saint George at the dark-feathered talon that was shoving its way into the hole. It immediately withdrew with an angry hiss.

Then Nuriel felt something grab onto Saint George’s blade from the other side. Panicked, she tried to pull him back, but the bird yanked again.

No, no, no, no! This couldn’t happen! She couldn’t end like this, torn apart by a flock of feathered monsters, with her only possession that meant anything to her stolen and defiled.

Nuriel braced her legs against the wall and pushed with all her strength as she pulled back with both arms. She was not going to let Saint George go! Papa had given him to her, Papa had made her promise to take care of him! If she was going to die, it was going to be with Saint George in her hands, blood on his blade, and not carried away to adorn some flying monstrosity’s nest!

She pulled once, twice, and then finally managed to yank him free. She was sent sprawling onto her back as the bird outside screamed in pain and rage.

Dazed, Nuriel lifted Saint George up. Sure enough, there was a streak of dark red on the blade. She had managed to take a piece after all. Well, there was that comfort at least.

Then she giggled. Some comfort. She was moments away from a very gory, very painful end, but hey, at least she still had her knife.

Then, audible even over the birds’ screeching and squawking, a whistle sounded from off in the distance.

A shrill human whistle.

The birds all stopped there clawing and cackling, and for one bewildering moment there was complete silence.

A harsh, guttural sound that was part roar, part snarl, and part scream responded, and Nuriel heard something that was very much like several very large dogs huffing as dozens of feet pounded the sand.

Then the birds began to scream.

Nuriel had no idea what was going on. It sounded like there was a war going on outside, one filled with avian shrieks of rage and pain. The birds were going to war with something apparently, something that equaled them in numbers and savagery. She heard several of the birds’ cackles get suddenly cut off, followed by growls and the sound of ripping flesh and snapping bones.

Then the deck above thumped again as the new somethings leapt on board. Nuriel could hear them scurrying this way and that as they attacked the birds, could see where the beams of moonlight were cut off as their bodies passed over the holes.

How long the fight lasted, she had no idea, but before she knew it the remaining birds had given up. At least the sound of their squawking drew further and further away as they retreated into the night sky.

Above and below, her unlikely rescuers continued to dart this way and that, apparently finishing off any bird too wounded to fly and probably making a meal of their remains. There was a lot of growling, a lot of ripping, and a lot of breaking.

And Nuriel was lying very, very still.

She had no idea exactly what had shown up to drive the birds off, but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that they were actually on her side. No, it was just some rival pack of animals, one that would be more than happy to rend her apart in the birds’ stead.

However, there was one advantage in her favor, and that was that they didn’t know she was there. So if she stayed very still and prayed to whoever might be listening that they didn’t smell-

The sounds of feasting stopped. And then she heard something sniffing.

Aw fuck.

The boards of the deck creaked as the newcomers walked this way and that, sniffing and snarling. Nuriel held Saint George to her chest with both hands and closed her eyes.

Then whoever it was that had let out that whistle that had sounded off the attack whistled again. In response, the newcomers immediately retreated, leaping off the ship to the sands below and scurrying away.

Oh.

Well.

That happened.

Nuriel was internally debating the pros and cons of unclenching her muscles and quite possibly even moving when something new thumped onto the deck. It stood still for a moment, and then began to walk across it.

Whatever it was, it was lighter of foot than even the birds. Nuriel could barely hear the padding of its footsteps as it made its way from the stern to the…

It stopped next to the hatch.

Nuriel held her breath.

Then with an agonizing creak, the hatch was hauled open, letting moonlight shine into the storage hold.

And then something stepped onto the top step of the stairs.

Though every muscle was tensed up with terror, Nuriel forced herself to at roll slowly onto her side to face whatever it was that was coming down, whether it be the biggest and nastiest bird there was or one of those scaly monsters or a man-sized spider.

It was none of those things.

Nuriel’s gaze drifted from the bottom of the stairs to the top. And standing there, silhouetted against the stars, was a human form.

It was a woman, one with long and wild hair and a ragged dress. Her features were completely shrouded in darkness, but Nuriel could see a pair of shining scarlet eyes, staring directly down at her.

The breath caught in Nuriel’s throat. Her dream returned to her. The red-eyed monster in the jungle was real.

Time seemed to slow and stretch on and on as they two held each other’s gazes, the monster’s calm, burning gaze boring into Nuriel’s terrified eyes.

Then, so suddenly it sent a jolt of surprise down Nuriel’s spine, the red-eyed monster suddenly looked away, up toward the sky.

Nuriel blinked. It took less than a second, just a quick shuttering of her eyes. Nevertheless, the red-eyed monster was right in front of her, but in the space of time it took for her eyelids to briefly pass down and up again, it was gone.

And then the hatch swung closed, seemingly of its own accord.

Nuriel waited in the dark, listening intently. Her ear was throbbing again, as were the cuts on her belly, but she pushed the pain out of her mind and tried to pick out any sign of the red-eyed monster’s movement.

There was none. It was gone.

Nuriel remained where she was, hands clasped around Saint George’s handle and pressing him to her chest, for the rest of the night.

…

When Nuriel’s eyes opened again, she was still lying flat on her back, hands clutching Saint George to her chest, staring right up at the ceiling.

It was daytime. Exactly when, she had no way of really telling, but the sun was up and seeping through the cracks and holes that dotted the Santa Camarilla’s hull.

She had survived the night.

She had made it.

Nuriel slowly closed her eyes and opened them again. Then she let her head fall to the left, so that she was looking toward the hole that the bird had been trying to break through.

Nothing.

So far, so good. Nuriel righted her head, and then let it drop to her right, laying her cheek flat against the wood.

Immediately agony flared up in her ear, bringing tears to her eyes. Nuriel gasped and immediately jerked her head away, relieving the pressure.

Her ear continued to throb. Nuriel lay as still as she could, waiting for the pain to recede into something manageable.

Gradually the fire cooled, but it didn’t die, and that scared Nuriel the most. Pain she could manage, but if anything it was now hurting more than it had the night before.

Infection.

Nuriel shivered. She had seen what an infected wound could do, had seen small cuts turn into ugly, rotting messes that grew and grew, had seen fully grown men be reduced to shivering, delirious wrecks when they got too bad. She had seen many of them die.

Though her chin was trembling, Nuriel closed her eyes and took a moment to compose herself. Then she gingerly rolled around the best she could and pushed herself up.

At the very least, the wounds in her stomach didn’t seem infected. They still ached, but they didn’t burn. Hopefully in time they would heal.

Hopefully.

Careful to not upset anything that might split open, Nuriel limped her way to the stairs. The hatch was closed, so most of it was covered in shadow, but she could make out their shapes at least.

There was something on them.

Nuriel paused. There, sitting on one of the middle steps was a basket. And there was something in the basket. The red-eyed monster must have left it.

Which meant that it had returned while she had been asleep. It had reopened the hatch and left the basket while she had been asleep. Now that was something that she was not comfortable with at all.

Nuriel continued to move slowly forward, now more out of caution than pain. The basket didn’t move, so it probably didn’t contain tiny flesh-eating beetles or giant worms or poisons snakes or something like that, but she was ruling no possibility out. She ascended the first few steps and looked inside.

Fruit. The basket was full of fruit. There were a couple of the yellow fruits she had pilfered from the monkeys, as well as some that were bright red and spiky. There were a couple of small green ones with rough skins, and a several smaller ones that honestly looked like blue grapes. And in the center was something long, fat, and purple.

Nuriel recognized exactly none of it.

What was more, there was a piece of paper lying on top. And on the paper was writing.

Nuriel picked it up and walked over to one of the beams of sunlight that was pouring in through a hole. Her reading skills were rusty due to recent lack of use, though they were fortunately passable. Father had made sure of that.

And the note was simple.

Hello.

Do not be afraid. I am a friend.

[spiriituma]

||--not sure what, if anything, to tag this as but !! potential trigger warning for death, some gore... basically magic horror beneath the cut, so have fun !!--||

IT WAS AN ALL BUT SILENT NIGHT. The witch’s heart pounded in her ears, she could feel it rising up into her throat. Each footfall was more panicked than the last, and though the sirens were far enough behind her to fade into obscurity behind the thick curtain of fog that followed, the fear that they would catch her couldn’t help but creep into her thoughts. Lee’s white-knuckle grip on her cloak and the bag she carried over her shoulder only grew tighter as she barreled through underbrush, deeper and deeper into the thicket, paying little attention to where she was headed, only looking to get far, far away from where she’d been.

Once she could no longer hear the sirens, the girl stopped, doubled over coughing, trying to catch her breath. She didn’t know how long she’d been running, how far the town she’d just booked it out of was behind her. A shaking hand reached out to grasp at the nearest tree, nails digging into the bark. She’d gotten a little bit too cocky with her thievery; breaking into a pawn shop to rob them of their most valuable objects only to find an armed night guard hadn’t exactly been a shining moment of hers. (She was a teenager with magic too strong for her own good; it was bound to get to her head eventually.)

A few minutes passed before the blonde finally stopped shaking. She took a tentative step forward, pulling the hood of her cloak back up around her. It had just begun to drizzle; thunder rumbled in the distance, lightning flickered faintly overhead. If she didn’t start moving now, she’d never make it to somewhere she could keep dry before it started to downpour. The last thing she wanted was to be rained on when she had only one other set of clothes to change into and nowhere warm to sleep. If only she could start a fire that wasn’t cold, something that she’d have to teach herself later; maybe she could practice while she walked.

Muttering to herself, playing with a small blue flame, Lee picked her way through the woods, starting down a little dirt trail that looked like it hadn’t been trod down in years. A half an hour of walking, of practicing, and an iron gate blocked the young girl’s way. Soft, blue-gray eyes gazed up at the wrought iron design arching above her head. There was no name on the gate, but the headstones just past it led her to believe she’d just stumbled upon an old cemetery, seemingly forgotten to all but her.

The witch very cautiously pushed the gate open with a loud creak, fog pooling around her ankles as she wiped the rust on her tattered jeans. It must have rained rather hard there before she arrived, puddles lined the gravel road down both sides; the gravestones, some of which appeared to be old, scuffed marble shone with a new glory, the dust and dirt washed away. As she walked, she read the names, the inscriptions. A married couple resting side by side. A young boy. A woman taken in her prime. Several stones with no names, names that had faded away with time. Feeling the tears begin to well up, Lee paused, squatting beside them, fingers grazing over the still wet stones.

Condolences were whispered to the souls who laid beneath, an apology uttered along with it. A fascination, a connection, with the dead had always bubbled within the witch. As a child, she had spent a lot of time in cemeteries, more so after the loss of her grandmother. A witch herself, Lee’s grandmother had been the young girl’s rock, teaching her the basics, helping her control her magic. When the woman passed, Lee was lost-- completely devastated. Her one solace was visiting her grandmother’s gravesite every evening... until their family moved. And kept moving. With every mistake that Lee made regarding her powers, the girl’s mother grew more and more angry, holing her away from people save to send her to school. The blows to her psyche kept coming, and the pent up anger and aggression rose ever further to the surface.

Until the girl blew a fuse. Quite literally.

Lee visibly winced, trying to push the thought out of her conscious as she stood, casting a lingering glance at the wordless grave markers before continuing on. The thunder she’d been trying so hard to avoid boomed louder, echoing around her, seeming to shake the cemetery itself. Her breath hung in the air like dragon smoke amidst the fog around her; a quick peek over her shoulder determined there was no going back-- she was far enough along that the gate had since disappeared. “Well...” The word was breathy, quiet, said to no one in particular, not even herself. “I guess the only way out... is through.”

Continuing on, Lee had to stop herself from stopping at more headstones, telling herself that it would be fine, that those who rested there would forgive her for not acknowledging them. All that mattered was making it to a safe, dry, and preferably warm location before the oncoming storm finally touched ground. As she reached what she presumed was the edge of the cemetery, about to hop over the rusty iron fence, something caught her eye. There was a portion of the wrought iron that was broken, overgrown by a large tree. Past it, an even lesser traveled path poked out from underneath loose leaves and brush. She paused, fingers tapping against the iron; teeth bit down hard on her lower lip. Keep going keep going keep going-- Her mind told her to keep going straight.

BUT IT WAS HER HEART TUGGING HER TOWARDS THE SHADOWS.

Lee jogged over to the broken portion of fencing and hopped the roots that had overtaken it, pushing past the underbrush as she moved forward, keeping her eyes on the gravel path so that she wouldn’t be lost in the fog were she to want to head back. There was an air of excitement, of mystery, around the place. She had never been one to find cemeteries spooky; in fact, the contrary was true-- walking through one’s gates felt like going to visit friends. However, what she stumbled upon in the woods was a sight unlike anything she’d ever seen before.

A hauntingly beautiful mausoleum stood among a circle of trees, seemingly protected from time itself, and standing in front of it... A STATUE OF A HORSE. She was transfixed by the creature, and how could she not be? The piece was immaculate, sculpted from what appeared to be black marble or granite, though a more exotic kind than she’d ever seen, shot through with swirls of red and gold. What intrigued Lee most of all, however, was not what the horse was made of, but its posture, its physique. It looked to be a mare, standing alert, one ear pricked forward, her neck arched and nostrils flared-- though the horse was not rearing up or striking, all four feet planted on its base, something about it sent a chill down the witch’s spine.

SHE WAS A PROTECTOR. A FIERCE ONE. A FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH.

It was clear to her that the mare had been placed at the site as a memorial, but also as a warning-- one that she would later regret not heeding. Though, in that moment, she was desperate. An idea had worked its way into her mind. She remembered a spell in the book her grandmother had given her that would give life to an inanimate object, long enough for the object to provide a service to its creator before turning back into whatever it had once been. A loud crack of lightning across the cloudy night sky told the girl all she needed to know. She needed to find that spell, and she needed to find it fast. This horse could help her. Maybe it could protect her, be her guide; if nothing else, it would at least provide a way out of the woods that was faster than her own two feet.

Setting down her bag, Lee dug through it and grabbed the musty, torn spell book her grandmother had given her. Flipping through it, she occasionally cast a glance up at the horse; maybe it was just her own paranoia from the events that had transpired earlier that night, but she felt like it was eyeing her. Sizing her up. Upon finding the spell, Lee set the book down onto the wet ground (how odd that the page had already been marked, and not by her own hand,) before taking a deep breath and stepping back towards the statue. Her tongue stuck out from between her lips in concentration as she began to draw a circle around the base with her magic, lighting up the surrounding area with an eery blue glow. 

Lee checked the circle once, twice, three times, going back and forth to her spell book to make sure she had everything right. Stepping back to admire her handiwork, eyes closed tight, a plea to a higher power slipped past her lips. The witch swallowed thickly and opened her eyes-- it was time to try out what she’d learned. Hands hovered above the book, she stood square with the statue’s base, looking up at the stone mare. This had to work. IT JUST HAD TO WORK. 

“Veni... ambulabunt mecum.” (COME... WALK WITH ME.)

Another crack of lightning split the sky, though it was Lee’s magic that still illuminated the clearing and everything in it. Leaves began to swirl at the statue’s base, and the witch felt her breath hitch in her chest. Her hands trembled, fingers tense from holding the spell, but she simply had to see it through its completion. Lee’s teeth gritted, brows furrowed, fighting the urge to stop. I can take it. I can do this. I’m strong enough. Gramma wouldn’t have given me the book if she didn’t think so--

Blue tendrils of magic branched out of its circle, snaking up the statue’s base and around the horse’s legs, up its chest, barrel, haunches... crawling up and wrapping its neck and head. Suddenly there was a CRACK that wasn’t from above; Lee’s eyes shot up, the circle she had created around the statue’s base ceased to glow, fading into the ground. The clearing was silent.

DEATHLY SILENT.

The statue began to twitch. Head canted to the side; stone crackled and chipped as its ears flicked back and forth. Eyes forced themselves to blink; hooves were picked up one by one off of the base, the creature gaining its footing for the very first time. Lee’s magic still ensnared it, the mare’s eyes glowing a bright blue. From her position on the ground, Lee took a step back, a small smile of disbelief on her face, watching the creature. She’d done it, she’d completed the spell--

She tripped over her backpack, sending her falling onto her backside with a thud. Breathless, the witch’s eyes locked onto the statue, meeting the creature’s gaze. Something felt wrong. A sudden terror struck her as the magic that had been meant to fade began to change; the blue tendrils warped themselves, swirling faster around the figure and changing from the electric blue that Lee was so familiar with to a blazing blood red. Scrambling backwards, desperately trying to get herself untangled from her backpack, Lee’s heart nearly froze in her chest.

THE MARE’S JAW CRACKED OPEN IN A SILENT SCREAM, AND THE CREATURE RAISED ITSELF ONTO ITS HIND LEGS. 

Within seconds, it sprung towards the witch, Lee having just barely managed to kick herself free and get to her feet, throwing herself in the direction of the path she’d traveled earlier. Once again, she found herself in a desperate chase, though this one easily felt more LIFE AND DEATH than the previous. She couldn’t stop shaking, sparks flying from her fingertips with each stride; the girl dared not look behind her, for it was enough to hear the stone horse crashing its way through the underbrush. 

There was a slight bit of relief as the broken portion of cemetery fence she’d jumped earlier came back into view through the fog. Frantically, Lee leapt the fence, but she was stopped short upon landing, her cloak caught on the wrought iron spikes. She stumbled to the ground, choking, clutching at her neck in an attempt to free herself of the garment. Just past the fence, the horse had come into view, menacing red eyes shining through the heavy fog. IT WAS AFTER HER. IT WASN’T STOPPING. IT WAS GOING TO KILL HER.

AND SHE WAS RUNNING OUT OF TIME.

With enough struggling, the cloak ripped, sending the witch flat onto her face, but providing a bit of a distraction for the ghastly creature that had hunted her down. As Lee scrambled back, the horse became tangled in the cloak. It had no voice, it could not speak, but THAT DIDN’T STOP IF FROM SCREAMING. Eyes were still fixed on the young witch as she backed away from the creature, her thoughts a blur, mind racing, trying to determine a plan of action-- or if there even was one. Her ankle was twisted from the fall, running would no longer be an option; the book that contained her spells was somewhere past the horse, on the other side of the fence, still at the mausoleum, there was no way she’d be able to reach it in time.

WHAT DO I DO WHAT DO I DO WHAT DO I--

The stone mare had finally freed itself from the cloak, shaking the garment that was now tattered beyond recognition off of her hooves and facing down the witch. Save for Lee’s ragged breathing, the cemetery was quiet; the sense of dread that had overtaken the witch was soon replaced with anger as the creature stood there, a ways in front of her, watching her with an almost disappointed gaze. AS IF SHE WERE WOUNDED PRAY THAT THE HORSE HAD EXPECTED MORE OF A CHASE FROM.

“Wh-- What do you want--?!” Maybe SCREAMING AT IT wasn’t Lee’s best option, but... she didn’t see any way out of this in which she was STILL LIVING. Tears began to stream down the witch’s battered face; she clutched at her side, knees trembling, trying to convince herself to KEEP STANDING. “What do-- do you want from me? You wanna kill me? IS THAT IT?!”

There was no response from the horse. Had the girl really expected one?

Letting out a shaking, choppy breath, Lee spat blood at her feet, keeping her eyes trained on the mare. It had finally hit her, the anger that she had kept deep inside ever since her grandmother’s death. Still willing herself to keep standing, the blonde gritted her teeth, staring down the horse through her tears. “THEN FUCKING DO IT! GET IT OVER WITH! Look at you, you fucking bitch-- you’re a MONSTER. And I’m the one that made you--

I’M NO BETTER THAN YOU ARE.

I’ve wasted this life. I’ve wasted my life, a-and I’ve played god, and I DON’T DESERVE A SECOND CHANCE, SO WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR--?!

JUST GET IT OVER WITH ALREADY!”

And so, it seemed, the mare would, launching forward at Lee from her end of the small cemetery. There was nowhere for the girl to go, and as she faced down the horse, she knew then and there--

Wait, no-- NO NO NO. SHE DIDN’T WANT TO GO.

Before the mare could finish the job, Lee held both hands out in front of her, willing her magic to do whatever it needed to protect her. Never before had she put such faith in her powers, but with her life dependent on them... she didn’t have a choice. A burst of electric blue beams shot from her palms at the horse, seeming to blind it. Sliding to a stop, the stone creature reared up and backed away, the blast hitting it square in the chest. Though the horse wasn’t knocked over, it had stopped, and as the magic faded from Lee’s palms, it stood quietly, blinking at her, the red fading to a soft magenta. Lee’s hands fell to her sides, a breathy laugh of relief slipping past her lips. Whatever she had done... the horse now seemed... normal. Friendly. Curious, even. It looked like her magic had--

WITHOUT WARNING, THE GIRL FELL TO HER KNEES.

A searing pain shot through her chest, and she doubled over, forehead resting on the ground, hands wrung together at her throat. What was happening? It was pure, blinding agony; Lee had never felt something so powerful in her life. Her breathing ragged, the poor girl frightened and confused, a blue glow began to seep past her closed eyes. She dared not look; teeth gritted, Lee tried her best to curl up even further, but it was no use. The witch’s chest split open like someone had taken an ice pick to a frozen pond, her whole torso starting to crack, the veins resonating from the area above her heart. 

“P-- P-Please--”

Sobbing, the witch was knocked out of her fetal position, the magic coursing through her forcing her up onto her knees. Blue tendrils surrounded her, one of them BLASTING her full in the chest.. and retrieving HER STILL-BEATING HEART. Lee watched on in horror, unable to believe that the organ had been so easily taken from her, UNABLE TO BELIEVE THAT SHE WAS STILL ALIVE WITHOUT IT. Yet, that wasn’t entirely true-- rapidly, the witch’s body began to change. 

HOW MANY PEOPLE CAN SAY THAT THEY HAVE WATCHED THEMSELVES DECAY? 

Her skin became pale, ghastly, with the very hint of rigor mortis setting in. Bruising seeped into her finger tips, causing the beds of her nails to turn a dark black-ish purple; the same could be said for the area surrounding the witch’s eyes, creating almost a mask-like appearance that stretched over her face. She shivered, both trembling from shock and the newfound COLDNESS that crept into her body. Lee’s hair, which had been neatly braided, hanging roughly to her waist, burst from its tie, growing wild and unruly to the full length of its potential. If it were cut, it would never grow back, for it had done all the growing it ever would in this lifetime. 

Still in shock, her thoughts drifted-- THE HORSE. Where was the horse? The creature that had attacked her had turned tail, absolutely terrified, though it seemed that LEE’S MAGIC HAD CAUGHT UP WITH IT. Electric blue tendrils grabbed the horse’s legs mid-stride, pulling it backwards and onto the ground, dragging it nearer to the human heart that floated just above them both, still beating, surrounded by a glowing orb of magic. Lee locked eyes with the creature; there was a part of her that felt for it, despite the fact it had tried to kill her. 

IT WAS CONFUSED. SCARED. 

Lee was about to reach out to the animal when the heart-- HER HEART --split in two, rocketing one half into the witch and the other... INTO THE HORSE. The force of her heart reentering her body sent the girl flying onto her back, though she managed to shakily position herself so she could see the animal in front of her. LOOKING BACK, SHE WISHED SHE HADN’T. 

The animal’s stone facade CRACKED AND SPLIT, down her spine and in veins across her barrel. Magic whisked away into the woods surrounding them, sucking the life out of everything around them-- trees lost their leaves, wilted, decayed; birds fell from the sky. WHAT LEE HAD GIVEN WASN’T ENOUGH; more had been needed. Her eyes were no longer a solid, glowing mass, but the whites now shown, the magenta orbs pleading with Lee for help. BUT THERE WAS NOTHING SHE COULD DO.

Both of them exhausted and bleeding, Lee crawled her way towards the scared creature. Its mane and tail that had once been sculpted stone were now long and slick; as the girl pulled herself closer, she could see fleshy areas on the animal’s hide. The mare was CHANGING, like Lee had changed, though were life had been taken from the witch... it was rapidly, TOO RAPIDLY, being given to the mare.

Lee managed to reach the horse, one hand lifting to shakily press against the creature’s now warm, soft muzzle before the girl passed out, everything around her fading to black.

[sincerelybluevase]

Careful, Madam (Chapter Two)

A/N: The sequel to ‘Careful, Madam’. Is this self-indulgent angsty smut? Yes it is. Did I have a blast writing it? Yes indeed! Thanks to @alice1nwond3rland, @need-not and @thegirlisuedtobe for supporting me during the writing of this, and to everyone who left comments <3

 Maxim did not look at me during the fancy dress party, not even once. I stood next to him for the entire evening, smiling at our guests until my jaws quivered. All the while I looked at my husband from the tail of my eye. No one would have known that something was wrong, for he held his head high, flung quips to the occasional guest, laughed. Only I saw the faint lines around his mouth and eyes, thin like gossamer, and the peculiar way he smiled, more like a twisting of the lips, a baring of the teeth, than a genuine expression of mirth.

And it was all my fault.

I felt small and desperate, sick with shame. If only he would glance at me, or find my hand and clutch it into his, then I’d know things could become all right between us again. If only I had the courage to link my arm with his and draw him away from the party into that little room that could be accessed from the hallway, where the shears and mackintoshes were kept. It would be cool there, and private, and I could tell him that my choice of costume had been wretched and vile, but not intentionally so. I could cry there, and through my tears beg his forgiveness. He might take me in his arms then, and the feel of the long, hard lines that made up his body would blot out the feel of that other one, who had bruised and pleasured me before humiliating me, who had left me sore…

But I dared not move, and Maxim never reached for me. He kept swallowing, as if something had gotten stuck in his throat and he wished to dislodge it. It harped on my nerves, that soft, sucking motion inside his throat, and for one fierce, dreadful moment, I thought how much I would like to crush the bulge of his Adam’s apple with my fist. I imagined the cartilage bending against my knuckles, the soft, wet sounds that would accompany it. The rage I felt and the satisfaction at the image of my hand compressing his throat frightened me more than my growing fear that our marriage was a failure.

I had to walk away then. I locked myself into a bathroom and threw up. The bitter bile splashing into the toilet bowl brought no relief. I went to the sink to wash my hands. I ran the tap till the water was cold and drank from it to rinse my mouth, but the taste of sick lingered. I wiped my mouth on a bit of toilet paper, then peered into the mirror. Mrs Danvers had done an impeccable job with my makeup.

Don’t think of her.

I sat down on the lip of the tub, my hands like melting ice, all wet and cold. I had a nagging little pain in the pit of my stomach that throbbed in time with my heartbeat. It was good to sit there in the soft overhead light and nurse that pain, to try and feel it to the exclusion of all else. But as I sat shivering on the hard rim of the bathtub, I could not stop feeling the soreness between my legs, or the ghost of long, lean fingers tracing patterns at the nape of my neck. I could not stop thinking, either, could not help spinning one scenario after another, until they formed a bleak tapestry in my mind big enough to smother me with.

I went back to the sink and washed my hands. The soap had a hair on it. I should tell Mrs Danvers about that. How she’d hate for Manderley standards to slip, I thought, and then I remembered what she had done, and the pain made me flinch.

I wiped my hands on my skirt. Then, I went back to the party.

…

By the time the final guests had left, I was so bone-weary I might have curled up on the carpet and slept like a dog. Instead, I dragged myself to my room and crawled into bed without bothering to change my frock for pyjamas.

Sleep would not come. Dawn had broken, but the room stayed dark. Mrs Danvers must have closed the curtains then, folding one end over the other, allowing not a single ray of light to penetrate.

I wished Maxim would come up. I had to talk to him. I lay on my side, staring at his bed. Had Mrs Danvers and I stained the sheets? Perhaps, if Maxim were to come up and crawl into bed, he would catch my scent, a whiff of something so primal it could not help but move him. That is, if Mrs Danvers had not stripped the bed and put on fresh sheets, bunching up the ones we had dirtied between her beautiful hands. No; normally the maids took care of soiled linen and bedding. They were the ones who did the laundry, scrubbing cotton and wool until they were raw-handed and red-knuckled. Unless, of course, the laundry was Rebecca’s. In that case Mrs Danvers did it. She washed her mistress’ blouses, her nightgowns, her slips. She washed her underthings, letting them soak in a bucket of water in her room before taking a bar of soap to them. She mended them, too, when they had holes in them, or stitching that had become undone, or tears from eager hands. Her father had been a tailor. That explained how she could thread her needle with such confidence, wetting the thread with her tongue, all pink and warm…

“Please,” I whispered in the dark, “please, may I stop thinking now?” But the thoughts and memories kept coming, blurring into each other until I thought I’d go mad.

Maxim’s face, tight with anger, his eyes blazing.

Mrs Danvers’ fingers hopping between the dips of my vertebrae.

A figure with a shock of dark hair around her lovely face, smiling triumphant from the shadows of the minstrel’s gallery.

I flung the sheets away from me and got to my feet. I was no Catholic, but even I knew how one ought to rid themselves of a demon that tormented them, even one as insubstantial as the monster that rode me, made up of half-truths and conjectures. You had to exorcise it.

…

I seemed to reach Rebecca’s room in no time at all. One minute I was in my dressing room, and the next I had opened the door to hers. It was dark here, too, the curtains drawn and folded by an expert hand. I fumbled for the light switch and could not find it. I remembered then that there was a lamp near the bed, and I stumbled there, my hands stretched out in front of me as if this was a game of blind man’s buff. The room smelled musty, as rooms that are not used are wont to do, yet I could not help shake the feeling that I was not alone. There was this subtle disturbance of the atmosphere, impossible to describe but sensed nonetheless. I feared that any moment someone might clasp my outstretched hand, or thump me between the shoulder blades to make me stumble. Perspiration trickled down my back.

I bumped into something hard and cried out, thrusting my arms in front of me. My hands sank down into something soft. I was half-crazed by fear then, and it took me a moment to realise I had bumped into the bed and was touching the quilted cover and the mattress underneath. I felt my way from there to the nightstand and found the lamp. I was trembling so much I did not manage to switch it on straight away. When it came on, I had to shield my eyes with my arm. After a little while, when my eyes had gotten used to the light and I was not breathing so hard anymore, I felt strong enough to walk to the dresser with its brushes, its bottles of scent and powder. I sat myself down. My reflection looked back at me. This other self was pale and wan, with uncombed hair that was sweat-darkened at the roots. I sat and looked, the lamp burning softly behind me, the blood beating in my throat.

I had heard of people entrancing themselves by looking into mirrors or, alternatively, a bowl or salver with water. I had never believed it to be possible, but after a while I began to feel quite queer. The nagging pain, that lingering nausea that I had nursed throughout the night, began to fade, and it seemed to me that I was not properly aligned with my body anymore; I was still tethered to it, but floating a little behind. My reflection began to morph and flicker, until it was no longer my own face but that of another, someone tall and lovely, with dark hair.

“You must leave,” I told her.

“Oh, but you have only just conjured me up.”

I licked my lips. They were dry and flaking. “I want you to leave me in peace. I want you to stop haunting me, to stop haunting Maxim.”

She smiled. Soft little shivers shook me. I knew now why men went off their heads around her, why Mrs Danvers would keep these rooms pristine to entomb her memory, why Maxim could not speak of her. “He does not wish me to go. He loves me.”

I gripped my seat hard and bent closer to her. “You do not understand. He’s the only one I have, and I’ll do anything to be the wife he wishes me to be.”

“But what wife would do the things you’ve done with Danny?” she whispered. “Those filthy, sordid things? What wife would want a woman between her thighs, or inside her? What wife would enjoy that?”

I felt very faint then, very weak. “No,” I said, “No!”

“You’ve let your housekeeper fuck you three months into your marriage. Do you truly think people whose marriages are a success would do such a thing?”

I tugged at a flake of skin with my teeth, tearing it away. There was pain, but not at all sharp, not as it should have been. I tasted copper. “I love Maxim,” I choked.

“If you truly loved him, you would leave. You would give him back to me, so that we can be together. You know that’s what he wants.”

I could not deny this. A sob clawed its way up my throat. The sound was oddly muted. Perhaps, I thought, I have ceased to exist. Perhaps Rebecca has conquered me at last, subsumed me, and I am the shadow and the ghost and she the woman of flesh and blood. That is why Maxim has not come to me, and why no one is looking for me; they’ve forgotten me already. Who would remember a person as insignificant, as drab and colourless as me?

She smiled at me. “You know what you have to do,” she said, and her voice was soft now, near fawning.

“Yes,” I said.

“It will be quite painless.”

“Yes.”

“It’ll be quick, not at all like the lingering death of those who drown. There’ll be the snap of your neck, and then it will all be over.”

I stood and smoothed my skirt. “You’ll look after him, won’t you? And he’ll be happy again, won’t he?”

Again that smile, like that of an angel. “Of course.”

“And… and Mrs Danvers? You’ll look after her, too?”

“Like she has looked after me.”

“That’s all right, then.” I went to the window and opened it, struggling with the sash; my hands had gone numb. A sea mist had come rolling in during the night, hiding the sun. The morning light was yellow, filthy, very muted. I licked my lips and tasted bitter salt. I peered down and found I could not see the ground. All I had to do was clamber out of the window and let myself drop, but my arms were weak and I found I could not lift myself. I leaned hard against the window seat, feeling it dig into my belly, just below the ribs. I need only lean forward, and if I bent far enough, the earth would pull me down. It would rush to meet me, and there’d be no pain. I need only…

A hand closed around my arm and yanked me back. The force of it spun me round. My hands scrabbled against black cloth smooth as water, impossible to take a proper hold of. Mrs Danvers grabbed my wrists. Her hands were cold.

It is hard to describe the shock of her touch. To be grabbed by someone when we think ourselves alone is enough to make one’s heart thump painfully; when we are entranced, any touch is almost a violation. Her grip tightened, grinding the bones in my wrist together, and I was corporeal again, no longer the shadow and the ghost I had feared myself to be.

“No!” I screamed, “No, no, no, let me go!”

“I can’t, Madam.”

“Let me go!”

“Hush, Madam, don’t shout so, or the servants will hear,” she murmured. I looked into her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, swollen. She had a little scab on her jawline from where I had nicked her skin with my teeth the night before.

“What do you care?” I hissed.  “What do you care if they hear? You hate me! And I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

Her hands quivered, and she began to cry. It was horrible; I felt her body shake, saw the sobs tear through her, yet no tears would come. “Do you think I don’t know I went too far? That it was a low trick to play, vulgar and common? But you tried to take my mistress’ place,” she moaned.

“I never did!” The pain in my belly was sharp now, like a knife scraping my insides. “I changed nothing at Manderley. I let everything go on as it had when she was still alive. I can’t ever take her place.” Those traitorous tears burned behind my eyelids. I tried to blink them away, but they would not be denied. “I can’t compare to her, to Rebecca. I know this. Everyone does; Maxim, you, Frith, they all know I’m nothing like her.” I felt so weak then I could hardly stand. I had to lean against the windowsill. Mrs Danvers must have thought I was trying to break away from her, for she increased her grip. Her hands were warming now.

“You mustn’t shout so,” she repeated.

“You played a vile trick on me, Mrs Danvers,” I went on. “You wished to hurt me, and you have.”

Mrs Danvers shook her head. She had not done up her hair properly; a little lock curled against her temple. “I wanted to hurt him, not you.”

I wished to rub my eyes, but she would not let me. “Has Mr de Winter not suffered enough?”

She began to laugh, and that was worse than her crying. The sound was raw and hollow. It made the hairs on my nape prick up. “He tried to replace her not even a year after she’d gone. He married you, an absolute child. You’re passive and immature, desperate for affection, completely dependent on him, and no one sees it.”

“But they do! I know they talk about me. They compare me to Rebecca, and they find me wanting. They all…”

“Oh, they talk about you all right. They think you seduced him and he married you because he’s a gentleman. They don’t see that he chose himself an impressionable little child-bride to obey and sate him.”

“Stop, Mrs Danvers, please stop!” I cried. “It’s not like that at all.”

“Oh, but it is. He married you, a pretty little girl, because he wants someone to play with, someone to fawn over him, someone…”

“God, Mrs Danvers,” I sobbed, the tears coming hot and fast, my face tight with it, “do you not see that he’s all I have in the whole wide world? That there’s no one else to call my own, no one who loves me? You can’t know what that feels like.”

“But I do, I…”

“I’ll take whatever love he deigns to give me, no matter how small. And it is hard, Mrs Danvers, to know that he does not love me like he loved her, that he finds me wanting whenever he thinks of me because I am second-rate and inferior and insignificant. I have so much love to give, if only people would let me. I’ve only my husband to give it to. I must love, Mrs Danvers, or else be destroyed. I must love. Let me love, let me love…”

I was raving. I knew that I was, but I could not help it. I was clutching Mrs Danvers, feeling her heat, smelling that sweet little scent of hers, and I kept begging her with that stunted little phrase, over and over again. “Let me love you, let me love you, please, let me love you…”

She put her mouth on mine. I could taste bitter tea on her tongue. Her lips were warm and wet. A shock tore through me, and I began to tremble. She tore her mouth away from mine, hugged me close to her, a hand on the back of my head. My nose was pressed against her throat. I began to kiss her there, soft, hungry kisses, reddening her skin.

“Let me love you,” I babbled.

“I will, Madam. Now hush.”

I was feeling very weak. I leaned against her. She held me close with one arm. “Careful for your hands, Madam; I’m going to close the window now,” she said, and with her free hand brought down the sash.

I was still clinging to her. I tried to open the buttons of her collar, but she drew my hands away. She guided me to the bed then and lay me down. The stale scent of azaleas rose to meet us, and with a stab of panic I thought how wrong it was for me to touch these sheets. “The mirror,” I said, clasping Mrs Danvers’ hands, “you must cover up the mirror or she’ll see, and she mustn’t.”

She kissed my forehead, her fingers lingering there for a moment as she checked my temperature. Then, she took the quilt off the bed, went to the mirror, and carefully covered it up. When she came back to me, I was so desperate for the feel of her that I drew her down with me, kissing her lean hands, her veined wrists, her cheeks and chin and nose. I pulled at the pins in her hair and down it came, thick as rope and warm. She looked younger with her hair down, more human, and I found I could imagine her as a girl after all. I twisted on top of her and we were joined again, cleaving together at the hip. She rucked up my skirt and then her own. There was a flash of red, and I saw she was wearing a scarlet slip under her black dress. She wound her legs around my waist. She wore boots that buttoned up over the ankle, their heels digging into my flesh. I saw her in my mind’s eye, sitting on the edge of her simple bed at the end of the day, working away at her boots with a button hook.

I kept kissing her. My lips felt raw, flayed, and still I could not get enough. I knew what would soothe them. The thought made me tremble.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I want to kiss you between your legs,” I confessed.

She trembled then, too. She closed her eyes, passed a hand over her face. When she opened her eyes, she pushed me off of her, and for one terrible moment I thought she’d deny me after all, and the idea of it was so terrible I had to press my hands against my belly to stop the pain there. But no, she was pulling up her skirts to the waist now, revealing her stockinged legs and then the red underwear she wore. It was trimmed with lace, very lovely. Her stockings were real silk. I had never given much thought to Mrs Danvers’ stockings, but had I been pressed, I would have said she wore scratchy, woollen affairs that were wont to give one varicose veins eventually. I would never have guessed she had an appetite for the luxurious, but then I never would have imagined us twining like lovers, either.

The skin between stocking and knickers was white. She had a puckered purple scar on the right thigh, a line the length of my finger. She drew her underwear down. The hair that grew on her mound was dark and strangely soft, very unlike the coarse, bristling hair that grew between my legs. She had trimmed it carefully. I thought of her taking her nail scissors and a hand mirror into the bathroom every other week, folded between her towel so that no one need see. She’d spread out a newspaper on the cold tiles and sit down, the mirror propped up against the wall so she could see herself. I imagined her twisting the hair around her fingers to measure it before she snipped it off. Afterwards, she’d brush the hair into a little heap with her palms, and fold the newspaper around it. She’d turn it into a little package, indistinguishable from the twists of paper the maids used to light the fires, and toss it into the hearth.

She spread her legs for me then, and her skin seemed to split, like a seam unravelling, revealing the pink, damp flesh inside. I smelled her then, that fierce, feminine scent of a woman’s desire, so very different from a man’s. It made my belly clench.

“Mrs Danvers?” I whispered.

“Yes, Madam?”

“You’ll be patient with me, won’t you?”

She worked herself up on her elbows and placed her hand against my cheek. Her palm was warm and slightly calloused. “Of course, Madam.”

I did what she had done to me the night before. I lay down on my belly, put her legs over my shoulder, and kissed her soft flesh.

She hissed.

Startled, I drew back.

“Careful, Madam,” she bade me, stroking my hair, “you must be gentle with me.”

I dared hardly touch her then, until she pressed my mouth against her more firmly. I kissed and licked and sucked as she demanded, changing my rhythm when she asked. All the while her hand was on my head, her fingers stroking my scalp in little stutters. My tongue found this hard little nub of flesh, and my little licks against it made her moan. At one point she began to flow, and the taste of her was rich and sharp, like brine, like vinegar and copper. She’s an oyster, I thought, and I’ve found the pearl inside.

Her thighs trembled against my face. When she came, I felt the twitch of muscle inside her, felt her climax shake through her. Her hips moved against me, smearing my mouth and chin. When she stilled, I crawled up against her. She tucked me under her arm. I put a hand on her chest. Her heart was beating very fast, and she was out of breath.

“Did I do well?” I asked.

She took a lock of hair that lay plastered against my cheek between her fingers and tucked it behind my ear. “Very well indeed, Madam.”

I was calmer now, and very tired. I think I might have fallen asleep, but Mrs Danvers wouldn’t let me. “I’ll run a bath for you,” she said as she wiped my face with her handkerchief. Her cheeks were flushed.

She did not take me into Rebecca’s bathroom, but into one that belonged to a guestroom. It had a claw-footed tub and a spout in the shape of a lion’s head. A pink sheet of glass had been fitted over the lightbulb, bathing the room in a soft, sweet light. Everything was spotlessly clean. I wondered how many hours of work were put into Manderley’s empty rooms, how many pairs of hands scrubbed and dusted and brushed things Maxim and I never used.

Mrs Danvers turned on the taps, placing her sensitive fingers under the stream of water to check its temperature. There was a jar of bath salts in the medicine cabinet. She plunged her dry hand in and sprinkled the grains into the tub. Soon, the water was frothing, smelling like lavender and roses.

I began to undress. My stockings were filthy, and I had torn the heel of one. Mrs Danvers came to me and helped me, her damp fingers quickly opening hooks and buttons. Despite all we had done with each other, I still felt embarrassed for her to see me in any state of undress, and stood hugging myself so she need not see my breasts. They were strangely sensitive. She placed a flat hand on my belly.

“You should try not to lose any more weight, Madam,” she said.

Perhaps she was right. My skirts tended to be too loose around the hips nowadays. My monthlies had become irregular, too.

The bath was scalding hot. I had to lower myself into the water inch by inch. It was good to sit there quietly, hugging my legs to my chest and resting my cheek on my chin, letting the water lap at me. Mrs Danvers had found a porcelain jug somewhere. She dipped it into the bath and poured the water over my neck, my shoulders, my head, shielding my eyes with her free hand. She poured a dram of shampoo in her hand and worked it into my hair. She worked quickly, deftly.

“You used to do this with Rebecca,” I said.

She paused, then filled the jug with water. “Yes, Madam, I did. Close your eyes.” She wiped some foam from my brow, then began to rinse the shampoo out of my hair.

“And what we did before? Did you do that with Rebecca, too?”

She was quiet for a long time, her hands squeezing water and shampoo from my hair. The longer the question between us remained unanswered, the bigger it seemed to grow, like a canker untreated. It pressed down on my stomach and made it hard to breathe. When she finally answered, her voice was soft and slow, not quite the dead thing it often was but not fully alive, either. “Occasionally, when she tired of her men, she’d come to me.”

“Her men?”

“She did not love Mr de Winter exclusively, not my lady, and why should she? Men used to throw themselves at her feet and worship her. It was tiresome, really, to see them sniffing at her heels like dogs. ‘As if I’m a bitch in heat, Danny,’ she used to tell me. She liked to play with them, laugh at them, but sometimes they tired her. She scorned them all, then, and she’d come to me. She had this… this device, made of India rubber, so that we could love one another as a man and a woman, so you see, we were never quite free of men after all.”

I was very tired. I leaned my temple against her arm. She had rolled up her sleeves. Her forearms were as pale as the skin on her thighs. She had a scar on the inside of her elbow, a thin, purple line.

She smoothed my hair against my scalp. “I must fetch you a clean frock, Madam, but I am loath to leave you on your own. Will you manage? I’ll only be a little while.”

“I shall be all right. Please don’t fret about me.”

She gave my arm a little squeeze, and then she was gone.

I sank back in the water, the lip of the tub digging in the tender spot where skull meets vertebrae, chewing over the things Mrs Danvers had just told me.

Rebecca had not been faithful to Maxim.

She had had other men, and she had been intimate with Mrs Danvers, too. Perhaps I was not such a beastly woman after all, then.

When Mrs Danvers came back, she brought me clean clothes as well as a little tray. It had a plate of biscuits on it, an apple, and a glass of milk. I took the glass. It felt peculiar between my pruned-up fingers. The milk smelled strongly. I took a small sip, expecting the ordinary chalky taste of milk, but it was sour, nauseating.

“You do not want it?”

“It’s gone off.”

She sniffed it, then drank. “It tastes fine to me, Madam, but if you do not want it, you don’t need to drink it down.” She gave me a biscuit, then began paring the apple with the knife. She looked up and gave me a little smile. “You must eat.”

To please her I took a bite of biscuit. I chewed on it slowly, swallowed it. My stomach roared to life. I had another biscuit, and a third, then ate the apple. Mrs Danvers washed her hands and wetted a flannel under the tap. She put her foot on the toilet bowl, hoisted up her skirts, and began to scrub between her legs. She had another line on the back of her thigh. It was an angry purple, and quite deep. Had she had an accident at some point that had left her scarred? There could be accidents that left large parts of the body intact but gouged lines in others, like falling through a window and slicing oneself on the glass, or perhaps being thrown by a horse on jagged rocks.

“It was a riding crop,” she said.

I blinked. “I’m sorry?”

She followed the scar on the back of her leg with her finger. “A riding crop did this.” She went back to cleaning herself up.

I’ll never know if I would have asked her why someone had whipped her, had we only been given more time. Before I could decide to ask, the air was rent asunder with a bang that made the tepid water in the tub ripple and shiver, and then another one.

“What was that?” I asked, the biscuit in my hand squeezed into small shards.

Mrs Danvers put her foot down and smoothed her skirts over her legs. “Rockets. A ship in distress. It’s the fog. She must’ve run aground.”

[athina-blaine]

Jon goes on a business trip.

Chapters: 1/1 [Complete]

Words: 1,692

Tags: Established Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Long-Distance

~

Jon threw his backpack onto the hotel bed and slumped into the desk chair. It boggled him how he could even think about sitting after being trapped in an uncomfortable airplane seat for the last 12 hours, but he just didn’t have the energy to stand. 

Weak, grey lighting wormed through the ratty curtains, washing out the already muted yellow walls and doing nothing to lift the temperature of the room. The second hand of the analogue clock twitched in place.

You get what you pay for.

Martin had insisted he would stay up late waiting for Jon's call, but guilt still twisted his stomach as he dialled his number. He wished Martin would have chosen to get some sleep instead, but, then again, the thought of going another day without hearing from him didn’t feel particularly good either.

The call clicked.

“Hello? Jon?”

“Evening.”

“I believe you mean, good morning."

"Shut up."

"Where’ve you been? I’ve been waiting around for ages.”

“I told you I wouldn’t be getting in until around 7. If anything, I’m ahead of schedule.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I was just kind of hoping you were exaggerating how long it would take. You know, so if you get there a bit early, it’s like a nice little surprise.”

“Martin, if you’re expecting an airport to ever being running ahead of schedule, I’m sorry to say, you’ve already lost.”

Martin’s laugh was staticky in the receiver. “So, what’s it like? Sample any cuisines? Are the locals friendly?”

“Yes, I’ve had a bagel sandwich from a coffee shop at the airport, and the cab driver who escorted me to the hotel shouted at me.”

“What did you do?”

“What makes you think I did something?”

“Ah, well, you know, you can be a bit— And it’s not your fault! You’ve just been in a flying metal box for the last day, so it’s totally reasonable to be grumpy. But you can be a bit tetchy at times.”

Jon sighed. “I suppose I was a bit more aggressive expressing my umbrage at the way he handled my bags than was strictly necessary.”

“Jon.”

“My laptop was in there! He threw it.”

“Of course, dear.”

Jon curled up in his chair, wrapping his arm around his knees. “So, what have you been doing?”

“Oh, nothing interesting. Just rewatching old episodes of Emergency Contact. Couldn’t you have at least waited until Monday to fly across the world so we could watch the new one together? Kathy is finally going to find out what happened to her fiancé.”

“I'm sorry, eldritch fear monsters have very little respect for broadcast network scheduling.”

“Pity.”

“You don’t have to wait for me, you know.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. What’s the point of knowing some big secret if you don’t have anyone to talk to about it? And don’t just try to know it, either!”

“That would be a terrible misuse of my abilities.”

“Since when did you give a toss about that?” Martin yawned, smacking his lips gently. “Well, I guess I should let you go. You must be exhausted.”

“Not really.” Jon didn’t sleep much these days. “But you need to get up early for work, so …”

Martin hummed. The second-hand of the clock continued ticking pointlessly. A film of dust was beginning to settle on the back of Jon's throat. What a terrible hovel this place was.

“Oh, wait, before you go, I wanted to tell you, you won’t believe what Melanie found while digging around for the Davis case.”

“What is it?”

“Okay, so, you know how the guy was acting super weird and it’s, like, yeah, he definitely killed his ex-wife, right?”

“Yeah?” Jon said, pulling the thin blanket off the bed before settling back down.

“Well, guess what Melanie found in the storage closet of his mechanic’s shop?”

“Her dismembered corpse?”

“What? No, his toolbox. What’s the matter with you? You’re so morbid.”

"Oh."

“That’s a joke, I’m joking. Melanie didn’t find anything, was talking my ear off all day yesterday about it. Absolutely exhausting. I mean, I get it, Brighton isn’t exactly close, but remember when I had to go all the way to bloody Plymouth?”

Jon did, but he let Martin remind him anyway, and closed his eyes.

 Snow crunched under Jon’s feet as he limped through the street, a packet of files tucked under his arm. The custodian at the Federova Research Centre had been furious at the hour with which he asked for one of their documents, but she had quickly reconsidered when she helpfully told him about the gambling ring she was running.

He still felt terribly guilty about it, but it got a little easier every time. He didn’t know if that made it worse.

A gust of icy wind sliced through his coat, chilling his bones. His nose burned as he breathed down the arctic air. He had been entirely unprepared for this miserable weather and fantasized about his dry hotel and a cup of hot coffee.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling off his glove with his teeth, he took it out and opened the screen.

>aaahhhh!! im burning up!!! help!!!

Attached was a picture of the sun shining in the middle of a blue sky. Smiling, Jon typed a response, the tips of his fingers already uncomfortably numb.

>Be sure to wear plenty of sunblock

He angled his phone at the night sky, blanketed in thick, dreary clouds, taking a picture and sending it.

>oh, yikes. you sure im not the one on vacation?

>You know this isn’t a vacation

>yeah, going on vacation would require you taking that stick out of ur arse

> ):<

>im sorry, it’s a nice stick

>Thank you

>also why are you awake??

>Research. Need I remind you that you were the one who texted me?

>i was expecting you to see it tomorrow!! go to bed!!

>Yes, darling

A light snowfall had begun. Wild animals skittered by in the distance, dark shadows in the corner of his eyes. Tucking his phone away, he continued his trudge, the bruises on his left leg throbbing.

He’d go to bed once he got these documents sorted.

 The black ooze caught Jon’s foot and he crashed to the ground, shoulder crunching under his weight. The creature crept up to his knee, squelching as it latched onto his other leg, gelatinous and soggy. Hissing sharply through his teeth, he clawed the dirt, pulling himself forward. His foot had grown numb.

The creature had reached his waist and his fingers sluiced through the wet soil, his body too heavy to move. Pins and needles crawled up his legs before he lost feeling in them entirely. Though it had no mouth, the creature groaned, the sound of satisfaction one might make as it bit down into their meal.

He grabbed his phone before it ate his pocket and made a call. It rang.

It went to voicemail.

The desperate words died on his tongue. He shut his eyes tightly, pressing his face into the ground and breathing in the musty earth.

“Um, hello.”

A slimy tendril crawled along the back of his neck, leaving a damp trail in its wake before creeping into his hair. It would never wash out.

“Just wanted to see if you were awake. Of course, you aren’t, it’s like 4 AM. Not your fault. Nothing new on my end.” The creature squeezed, pressing his ribs against each other. “No, no, that was a lie. I’m currently being attacked by some kind of blob monster. Didn’t want to worry you, sorry. That was stupid of me.”

The scent of sweet organic fumes struck him, and he stiffened, stomach churning.

“I am trying very, very hard not to die right not, but just in case, figured, should give you a call. Seemed like the right thing to do.” He chuckled, which turned into a splutter as the thick sludge began filling his mouth and his nose. “I’m sorry.”

He ended the call, hand falling limp, still cradling his phone. It was swallowed shortly after.

 The airport was fit to burst as Jon worked his way through it, suffering bumped shoulders and crying children the whole way. The lingering smell of floor cleaner and cigarette smoke made his world spin on an axis, but he pressed on.

He was home. He was home, and he’d be in his bed within the hour. He pictured changing into his pyjamas and crawling under his cosy bedsheets, being held, as he was shoved through customs by sour faced security guards who wanted to be there even less than him and wanted him to know it.

When he reached the airport lobby, something barrelled into his chest.

“Finally,” said Martin, squeezing Jon hard enough to make his eyes pop. “You were supposed to be in two hours ago.”

“I told you it was delayed,” Jon said, resting his cheek on Martin’s shoulder. He inhaled the scent of his own lemon detergent and had a vision of Martin cycloning through their flat in a cleaning frenzy. “You said you were going to wait at home.”

“I lied and you knew it.”

“I did not."

Martin looked up, a gentle smile on his lips. It trembled, his eyes growing misty, before it cracked. “So, um, I know this is going to sound really crazy, but …”

“Yes?”

“Do you think you could just, you know, never, ever leave again? Ever?”

He looked so small and scared as he said it. Jon had done this to him. Again.

Jon pulled him back into his arms. “I can’t promise that. But it sounds nice.”

“Yeah.” Martin sniffed. “And I don’t mean just these little jaunts to the other side of the flippin’ planet where you try and get yourself killed. If you go to Tesco, I'm gonna be on your arse. Right? Got it?”

“Of course.”

“You can still go to the bathroom by yourself, that’s okay.”

“Perfectly reasonable. You're dizzying me.”

Martin pinched his arm and pressed his mouth against Jon’s, slow and hungry, before dragging them towards the exit gate.

“Come on, let’s get you in bed.”

[fallenfurther]

Forefit

This was almost another Gordon fic but decided I could make Alan go with the same idea, and I think it’s turned out better. This is for @gumnut-logic sensory sunday challenge, smell week. Warning for those with a weak stomach, there is a part that is rather gross. Gordon, you are a slob! Enjoy. 

*****

The smell of bleach rose from the bucket as he headed towards Thunderbird 4. Alan had lost yet another bet with Gordon, and now he had to clean the yellow submarine. It was a week overdue its monthly clean, and Gordon had spent the last two weeks in it on a research mission. Alan knew this wasn’t going to be pleasant by the grin Gordon had given him when he suggested it not be put off. Virgil had already positioned Four in the maintenance area, which also meant everything Alan needed was to hand. He stood at the back door having already decided to leave the easy bit, cleaning and polishing the outside, to last. Alan reached his gloved hand out and pushed the pad to open the hatch.

Alan always forgot how roomy Thunderbird 4 was, despite its size. Stepping into the sub, Alan was hit with a musty odour that had mixed with the usual salty smell of seawater. Originally, Alan would have his helmet on, the filter saving him from the odours, however it had mysteriously disappeared. Looking for his spare one would be pointless. Gordon wanted him to smell Four as he cleaned. Taking one last breath of clean air, Alan headed to the cockpit. He gagged on entry. How had Gordon survived in here? Crouching down, Alan started scooping up the rubbish that had been obviously pushed into the corner. On the second scoop, his finger closed around something slimy. As he turned his hand to look, he quickly turned his head gagging. His stomach contents churned. Taking deep breaths, Alan fought the pungent smell of putrid crustacean. He deposited the poor creature into a small bag, sealed it, and dropped it into the rubbish bag. Alan could handle fishy smells; Gordon had exposed him to enough of those over the years, including tricking him into cleaning his fish tank, but this was a million times worse. In all fairness, Gordon would be devastated that the creature had met its end in Thunderbird Four, but why Gordon hadn’t tried to locate the source of the smell himself, Alan couldn’t fathom.

With the rubbish cleared, Alan dipped a cloth into the bucket and started scrubbing down the floor and chair. The craft was in maintenance mode, so none of the panels were live, however Alan was careful to ring as much solution out the cloth as possible when he wiped down all the electronics. Once every surface had been wiped, he opened the few storage hatches, and cleared out any old food from them and gave them a wipe down. Thankfully, there was only one half-eaten celery crunch bar to be found and it was only a little stale, although Alan suspected there were more to find in the main hold. Pleased with the now clean and fresh-smelling cockpit, Alan headed back into the hold, ready to tackle the musty odour there.

Again, Alan cleared away the discarded celery bar wrappers that Gordon seemed to live off, and as expected there were a few half-eaten ones with various types of mould on them. Alan had once swabbed Thunderbird 4 after one of Gordon’s research trips for a biology project. He had been sent agar plates, which he had to rub the swabs on, then sent back to be incubated. The results had been surprising. Some swabs had only the odd expected bacteria on it, but it was the fungal collection that had grown from the swaps of the area around some mouldy crunch bar that had astounded the teacher. An exceedingly rare species had grown on the plate that had cause some commotion among the biomedical scientists. Alan had called the project “Life found in a teenager’s bedroom” which meant he wasn’t questioned too much on how the species may have gotten there. Everyone one knew what a teenage boy’s bedroom could be like! The rest of Thunderbird 4 wasn’t too bad, with the toilet being the biggest thing to tackle. The sanitary tank was flushed routinely after every outing, so Alan didn’t have to worry about it. After wiping down every surface, he did the cupboards, doing an inventory check as he went. Anything missing would be ordered or put aside for Gordon to deal with later. Before stepping back out into the hanger, Alan surveyed his work. Every surface was shiny, and the air was now filled with the smell of detergent. With a proud smile on his face, Alan stepped out and shut the hatch.

Alan poured away the dirty soapy water and ditched the bucket. Grabbing the sponge on a stick, he squirted soap onto it and started to lather up the outside of the submarine. It didn’t take him long to turn the sub into a mass of bubbles. He removed the sponge and placed it in the used tub with the used cloths. He pulled the pressure hose from the wall and aimed it at his brother’s Thunderbird. The force of the water made him take a step back, but he quickly got used to the pressure. Using the power hose always fun, especially if there was a brother nearby to ‘accidentally’ soak. Once all the suds had been washed away, Alan got the shammy cloth out and dried Four off. His arms were starting to ache, and his stomach was starting to rumble, but he persevered knowing he was almost done. He grabbed the polish and buffer and started bringing a shine to the paintwork. The warm waxy smell filled his nostrils as he worked. Thunderbird Four was soon the glossiest Thunderbird of them all, and he was a little jealous the Thunderbird Three rarely looked this good. Though the sheer size of his ship meant Brains had designed robotic arms to do the job, it never seemed to look as shiny as the others. He dumped the tools in their correct locations, discarded his overalls and gloves and washed his hands.

Alan made his way to the villa, body aching slightly from all the cleaning, his mouth dry and his stomach rumbling. He grabbed a bottle of water from the stash before he entered the elevator. The cool water ran down his throat and gurgled in his empty stomach. He headed straight into the kitchen, only to see his Grandma bending over the oven. His nose had been assaulted so much he hadn’t smelt the tell-tale scent of Grandma’s cookies baking. He took a step back, but he was too slow. The smell of burnt sugar hit his nostrils and his Grandma turned around with a tray of cookies in her gloved hand.  

“Alan, good timing. Come get them while they’re hot.”

Before Alan could say he wasn’t hungry and didn’t want to spoil dinner his traitorous stomach rumbled. Alan sighed as his Grandmother put one of the cookies on a plate. He sat down at the table as the plate and a glass of milk was placed before him. The smell of feet barraged his nose and he had to fight his gag reflex again. Picking up the warm cookie, his snapped it in half and dangled it in the milk. At least softening it saved his teeth.

[thecardsimagine]

@itsblackdice thank you so much for requesting, I hope you like it!!! (Sorry for the late post I wrote that like two days ago but I caught a cold and am trying to recover right now so I didn’t ready it to post until now >-<) _________________________

“There we go,” he grunted, pushing himself against the solid wooden door. Slowly, with an almost haunting creak, it opened, leaving a gap open for you and Asra to slip through into the dark inside. “Thank you,” you mumbled, quickly passing him by and appreciating his effort to get you two into a warmer, less wet space.

You couldn’t help but shiver slightly when you finally settled into the grand entrance of the mansion, looking around warily. Behind you, Asra let go of the door which shut with a loud bang, enough to make you flinch. He walked up to you, ruffling his hair with waterdrops dripping from it before he held out a hand, making a small flame appear.

It had been rare for him to invite you to one of his ‘journeys’ and you had called bad luck for the travels the moment it started to rain. Although you were glad that you didn’t have to walk another few miles to the next village, Asra had been strangely insisting on entering this old mansion in the woods, even with you stating your hesitance. So now there you were, caught up with him in the dark and musty place.

His arm dropped casually around your waist and you found comfort in the fact that Asra didn’t seem fazed at all. Not from the big, abandoned insides of the mansion, not from the darkness, not from that hint of magical remains, drawing at least you closer. But he surely must have felt it too, giving you an encouraging smile when you nodded silently into the direction of it.

Even though you two were equally as adventurous, you still could tell that he had been through much more than you already, a situation like this not even bringing him out of his comfort zone a tiny bit. “If we are stuck here because of the rain, we might as well see what’s going on,” he whispered into your ear, and you could see him winking at you in the dark, pulling you forward with his arm around you.

Carefully, with quiet steps you two ventured forth, heads turning left and right. The floor seemed to crumble under your feet as it must have been a splendid marble pattern once, but was disappearing into broken fragments now. The air around you felt thick with dust and particles of who-knew-what, something you decided you did not want to waste thoughts on.

With the help of the small light in Asra’s free palm you could see the layout clearly in the hall, two grand staircases leading to a upper floor with many doors in the back leading to even more rooms. Whatever this had once been used for, it must have been marvelous. That’s what you thought at least, looking at the great chandelier eerily hanging over your heads.

Even though you felt your knees shaking - either from fear or because you still felt cold after having your clothes soaked completely in the rain outside - you let yourself be calmed with Asra’s thumb circling over your back and his body in a position that he was able to guard you at any time. You weren’t helpless, oh no. But it was good to have him here with you nonetheless.

You two rounded the left staircase, feet tapping over the stones on the ground. Slowly, with the light of the flame spreading, you two could make out a slightly raised platform, much like a small stage. Some old, worn-out chairs were laying and standing around it, surely, this must have been where guests had been amused once until they’ve been asked to come in further into the mansion.

All the more, it wasn’t surprising that in between the dust particles in the air and the wrecked condition of the mansion a piano came into sight. Dark black, serene. It had no signs of decay, or that someone had touched it in years, but it surely was freed of any dust or weather which stroke you as odd, considering the place you were in.

“Wow,” Asra mumbled, and in the light of the flame, his eyes seemed to shine when he looked at the instrument. “It’s so pretty. Do you think it still works?”

Before you could utter a word of hesitance, his grip on you had vanished, Asra moving forward to stand beside the keys, raising a hand to tap one. “I don’t think that’s a good ide-” you started but you were stopped when the piano started to play, Asra’s hand still hovering in the air.

He gave you a wary glance and you must have looked just as confused and frightened as him because he backed up slowly, getting back to your side and reaching for your hand. Innocently, the piano strung one note after the other, a lovely melody echoing through the hall like it must have been many, many years ago already.

“Asra...” you mumbled, unsure about what to do with the situation which you both new could be either very good or very bad. But he only shook his head, smiling. “Feel it. Does it feel like it wants to harm you?”

Best as you could, you took a deep breath, taking in the magic that it radiated. It wasn’t a whole lot of strength behind it, seemingly innocent and pure enough. Neither did it collide with your own magic, nor did it really seem to reach out for you in the first place.

Squeezing your hand one more time, he let go of it, turning to pick up two fallen chairs, gesturing for you to sit. With another spare glance, you hesitated before reluctantly settling next to Asra, who took the second seat for himself. Crossing his legs, he leaned back, eyes looking forward and smiling. Calm as the night, merry like you always knew him to be.

“Maybe...” he started, furrowing his brows for a moment of thought. “It just wants someone to listen?”

Letting out a fearful hum, you did your best to believe him. You WANTED to believe him, even if you found the encounter scary still. This time, it was you reaching out for him, placing your hand on top of his and he held your hand casually between his fingers, lacing them with each other.

“Such a pretty melody,” he noted and you focused forwards again, listening to it intently for a while. It was a chipper song and though no one was playing it, you could see the keys spring up and down properly. Fast-paced, it didn’t give you a chance to nap away, but you had to admit it was pleasing to the ear. It managed to even convince you, a wary outsider, to let go of your worries for a while, just listening as it played.

You didn’t even notice that Asra seemed to watch you more than the keys, relieve washing over his face as he noticed how you visibly relaxed a little, his second hand running over your arm lovingly. Surely, he was glad to see you less wary of the supernatural, especially if it was something good-willed like the little concert you two got to enjoy together at that moment.

Far too soon, the keys sounded out, the piano coming to a grand finale before falling silent completely. Respectfully, Asra got up, clapping his hands and uttering some compliments and you were quick to do the same, thanking the instrument for the concert. A few more seconds must have passed as you two made sure to praise it appropriately, before your clapping died down too, Asra turning to you instead.

“Maybe the rain has stopped by now, should we check it out?” he asked, and you quickly nodded, bowing lightly to the piano once more before following Asra away.

Quickly, your hands found together again, and this time, the doorknob turned easily, the door almost falling out of its frame, but luckily not enough to hurt either of you. One last time, you looked back and gasped in surprise. Under your gaze, the piano seemed to have aged quickly, signs of wear and decay starting to appear. Some keys disappeared and the wood suddenly had holes in it as if eaten by insects.

“It’s our duty-” Asra mumbled, a serious look on his face as he followed your gaze and looked at the piano too. “-as magicians to help if we can.” He looked back down at you, his usual smile reappearing. “And sometimes people or even things have a last wish that needs someone to tend to. You shouldn’t be afraid of that, [Name].”

Nodding, you wondered what this lecture was about, but sparing one last glance at the instrument, you were glad that you hadn’t backed out immediately after feeling scared at first. Looking forward again, you noticed the rain was gone and you already felt dry enough for the last few miles towards a city.

“Sure was a beautiful melody,” you noted and Asra agreed, leading you outside of the mansion again, urging you to not look back anymore as it disappeared in the thicket of the forest, finally able to rest.

[Feel free to request from the Halloween/Fall Prompt List too!]

[writing-essence]

Switch Flipped - Sweet Pea

Chapter Three: Glow in Our Mouths

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Andrews!Reader, Reggie Mantle x Andrews!Reader

Warnings: Riverdale being wack 🤷🏻‍♀️ also language

Summary: After your dad was shot by the black hood, Archie has gone off the deep end, little did you expect yourself to question your northside loyalties

Author’s Note: Sorry, it’s taken so long! Check out our masterlist or #switch flipped series for the other parts. Let me know if you want to be tagged! -Milla

Word Count: 2,784

The holidays had come and gone. Christmas trees that were once radiating with the scent of fresh pine had reverted to dry needles covering living room floors.  Forgotten decorations remained in dark corners not to be found until February. The feeling of conclusion washed over Riverdale. Instead of being preoccupied with new shoes or shiny cars families were thankful to be breathing. The Black Hood met his end a biting December night much to the relief of your family. No longer would you be fearful for the lives of those closest to you. For the first time in weeks, you felt safe, like you were home again. Although that didn't stop the irking feeling of evil being hidden under your nose this whole time, walking the same fluorescent hallways of Riverdale High. 

You pushed the nagging to the back of your mind as you sat by your window. Snowflakes fell to the pavement melting upon impact. Riverdale was colder than usual, salt covered every road and sidewalk to keep lives moving instead of cooped up for the final days of break. Your eyes drifted toward a familiar figure exiting the Cooper house, a grey hat acting as armor against the frost. Your mind started to wander back to another young serpent. 

The last time you saw Sweet Pea was at FP's "retirement party." You had shown up in support along with Betty, Archie, and Veronica. While the other three decided to put on a show of their own you stayed back talking with Jughead or sitting with Toni at the bar. It wasn't the most comfortable night. You were obviously out of place in the musky bar, Veronica and Archie's rendition of "Bad World" didn't help. You left to find your brother midway through Betty's impromptu striptease. As you pushed your way passed oggling, drunk men, your face crashed into someone's chest. Your eyes trailed up to meet a familiar smirk.

“Easy there, watch where your going Princess,” Sweet Pea spoke over the slow music. You shook your head, embarrassed.

“Did you see where my brother went?” You attempted to look over his shoulder. He leaned back against the poster covered wall and motioned his head toward the exit. “Thanks,” you rushed. Sweet Pea nodded and crossed his arms moving his attention towards the stage. 

The temperamental state of high school relationships made an appearance that night. You had tried to comfort Archie the same he did for you when you broke up with Reggie, but you knew he was still in love with Veronica. After Betty and Archie caught the black hood, they rekindled their respective relationships, at least to a friendly degree. Balance restored in Riverdale, or so it seemed. 

“Students of Riverdale High, this is your principal speaking. E-mails have been sent to your parents, but effective immediately, Southside High School is shut down. Its students will be transferred to other schools in the district, including this one,” the second Weatherbee’s monotonous voice flooded through the intercom chaos ensued. 

The usual hushed highschool chatter amplified to the thousandth degree. There was a tension flooding the hallways. It was to be expected. The northside and southside are seemingly two completely different cultures, cultures that in most people’s eyes should be kept separate. You never understood the hate toward the southside. Yes, it wasn't as pretty as the neighboring northside suburbia, but the people living there are the same as everyone else. It’s not like anyone made an effort to help “clean up” the southside anyway, so what gives them the right to judge the people for doing their best to navigate what northside politicians gave them? Your dad played a significant role in your acceptance of the southside. 

Fred Andrews loved his town almost as much as his family and not just one half of it. He welcomed southsiders, namely a few Southside Serpents with open arms to his construction company. Fred never took an issue with the wrong side of town. Although he would never let you travel there alone, you had visited Jughead at the Twilight Drive-In countless times. It had an unmistakable charm; not even the most clean-cut northsider could refute. Now that it shut down the southside’s reputation went further downhill.

When Veronica asked you if you would help her greet the new Southside High students and try to make them feel comfortable walking into the Bulldogs den you jumped at the chance. She knew you would. While you were ecstatic for Jughead to return you couldn't help but hope he’d have his new rag-tag trio following behind him. 

Things had been weird in the friendship department ever since you and Reggie split. Of course, Midge was still your rock, but Moose didn't have much of a reason to talk to you anymore. It was a weird feeling. Reverting to social status, you hadn't felt since the 8th grade. No more cheering for your friends at football games and treating them to a victory dinner at Pop's. No more rides to school from Reggie when it's raining.  No more cozy couple's corner to sit at during lunch. It was the little things that caught you off guard.  And you felt bad for Midge who was stuck in the middle of it all. You didn't want her to have to choose between sitting with Moose near Reggie or help you find a new domain to eat lunch.

A piece of you wished nothing ever changed, but the rest of you saw this as an opportunity to grow. What better way to grow than by befriending Jughead's southside pals? They seemed nice enough the few times you met them. And knowing the mentality of Riverdale High, they'll need a northside ally. Not even a minute into Veronica’s introduction to the new students, the cavalry rolled in.

"Listen up, Raggamuffins," Cheryl started. You bit back a laugh at her attempt to sound intimidating regarding your school's above average GPA. She continued spewing her fascist regime until Toni challenged her. Before anything more could come of it, Archie decided to try and diffuse the situation. You were proud of your brother; he was starting to relax back into the open-hearted Archie you knew.  Your admiration for your brothers change of agenda was cut short.

"You don't speak for the Bulldogs, Andrews," Reggie butted in. "And need I remind you, these greaser-snakes showed up at your place trying to kick your ass," he said with a hand on Archie's shoulder glaring towards Sweet Pea and Fangs. You noticed Sweet Pea's face contort into venom as he pushed forward at Reggie. Before another rumble broke out, you spoke up.

"A fight that Archie started in the first place," you looked apologetically towards your brother for throwing him under the bus. Reggie looked back at you almost bewildered.

"You're really defending these thugs?" He waved his finger at the group. You took a seething breath pushing your way in front of Reggie and Archie. 

"Thugs? Reggie?" You couldn't help but snort at the irony, "have you seemed to forgotten who Riverdale High's resident drug dealer is?" With each word, your tone got sharper. You hadn't breathed in Reggie’s direction since the break. You didn't have the patience. "Apologize. Now," you crossed your arms.

Reggie looked at you as if you had a third head. His mouth floundered searching for his next attack as he glanced between you and the motley crew. You noticed Sweet Pea stepped forward breaking free of Toni and Jughead's grasp.

"I'd listen to the princess if I were you," Sweet Pea glared at Reggie. The bulldog snarled in return ready to lunge. Before he got the chance, Veronica cut in, followed by the bellow of Weatherbee.

The two forces dissipated in opposite directions. You and Veronica lead the southsiders and fellow members of the welcoming committee to the student lounge where you could finish handing out schedules and assigning tour guides in peace. Veronica made it halfway through the list.

"Who would care to show Sweet Pea around fair Riverdale?" She lifted her eyes above her reading glasses at the clump of clean-cut teens. Whispers tangled throughout the group as they stared at the brooding boy. Shaking your head at their shallowness, you stepped forward.

"I'd love to," you smiled at the surprised serpent. "C'mon Sweet Pea," you said walking out of the safety of the lounge. The two of you walked in silence as you showed him to his first-period and second-period classes. It wasn't necessarily uncomfortable. Neither of you knew what to say. You weren't exactly friends, but not strangers. While walking, you glanced up towards the clock. Six minutes before the bell inevitably rang you stopped short of Sweet Pea's giant steps. He mirrored your sudden halt.

"Um, the bells gonna ring soon, do you maybe want to pick this up during lunch?" You offered. Sweet Pea retuned a hint of a smile and agreed, taking a last look at the room numbers on his schedule before folding it and putting it in his jacket pocket. "Cool, I'll meet you back in the student lounge," stepping back you parted ways.

You tapped your pencil between your fingers on your musty textbook. History seemed especially historical today. Your teacher droned on, dust practically collecting on every word she said. All you could think about was finishing touring Sweet Pea. You were excited to see new faces around Riverdale High. Even now you looked toward your left and spotted washed out pink hair. Finally, the bell snapped you out of your gaze, and you swiped your supplies back in your bag. 

You caught up with Toni in the hall as you both headed to the lounge. She plopped down in the chair next to Fangs who was already talking to Kevin by the time you arrived. Not too long after Sweet Pea took a seat next to Kevin while Jughead took his place in the center chair. Josie and Veronica approached the gaggle of teens to made small talk and introductions. Before any meaningful conversation commenced Weatherbee barged in.

“You guys!” He commanded while pointing. We all shared glances of confusion. “Yes, you, come with me.” He promptly exited the doorway. Shrugging, we followed him to the middle of the hallway where a previously sparkling Bulldogs logo remained on the floor. As we looked closer, a green squiggle revealed itself to be a poorly drawn Serpent, tragically mimicking the same one on Jughead’s jacket. “Now! Which one of you defaced our school seal with this graffiti?” He asked pointed at the leather-clad teens.

“This is what they do, principal Weatherbee,” started Reggie in a matter of fact tone. “They tag their turf,” he smirked eyeing the tallest serpent. 

That smarmy son of a bitch. “God Reggie, could you be any more transparent?” Veronica took the words right out of your mouth. Weatherbee decided on banning all serpent paraphernalia, including tattoos. At this moment you thought Sweet Pea might be regretting the placement of his own. When everyone retreated back into the lounge, you stood your ground staring at Reggie. Weatherbee and the spectators had continued about their business. 

"What the hell Reggie," you were the first to say something. 

"I don't know what you mean Y/N," he replied feigning innocence. 

"There's only one person in this school with a car fast enough to get to the store and back with still enough time for an amateur art project during his free period," you deducted. "What's your problem with them?"

"They don't belong here," he tried to reason, "they're bad news." 

"You don't know a thing about them, Reggie!" Your arms raised up in exasperation. He continued going off on his wrong side of the tracks rant. Most of it muddled through one ear and out the other as you squeezed your eyes shut pinching the bridge of your nose. Then you heard it.

"Babe, c'mon you can't-" Reggie attempted, but you cut him off.

"You don't get to call me that," your voice sounded hollow, "you're, not my boyfriend anymore Reggie. You made that choice yourself." 

He didn't get a say in what you chose to do or who you chose to associate with. Without bothering to hear his reply you backed away from him. The person in front of you wasn't the bright-eyed boy you fell for. He was infected with the pain of loss and neglect which contorted into a hatred for people who threated the one slice of normalcy he had left. You wouldn't let him pass that virus to you. As you stepped through the doorway of the student lounge, you didn't notice a certain Serpent eyed the confrontation through the wall of windows. The leftover scowl on your face forced itself into a mildly pleasant smile. You walked up to Sweet Pea determined to finish his tour. He swiftly dug the tattered schedule from his pocket and followed you through the halls. 

"We have math together 4th period," you said stopping by the door to the dreaded classroom. "There's an empty seat by me after some kid transferred to Seaside. You can sit there if you want? Um, I mean you don't have to it's just an option if you-" you rambled worried you were being to forward.

"Thanks," he stopped you gently. 

You nodded curtly and continued with the tour. Your hands clasped in front of you twiddling with your fingers. You were nearly finished. After showing him the gym, all you had left was the library. You took your phone out of your pocket smiling triumphantly, still 10 minutes to spare before the end of lunch. Looking up to your side you noticed Sweet Pea was staring at you, he was biting the inside of his cheek.

"Do you have a question about anything," you asked suspiciously. It took him a few moments before he concluded what he was going to say.

"What was with you and that Bulldog earlier?" he questioned innocently.

"What? Reggie? He's just an idiot," you tried to brush it off. Sweet Pea's brows furrowed, quirking his head to the side.

"Really? It looked kinda intense?" He must have seen you clenching your jaw as he quickly added, "sorry, uh, its none of my business." His hand offered to surrender. 

"It's fine," you smiled reassuringly. "Let's just finish this tour shall we?"

He nodded brightly. You were surprised the way he marveled at the library. His eyes noticeably fixated on the few rows of computers. After that grand finale, the two of you said your goodbyes as you headed towards your respective third periods. Your mind started to wander. Why did he seem so interested in you and Reggie? Was he trying to make small talk? Or perhaps he was taking intel on the enemy? Whatever his motives were the bell disrupted you from sleuthing any further. 

Even the smell of the math class made you sick. The second you stepped foot in that room you were bombarded with the scent of worn out erasers, used up pencils, and tears. All trying to be masked by your teacher's obnoxiously citrusy chalkboard cleaner. You took a seat in your familiar spot second row from the back. You took out your textbook and notebooks, hissing as they slipped from your hands. Frazzled you tilted your head back to the front of the room. Sweet Pea stood next to Mr. Chase, holding back a smirk. He had obviously seen your blunder. Sweet Pea nodded at whatever Mr. Chase told him, taking a textbook from his hand and headed towards you.

"So which one's the empty seat you were talking about?" He said pointing to the desks either side of you. 

"Um, this one," you motioned to the desk on your right, adjacent the window. The boy took his seat, his long legs miraculously fitting under the table. Throughout math you held your head in your hand, struggling to keep up with the chicken scratch written on the board. Accepting defeat, your attention turned to Sweet Pea. His face was scrunched in concentration. His tongue peeked out from his lips as he clenched his hand around his pencil frantically writing away. You were amazed at how the pencil hadn't snapped due to the white on his knuckles. The dog tags around Sweet Pea's neck glinted in the sunlight that flooded through the cracks of the drawn blinds. 

You didn't understand how Reggie could see him as evil or vile. He had been polite and kind to you without incentive that night at Pop's and carried that reputation next to you. Maybe now you had a reason to look forward to math class. 

Tags:

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

As it must be

A sequel to What was, What will be and And so it is

Warnings: noncon sex (oral, vaginal, anal) mentions of death and grieving.

This is dark!Thor and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader's escape is hindered.

Note: Yo, let me tell you about this beast dark!Thor which is too say if you don’t like uber brutal shit, don’t read, my dudes. This series only gets darker and darker and I don’t want anyone to be upset so please heed this final warning along with the one already included. And is if this is your cup of tea, please enjoy! Please let me know your thoughts and reblog/like <3

-

You shook as the man led you from the shed. The moonlight stung your eyes as you kept your head down and followed him through the door of the small house. As you entered, he stepped around you to shut the door and you flinched. His grey eyes caught the movement and he looked at you in the din of his humble home. A lantern shone over the small kitchen, an open wood stove burning as a pot hung over the flame. You shrunk before him as you stayed close to the door.

“Are you hungry?” He asked. You shook your head. “Cold?” You shrugged. He reached out and you shied away. He lowered his hand and backed up slowly. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to scare you. The bruises, what happened to you?”

“Nothing,” You lied and swayed on your feet.

“You’re a servant from the palace,” He stated plainly, “At least you wear their garb.” He turned and crossed to a cupboard. He pulled out a wooden bowl and spoon. He ladled thick stew from the pot into it and set it on the small table. “You should eat.”

“Really, I’m not hungry,” You argued, tempted to turn and dash out the door. What did you know of this place besides its monstrous king?

“It will warm you up,” He countered as he sat across from the bowl. “Did you steal? Or maybe you were caught mingling with a lord?”

“No, no,” You croaked and clasped your hands together. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. You stared at the man. Despite his implications, his expression bore no judgement. His dark hair was fleck with silver, his eyes wrinkled at the corners, and shallow lines frame his lips. “T-t-thank you.”

You neared cautiously and sat. You took the spoon and stirred the soup. You took a small mouthful to appease him but your stomach twisted. It was tasty but your nerves were wired. You kept your head down and stared into the broth.

“I won’t trouble you long. I should go in the morning.” You said quietly, “Before...Do you know how to get to the docks?”

“I do,” He answered evenly.

“And...would I be able to leave this place from there?” You slowly raised your eyes to him.

“You can try,” He tilted his head, “But there are other paths away from Asgard. Better ones. Less obvious.”

“I don’t suppose you’d show me them,” You ventured as you rested the spoon against the bowl.

“I might,” He replied, “You have any coin?”

“N-no,” Your voice deflated, “I don’t have...anything.”

“Good to know you’re not a thief then,” He scratched the hint of stubble along his chin. “I’d be better to get you out of my hair at the risk of my own neck. I don’t need a lord sniffing around my shed. I’ll show you the way if only to have you gone from here. A whore is not worth the blood.”

“I’m not--” You shot back but your throat tightened painfully. A tear rose in your eye and trickled down your cheek as you sniffed. “I don’t want to be--”

A crack ripped through the sky and the windows flashed with blinding light. You gulped and dropped your spoon. The man’s thick brows lowered and he pushed himself to his feet. He swept through the doorway just behind him and you rose in turn. You followed him into the next room as he peered through the window. You came to his shoulder and peeked out beside him. 

The sky was dark for a time. Undisturbed as the moonlight draped over the city like silk. The man sighed and backed away from the window with arms crossed. “The king has returned. If only he’d do so without such fanfare.” Your eyes widened and you braced the window frame. He paused and stared you down. “Don’t tell me you’re running from him?”

“I--” You shuddered.

“You have to leave. Now!” He seized you by the arm and dragged you to the front door. 

He ripped it open and the sky erupted in a spiderweb of lightning bolts. You were blinded as he shoved you forward and you collided with a sturdy and unyielding figure. A form all too familiar. A large hand wrapped around your upper arm as your vision cleared. Thor stood before you, the rage sparked from his eyes. You whimpered as you tried to free yourself from Thor’s grip. He was as unyielding as before but this time he was truly angry. There was death in his touch.

“My king,” You gasped as you tried to push him back. 

He easily held you away from him as I strike of silver swept down and crashed just behind you. An agonized scream tore through the night and you recoiled at the sheer inhumanity in the stranger’s roar. You peeked over your shoulder but Thor caught your jaw. He tilted your head to look at him and growled. 

“You said you’d be good, little one,” His tone was frightening. A worse fate promised to you than the stranger. “What do you think happens when you lie to your king?”

You tried to pull away. Tried to peer around at the smell of burnt flesh that rose behind you. He clung to you, his fingers tightened around your jaw and arm. Eerie blue bolts sparked from his eyes and limned his features and ripped down his body. A paralyzing jolt struck you and your body went limp against his. 

You were jerked upward and slung over his shoulder. Your teeth buzzed and your flesh tingled from the shock. Another zinged up your spine and you yelped. Tears sprung from your eyes and rolled down your temples and forehead. Thor turned back and moved decisively up the cobblestones. His footfalls echoed as he marched through the streets.

Curtains twitched and shadows moved in alleyways. You could feel the eyes of those awoken by the king’s wrath. He could just as easily return to the palace as quickly as he had found you but he chose to parade you through the streets. A show of power to his people. To you. There was no disobedience. No escape. Only him.

Unable to move, you jostled against his back. You could feel the muscles of his shoulders flex. His hold on your legs only grew firmer. His breaths were deep and livid. This wasn’t good at all. As your fear piqued, so did the energy flowing through you. You yiped as another bolt went through you. Your body spasmed and he growled. 

He passed through the gates as they opened at his whim. Guard averted their eyes as he climbed the stairs and entered the front doors. Servants scurried from his path, the lords and ladies hidden in their chambers for the night. Thunder quaked all of Asgard as the king stomped through the corridors. You were shaking; in fear, in despair, in agony.

He did not ascend the staircase but swept by it. He carried you through a low doorway hidden behind it. The servants’ stairs. He descended past their quarters and beneath the laundries. Another door at the very bottom. It creaked open before him and he entered with a duck of his head. He kept you across his shoulder as he lit the torches with a wave of his hand. The flames licked blue at first than mellowed to orange. You could not see around him as your head bounced against his back.

He flipped you over and your feet slipped from beneath you. He caught you and held you up by your wrists. His warm fingers were replaced by cold metal. He stepped back and you hung painfully from the cuffs suspended from the stone ceiling. You looked up as you tried to balance yourself on tiptoes. You were barely tall enough to reach the floor. Another zap and you shrieked.

“Let me show you what life will be like without me, my pet,” Thor barked as he neared. “We will see if you can last an hour.” His thick fingers touched the back of your neck, tickled along the flesh and left a peculiar tingle there. He withdrew his hand as your body slowly spun back to him, his rough palm cradle your cheek, “Be strong, little one.”

He turned and his scarlet cape swirled around him. He bowed through the door and it slammed behind him. You could not hear his footsteps beyond but you knew he had left you. All alone in the icy chamber. Your shoulders strained as the chains stretched your figure. You hung your head with a sigh and a sudden ripple washed over your form.

You gasped and looked down as a flicker of silver fizzled along your stomach. Another appeared around your thigh and crept up to your pelvis. The flare disappeared beneath your skirt and you whined at the swirl within. More sparks appeared and crawled along your flesh. You spasmed as the heat nestled along your most sensitive spot. The electricity radiated through you but not enough to bring you over the edge. You lingered before it and mewled as you stared helplessly into the abyss.

You were soon panting. Gulping and gasping for air as you swung from the cuffs. You had stopped your attempt to steady yourself on your toes. You could only focus on the bloom inside. It pulsed bigger and bigger but never enough. Your eyes rolled back and you bit your tongue. You couldn’t. It was too much. The sudden flicker in your clit added to the storm. Your thighs rubbed together and the tears began to flow once more.

You felt as if you would dissolve into the air. The musty scent of the chamber was dry on your tongue. You closed your eyes as you trembled. The snap and crack of the sparks that nipped at you filled your ears. The clink of the chain and your dusky breaths were muted by your desperation. The need for what would not come.

You were delirious when the door groaned. You were certain you were dreaming. The shadow, the clank of the door as it closed, the footsteps. They had to be in your head. It wasn’t until the hand closed around your throat and you were forced to look up into the dreaded face that you were aware of Thor’s presence. His eyes were unforgiving as he watched you writhe.

“Well, my pet, it’s been just less than an hour...shall I leave you for another?” He taunted and you tried to shake your head above his hand. 

You pouted and griped, “N-no, please...I-I--” You sobbed and leaned into his grasp. “Don’t leave me. I-I-I…” You hissed as another spark plucked at your core. “I’m so sorry. So sorryyyyy.” You whined. “I’ll n-n-never--” You squeezed our eyes shut as your vision blurred. “I am...yours, my king, I swear it.”

“What was that?” He removed his hand and you opened your eyes. He leaned in as if to hear you properly.

“I am yours,” You insisted, “Yours, yours, yoouuurs.”

He chuckled and poked the end of your nose before he backed away. “You are mine, pet, but this lesson is a hard one.” He broke the buckle of your belt and tore it away. “It is one I shall not repeat.” He grasped the collar of your gown and split it down the middle. “Ever,” His voice rose dangerously, “Again.” 

He turned and neared the corner. A shape was hidden there, the torches by the door were not bright enough to reach. Thor neared with the long bar, its ends attached to cuffs thicker than those on your wrists. He bent and clasped one to each ankle so that your legs were held apart. The position was painful as you hung fully from the ceiling.

He unlocked the metal around your wrists and you dropped awkwardly onto your feet. He caught you before you could fall forward and pushed the ragged gown down your arms. It pooled beneath the bar and left you entirely bare. He steadied you and slowly let go. He watched as you struggled to gain your balance and smirked.

He deftly unclasped the cloak at his shoulder, deliberate as he swished it away from his back. He watched as you wobbled on your feet and folded it before he dropped it to the stone. His armor was next, the metal slid along the wall until it rested atop his cape. His mail shed just as purposely then the woven shirt beneath.

He untied his boots without looking away from you and you squirmed. You fell forward and caught yourself on your hands, bent entirely with your ass up in the air. You had no leverage to push yourself back up and listened with a silent sob as he continued to undress. Your knees hurt as your legs were kept apart by the bar. Your shoulders strained and you shuddered as the sparks ceased and you were left overwrought and wanting.

Thor buried his large hand in the hair along the back of your head and pulled it  to make you look up at him. You wanted to close your eyes but his grip warned you against resistance. Your last act of defiance had led to another’s death. His other hand was on his cock and he stroked its length with a hum. He was focused on your lips, the tremble along the lower one, the helpless pout. He bent and pushed his tip against them. You locked your jaw against his intrusion.

“Now, now,” His hand slipped from the back of your head and he lightly slapped your cheek, “Let’s not be foolish, pet.”

You opened your mouth with a shiver and he pushed inside. He brought himself to his limit without warning. Your gagged and your entire body revolted. You fought to hold back the wave that threatened to rise and he held himself there. You couldn’t breath around him and your head began to pulse. You reached up and clawed at his thigh as his hands explored the strained muscles of your shoulders.

He pulled back and you choked, heaving back the air desperately. “Breathe,” He purred but allowed only a few seconds for you to obey. He kept his pace quick, rough, as he fucked your face. Your fingertips slipped beneath you and you feared you’d tip over. He bent over you as his hands strayed down your back and he kneaded your ass as he slid even further down your throat. 

You felt as if you were suffocating. You could barely breathe as he filled your throat again and again. Your slobber bubbled around him and his grunts were more like growls. His anger was apparent in every jerk of his hips, the gruff pinches along your ass and the smack of his palm as he brought it across your bottom. You brought your other hand up to hold onto him and focused on taking him. On appeasing him.

“That’s it, pet,” He rasped and placed a hand on the back of your head as he held you to your limit. He thrust only once more before he spilled down your throat. You choked and your entire body seized as you urged yourself to swallow. His hot cum slipped down and seared every inch until it reached your churning stomach.

He pulled out and you wheezed. He backed away and your head dropped as you caught yourself once more on your hands. You struggled to keep from slipping entirely flat across the stone. Thor moved around you with measured steps. He slapped your ass and your legs buckled. He grabbed your hips and drew you against him.

His wet cock bobbed above your ass and he bent his knees to prod at your entrance. You felt entirely drained as he stretched you around his length. Your muscles were so frazzled you could barely register the new pain. His hands slid up to your waist and he pulled you back to stand flush against him. As he thrust into you, your feet left the floor. The cuffs chafed around your ankles and you groaned.

He rutted against you, his low grunts grew louder with each snap of his hips. With an arm around your waist, his other hand fondled your tits. He pinched a nipple and flicked it. You hissed and he did it again. Your pain seemed to please him. Your feet returned to the floor as he bent his knees. More strength behind each thrust. He had been rough before but never so callous.

You weren’t so much moaning as whimpering. The same pressure remained and built. As the coil began to wind, your legs shook and your knees ached as the bar kept you from pulling your legs together. You clung to Thor’s wrists as he held you up and your walls ached. You bared your teeth as you came but the euphoria was undercut by agony. The thought of your failure; the reality of your current torment. You gasped and sobbed through your climax.

Without warning, he shoved you forward. You fell off his cock and landed on hands and knees. Your ankles were still held two feet apart and your lower back strained. Thor dropped to his knees behind you and slapped your ass. Once, twice, three times. The flesh stung from the assault. 

He leaned over you and nuzzled behind your ear. You felt the head of his cock as he dragged it up and down your folds. “You’re mine, little one, every single part of you.” He snarled and pressed himself against your asshole. Your flinched and he grabbed the back of your neck and slammed your head down to the floor. The force sent stars across your vision. “All mine.”

He lined himself up and slowly forced his way in your tight hole. You screamed at the pain. Even the remnants of your cum could not ease his cock’s delve inside. He carefully stretched your asshole as he pushed in an inch at a time. Your breath stuttered and you felt as if you would pass out. 

“Please, no, stop!” You shrieked and lifted your head. “It hurts! Stop, your hurting me!”

He shoved your head back down and you howled. “I told you to be good,” He pulled back and you exhaled in relief. “You said you’d be good.” He thrust back in and you squealed. “You lied to me, pet, and now you must be punished.” He repeated the motion and your throat tightened with tears, only a gurgle rose from you.

He leaned his weight on you until your legs collapsed. You were forced flat to the stone as your legs slipped straight beneath him. He placed his arm across your shoulders and crushed you against the floor. He lifted his hips and slammed them back down. His pelvis hammered against your ass and the pressure inside grew unbearable. You wept onto the stone and he never wavered.

“Shhh,” He stroked the back of your head, “This is for your own--” He grunted and plunged as deep as he could, “Good.”

“P-p-please,” You stuttered with each thrust, “P-p-please, my k-k-king.”

You gulped back your pleas as he bottomed out. He exclaimed as you felt him cum, the heat of it only added to the burn. He panted as he draped himself over you. You could barely breathe for the pain and the weight of his body. The tears would not stop. 

He stayed inside of you and his hand trailed down your side. You shivered at the chill his fingertips sent through you and he kissed the back of your head. “Tell me who you belong to, little one.” He drew circles along your hip and began to rock his hips.

“You, my king,” You sniffled back your tears. “Only you.”

-

tags to be added in reblog

[elizabethemerald]

Video Date for Toby, Claire and Jim

Long distance relationships can be hard, but there’s nothing cuter than a video date with your two boyfriends! Especially after a long week of hiking in the wilderness with a bunch of trolls!

The motel smelled a little musty, like it hadn't been cleaned properly in to long, but compared to the caves, mines and old barns they had been staying in for the past week it was heaven. Not to mention the complete lack of troll smell.

Claire had showered as soon as she got the keys to room. She only barely remembered to open the back window so Jim could climb in. If the hotel manager wondered why a 16 year old was renting a room for just the day he didn't mention it after her credit card cleared.

When she was finished washing a week's worth of grime off she emerged in a towel. She was unsurprised to see Jim lounging on the bed in a loose sweat suit. They smiled at each other for just a second, before she nodded towards the bathroom.

"Showers all yours!"

"Yes!" Jim hopped off the bed and bounded into the bathroom. She smiled at the door for a second. Jim had always been clean for a boy and his transformation seemed to increased that. He would bathe in every stream and trickle they came across on their journey.

Finally she pulled her thoughts away from her boyfriend and focused on the room. First she let her mind expand as she magically checked the room. Nothing in the room alerted her senses. It was clear, no spying devices, magical or mundane. She mentally reprimanded herself, she needed to remember to check for cameras before Jim entered the room.

It was Ms. Nomura who had found the first camera. The cheap motels they stayed at on occasion unfortunately had some sleazy clientele. Nomura was well experienced with that sort of sleaze and taught them what to look out for. Fortunately that first camera had been recording, not broadcasting. Since then Claire had started checking every room they stayed in.

Once she sure that she could do magic unobserved she let some small waves of purple fire flow from her fingertips. The fire filled the room, but wasn't powerful enough to burn the furnishings. It did kill any mites or bugs or germs that might be in the mattress. Jim said he didn't really notice the bugs with his stone skin but Claire definitely did.

Once she was done and the waves of purple fire retreated back to her hands the room actually smelled clean. She smiled and felt comfortable enough to get dressed into her pajamas. She stretched for a second then got back to work.

She tightly closed the heavy curtains. Day was breaking outside and she didn't want Jim to be hurt by a stray sunbeam. Next she got out her laptop and plugged it in. She turned it on even though she knew Toby wouldn't be awake for a little while yet.

Once that was done she set to cleaning and repairing her equipment. Jim had armor that was formed of Daylight, completely clean each time he summoned it. Claire wasn't so lucky. She didn't hike in her full armor any more, yet every piece seemed to be covered in muck. Plus she had her regular camping gear to maintain. Thank God her father had been so prepared when he had helped her pack.

Some things she cleaned and repaired with her magic. Some things needed elbow grease to be cleaned or a more fine touch to repair. She laughed quietly to herself while she worked. She was learning a whole host of skills she hadn't expected to. Claire took her time finishing her tasks. Jim could be in the shower for hours if he wanted. As long as the hot water lasted he would stay in.

Claire had just finished the last of her work and settled on the bed with the computer on her lap when Jim finally emerged from the bathroom. A massive cloud of steam poured into the room as he opened the door. She bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling as he stood there running a hand through his mane. He was wearing just a pair of loose fitting sweats that sagged down his hips. She knew she was blushing like mad. Jim looked like a statue of an old greek hero, the water running in rivulets down his abs, his horns shining in the dim light of the motel room.

Before she could say anything Jim ended the moment by shaking himself like a dog. She shrieked and covered her laptop as water sprayed everywhere.

“Jim!” She cried. “Do you have any idea how hard it would be for me to get another laptop out here on the road?”

He looked guilty for a short moment then smiled apologetically. “My hair is so thick it never dries if I don’t get the water out.”

She sighed at his little puppy dog look, he was still cute, even as a half troll. “Come here. And careful with your horns!”

Jim grabbed his pillow from his bag and carefully laid down on the bed next to her. She had reinforced the pillow with her magic so he would stop tearing them with his horns. Once he was comfortable she ran her hand over his chest. More purple flames poured from her hand. Again it wasn’t hot enough to burn him, or even feel uncomfortable but it was enough to quickly dry his hair. It looked almost comically poofy now.

“Why don’t you do that with your hair?” He gestured to the wet patch on her pillow.

“Are you kidding me? My hair would be impossibly frizzy if I tried that.” She smiled and ran her hands through his hair. It was much thicker now after his transformation. Sometimes he was self conscious about his hair, but this was one change she didn’t mind. He had a soft rumble in his chest as she continued combing his hair with her fingers.

“Any word from Toby yet?” He asked.

“Not yet but it’s Saturday and only eight back in Arcadia. He might be sleeping in.”

While they waited Claire logged into her bank account. The credit card she had used had actually been Blinky’s idea. Who could have guessed that traveling across the entire country on foot would have been expensive? The card had been a hassle to set up and get but it was completely worth the effort. Her parents had the login info and so did Jim’s mom, and Toby’s Nana, and Mr. Strickler and a few of the other teachers from their high school. Any of them could pay off the balance so the burden didn’t fall on any one person. Then she could buy clothes, or food or this hotel room without having to worry.

The only remaining balance was the hotel room. Someone had paid the balance from the previous week already. She was so thankful Blinky had thought to do this.

Suddenly an icon flashed on the desktop. Jim sat up straight when he saw it. Claire quickly closed out of everything else, then answered the call. After a few seconds of struggle Toby’s smiling face appeared. Claire and Jim crowded together to make sure they were both on camera.

"How's the picture coming through?" Toby asked. "That new kid, Krel, one of the weirdo geniuses, gave me this thing that helps boost the signal."

"You're coming through perfectly Tobes!" Jim said. Claire was using a touch of her magic to boost the signal on their end and whatever Toby was using on his was working as well.

"TP, you look tired! Are you getting enough sleep?" Claire asked him.

"Oh you two know what trollhunting is like. Never a moment's rest." He said waving away their concern. "What about you two? Claire is that a new cut on your cheek? And Jim there's one on your chest as well!"

Jim growled, a terrifying sound in the confined space. It must have sounded awful to Toby considering the way he recoiled from his computer. Claire's hand rose unconsciously to her cheek. It was little more than a cut now. She doubted it would scar, her magic healing was pretty amazing.

Jim's would scar though. His body was so strange. It didn't respond to Claire's healing magic and the molten metal the trolls used for their wounds often seemed to make things worse. Fortunately while he wore his armor his body healed on his own but he still bore scars. Some going as far back to when he first faced Bular.

"If the wizard would only listen to me!" Claire flinched as he spoke. His claws unsheathed and his fangs were bared. Across the room the amulet glowed, its gears whirring to life. She quickly put a hand on his arm.

"Babe we talked about this! We just want a relaxing date with our boyfriend, remember?" He took some deep breathes through his nose his eyes clamped shut. Claire turned back to the screen. "I'll call you later Toby and explain, but can we make this be a fun date just the three of us?"

"Of-of course!" He stuttered out, then immediately fell silent. Claire struggled for something to say as well. Jim was still focusing on reigning in his anger.

"Where's Darci? I thought she said she wanted to join in on these calls now." She finally said.

"She's on a date with Mary and Shannon. You two might not know this but Mary came out as a lesbian! Apparently all the guys she said she was seeing were to trick her parents."

"Oh good for them!" Claire noticed that Jim's ears flicked as he listened to them talk. His breathing was returning to normal. But the amulet was still flashing across the room. "That sounds so fun. I'll have to call Mary later and get all the details!"

"Yeah I don't even know all the details. Those two have been hanging out with Eli, Steve and those two new kids. Playing some kind of nerd game."

"Toby you are a nerd. Also at some point you can't keep calling them the new kids!"

"Listen Eli told me about the game, it's way more nerdy than even I can stand. And they will be the new kids until any newer kids come along."

Jim had finally relaxed enough for the amulet to quiet. Now he was following the conversation with interest.

"So Darci is on a date with Mary," he said. "Mary is dating Shannon. What about you, Tobes?" Toby only looked confused so Jim clarified. "Have you gone on any other dates with anyone else?"

Toby's bafflement only grew. "Why would I be going on any dates with anyone else? I go out with Darci as often as I can and I have these video dates with you two. Who else would I go on dates with?"

"Well there's always Eli?" Claire suggested.

"Or you could find out if Steve is bi? Or maybe Krel? Or some of the girls in class?" Jim said.  

Toby just laughed at that. "Why would I want to date them? I'm already dating everyone I've ever loved!"

"That's so sweet Tobes!" Jim smiled warmly at the camera. Claire could see Toby was blushing a little.

"What about you two?" He asked. "Any, uh, cute trolls?"

Claire slapped her hand on the camera while she gagged and retched dramatically.

"Age difference Toby! All of the trolls are centuries older than we are. Gross!"

“What about Ms. Nomura?” Toby wheezed in between laughs. “You said she was good looking,  right Jim?”

Jim laughed at that. “One she’s just as old as the other trolls, and Two I’m pretty sure she would stab me for even thinking about it!”

“Besides she’s definitely gay.” Claire said dismissively.

“Didn’t her and Draal have a thing?” Toby asked.

“I haven’t asked her and value my life too much to ever try. But if you had heard the way she talks about Barbara you’d know she was gay.”

“Wait, what?!” Jim shouted. “Why does every changeling who tried to kill me want to date my mom?”

“I don’t think date is quite what she had in mind.” Claire knew she had a slight blush. The pink changeling had been explicit in her thoughts about Jim’s mom. Jim clamped his hands over his long ears.

“No details no details!” He shouted. Toby was laughing so hard he was almost rolling off his bed. He kept slipping out of frame as he laughed. Claire couldn’t help but laugh as well. Even though she wasn’t saying anything Jim was humming loudly to himself with his hands still over his ears. Her smile turned fond as she stared at him. Here he was, shirtless, hair poofing out, covering his ears and singing off key. He was so handsome.

“Are you two done talking about my mom’s love life?” Jim asked, finally taking his hands off his ears. Claire was about to keep ribbing him, but Toby interrupted.

“Oh we are done messing with you Jim!” Then he gave a wicked smile. “It’s Claire’s turn!”

“Go ahead and take your best shot!” She said, her voice ringing with confidence. “Neither of you have anything on me!”

Jim seemed to agree with her if his face was any indication. He looked like he was trying to think of anything to sass her with. To her surprise Toby looked as confident as she felt. His smile widened at her look.

“Is that so Fair Clare?” He steepled his fingers like he was super villain in a movie. Claire felt her smile slip a little. “Jim my love? Would you mind flexing for me?”

Jim seemed confused but didn’t have any problems with showing off. Claire tried not to look, but her eyes betrayed her. Her blush crept higher up her cheeks. Toby started talking like a narrator.

“Is it his muscles that so attract the young lady’s eyes to her beloved’s form? Or is it his stone skin? His mighty horns and long claws? His eyes that glow or his fangs that rend?”

Claire knew she was blushing scarlet. Jim saw and realized what Toby was saying. He stopped posing for a second. Then ran his hands through his mane, allowing his talons to come unsheathed as he did so. He leaned close to her, she felt the air move as he took in her scent, saw his eyes start to glow. She shivered as he nuzzled her neck, one of his tusks caressing her skin. She felt a spark of her magic jump between her and Jim. A spark that Jim felt and Toby saw.

Claire shrieked and covered her face with her hands before pulling her head mostly into her shirt. “You two are awful I can’t believe you!”

“Maybe I should ask Merlin for a troll form of my own!” Toby said. “I could get a big set of curly horns. Even bigger than Jim’s horns. And I could have orange eyes that glow!”

Jim took over the narrative. “Oh Toby once you have a troll form you and I can spar!” He leaned over to Claire as she kept hiding her face. “Could you imagine the two of us wrestling? We wouldn’t want to ruin our clothes so we could wrestle in just some sweatpants. Our muscles straining against each other.”

A static charge built up in the room making her hair stand on end. Claire pulled her face out of her shirt enough to see Toby open his mouth to continue ribbing her and see him stopped by a hand motion from Jim. She fought to control her magic and pulled her head the rest of the way out of her shirt.

“You two are just rude! I love my boyfriends! Is that such a crime?” Her cheeks were still burning, but her magic calmed down enough that her hair returned to its normal state.

They all laughed loud and long together. Claire and Jim laid back and relaxed, enjoying the friendly atmosphere with the people they loved most. Eventually Jim fell asleep while Claire and Toby talked. She swore he only slept when they were all together on these video dates.

The conversation lagged as Claire started to doze off as well. Finally Toby bid her farewell. Jim roused for a few minutes to say goodbye, and to tell Toby he loved him, before quickly falling right back asleep. When Toby was gone, Claire shut down her computer and let her eyes fall shut, listening to the breathing of her one of her boyfriends. She smiled. Boyfriends. This is exactly what she needed.

[unholyhelbig]

Right, so we all need a part two...

[A/N: Part two, because a lot of people seem to like this one! You can read part one here, or on my AO3] 

The busted pipe dripped in a rhythmic motion. Itwas rusted around the edge, creating a small discolored puddle against thewood. Beca had tried fixing it more than once, and it always sprung through itsbinds. She had grown used to the sound and the scent of metal. It came with theterritory.

Shestretched along the back of the couch, the fire crackling almost drowned outthe water and the musty smell in the air, a book resting beneath herfingertips. She could taste the biting edge of the old pages, eyes scanningover ink that faded needlessly. She squinted at the words.

It was theCall of the Wild.

Beca hadwandered into the thrift store and the old woman behind the counter eitherdidn’t realize who she was or couldn’t tell through her thick bifocals. Sheprobably didn’t’ read the news, anyway, turning her awful hoarding habit into aprofitable business. Either way, Beca got a whole stack of books with darkenedspines for only twenty dollars, and she was slowly making her way through themwithout cause.

When itwas just her and her mother, they would go to the library, and she thinksthat’s where she learned how to appreciate print. She had registered for a cardand would sit in the back corner at one of the computers to fill out jobapplications. Beca would curl into a leather chair with cracked edges and thewarmest air and the brightest sun. Her mom would let her take home one book,and then it changed to two, sometimes even three.  

Right now,it was cold. Everything about where she lived was. She had gotten used to thefact that there weren’t any windows here- and the air always smelled thickly ofsalt and sea life. The way no one else would hire her and now she would liveout the rest of her days as a guard dog for a port with no ships in the night.She liked it this way- alone and desolate. The lull of crashing ocean wavespulled her into fitful sleep and seagulls would welcome her with a cup ofcoffee and a morning run on the black sand beaches before daybreak.

The wallsseeped when it rained like this.

Becareached over blindly and pulled a piece of cold pizza into her grasp. She hadbeen living off of it for a couple of days now, and no way in hell was sheheading back into town after the last reaction she got. It was easier to pop aslice in the microwave, even if the cheese had grown thick with sourness. Shechewed slowly and leaned into the book before pulling her blanket further overher knees.

She almostdidn’t’ hear the knock over the crash of the waves and the shattering of thethunder. Certainly, didn’t expect it, but her body stiffened, and she struggledto swallow the rest of the food that was against her lips. Was it a knock? There it is again, three more times yeah.Definitely a knock.  

The youngwoman peeled the blanket away from her suddenly sticky skin and walked acrossthe creaky floorboards that reminded her of a short story where an old man hadhis heart nailed underneath the parlor. It was a tale of guilt and deceit andshe remembered not being able to sleep for weeks afterward.

Beca couldalmost instantly taste the rain when she opened the door to the lighthouse. Itsoaked against her skin as the wind howled and the figure on her steps shifted,a raincoat around her bleedingly bright hair and contrasted eyes. Her lipswere blue too, from the cold. A thin line of blood moved against her cheek anddripped like diluted mud. She recognized her from the pizza shop. A pryingstranger.  

“Can Icome in?” She called over the howling rain.

“What?”

“I said,can I come in? It’s freezing out here. I’m going to catch my death!”

Becablinked wordlessly and stepped aside. The woman’s boots squished, and they wereleft in a muted silence when the door closed behind her. Chloe smelled likemuck and metal, and a lot like that pipe that was busted in the corner but inthe least offensive way possible. She hissed and shook out her cold hands.

“I’m sorryfor barging in. My car, it broke down and well… it’s like that outside.” Shegave a weak chuckle that was wracked in exhaustion. Beca just stared and Chloeforced an awkward smile. “You’re not very social, are you?”

“Forgiveme, but the last time anyone knocked on my door I was dragged away inhandcuffs.”

Chloenodded like she understood, but she probably didn’t’. Beca didn’t’ know if shewas trying to scare the woman away- but after the other night she was sureAubrey Posen had warned the new girl in town to stay away from her. The rumorshad bounced around, and the police reports were still easy enough to pull uponline- she figured maybe, just maybe, if she was brazened enough then Chloewould fall in line with the rest- alienating and gone to the world.

“I googledyou.”

“Whichbegs the question, why are you here?” Beca asked, scanning her up and down. Shewas doused in mud. “The police station is a block east. The storm shelter twoblocks west.”

“And thegrocery store North. I know, I know.” Chloe countered, sniffing back the cold.“You interest me. I’m intrigued.”

Becaleaned back on her heels and stared some more. She had done a bit of googlingherself, of course, it was harder. She logged into an old Facebook accountbefore clicking on Aubrey Posen’s smiling face, arm wrapped around her fatherthat she still called Daddy even though they weren’t in the South anymore. Fromthere- she found Chloe. Chloe Beale- reporter. It figures she couldn’t helpputting her nose where it didn’t belong.

“Youshould sit by the fire, warm up before you reallydo catch your death. I’ll find you some dry clothes.”

Chloedidn’t’ seem to hesitate before walking close to the mantle and stretching herfingers out. Beca moved towards the iron steps, the second floor not muchhigher than the first. When she returned with a pair of grey sweat pants and anoversized t-shirt with a design of a palm tree on it, she found Chloe squintingat the pages of the book that was left on the coffee table.

“He was akiller, a thing that preyed, living on the things that lived, unaided, alone,by virtue of his own strength and prowess, surviving triumphantly in a hostileenvironment where only the strong survive.” Chloe read aloud, hearing the creakof the floorboards as Beca stopped on the last step.

“Is thatsupposed to be ironic?” Beca asked a wolfish and amused grin. Chloe was toyingwith her, setting the book back down as she took the clothes that were offeredto her. She ran her fingers over the faded design on the t-shirt.

“No, notironic. Not to you, anyway.”

Becasnorted before lifting her chin towards the hallway with the bathroom. Shetrusted Chloe to find it on her own. If she opened the door to the coat closetinstead, she had a feeling the young journalist would snoop around- but somehowit didn’t’ bother her as much as it should. It would bother anyone, shereasoned with herself, but somehow this inept display of human interaction hadher mind swimming and clouded.

Becaglared at the pages of the book when she flopped back down on the leather sofaand listened to the howling wind outside. She remembered reading this for highschool- creating a diorama of the forest. It was mainly poorly sculpted clayand figurines that she found at a craft store. Minimal effort compared to thestudents that had their parents construct it for them.

Her motherand stepfather believed that if she really put her mind to it, she didn’t needtheir help. Of course, they taught her how to drive, how to file her taxes whenshe started her first job as a cashier at an ice cream shop. How to fix a flatand change a head gasket without going to a mechanic. Beca wondered if thoseparents who completed their kids’ projects did that, or if they would just payto have it done in an air of panic.

Chloelooked scruffy and less put together in her clothes. She was hugging herselfcloser as she stood in the light of the fire. She had wiped away most of themud and the gash at her hairline didn’t look so bad anymore, a simple blemishcompared to the among of blood that dripped from it. Beca would beg thequestion that she looked like a lost puppy. Chloe would frown at her and flopdown at the other end of the couch, shivering at the burst of heat.

“Does itget lonely? You know… up here all the time. No one to talk to.”

Becafrowned and glanced over at the woman. She wasn’t staring her way, instead, shewas sadly gazing at the flames eating away at the log. “You know, most peoplejust say thank you. Besides, I have a fish.”

Shedidn’t’ want to admit it, but she talked to the fish more than he listened. Hisblue fins would splay through the water and he would follow her finger if shedragged it against the glass. Going to the pet store was always a challenge,but she accepted it because it meant his well being was kept level. She let outa sigh and shifted against her edge of the couch, moving her arm against theback.

“Look,even if I wanted to leave this place for more than twenty minutes, you saw theway the town acted. I’m a pariah. It’s easier if I stay up here.”

“For who?”

“Foreveryone!” Beca huffed, deep blue orbs flashing towards her. “There is not oneperson in this town that believes that I’m innocent, alright? No one that I’mallowed to talk to anyway. To everyone here, I am a killer, and it’s better tolet them think that.”

Becaremembered the jury, and the feeling of instant relief she got when they saidshe wasn’t innocent on all accounts. The heat of the courtroom was stiflingbut an instant cool washed over her bones. A metal fan was whirring in thecorner and Aubrey Posen distinctly slammed her hand down on the table in frontof her- but that didn’t’ stop the feeling of joy that was with her. The way herown lawyer pulled her in for an undeniable and well-deserved embrace.

“Theyproved you innocent.”

“Yeah,they did.”

She staredevenly at the flames, the way they ate away at the logs and hollowed them out untilnothing, but undeniable heat remained. Beca had a panic attack the first timeshe had started it. But there was no heat up here and the winters were grueling.Snow would cap the rocks and shattered ice would collect at the base of the cliffs.Chloe very much could have caught her death.

“Peoplewant a villain.” Beca sounded out after a silence. “They want someone who isevil inside and out because that is way easier than believing in coincidence. Thinkingthat accidents do happen and there is no ulterior motive.”

“And you’reokay just… being that? Being the person that everyone hates?”

Becapursed her lips and curled her fingers into the couch. At first, no, she wasn’t.She would feel that cold pain that crept into her chest and made her sob into apillow in a nasty hotel room that smelled of urine and smoke. But now it wasnearly peaceful. That is until Chloe showed up looking like a drowned rat. An irresponsibledrowned rat.

“You can’tbe.”

Becaswallowed thickly. “And so, what if I’m not? That shouldn’t be any of your concern.You don’t even know me.”

“I don’tthink anyone does.” Chloe’s voice hadgotten a bit louder, and she sounded like she was struggling to talk. Maybe itwas her frozen vocal cords or the way she tucked her feet under herself as sheturned to face Beca. “I read all the headlines, and I heard everything thatAubrey had to say. But none of that makes sense to me.”

“What’snot to get, Chloe? I’m just someone who wants to be left alone.”

“That’snot true.” She sniffed, cold, maybe “No one wants to be alone. Not forever.”