#but this seemed far too long and vague to be much use on a plaque.

[bakurapika]

im extremely literal and i don't want to take anything away from the people who find it helpful, but. "do it scared" to me always has the same vibes as that shia labeouf "JUST DO IT" meme.

which is to say, im always like, IT ? DEPENDS ON WHAT "IT" IS??

[auspicioustidings]

Devil's Trumpet

AKA the Appalachian horror brain worms would not leave me alone

Summary: You move to small town West Virginia to get your head on straight but the men in the woods start unravelling you instead.

Words: 3.5k

CWs: mild horror, vague reference to mental illness

This is best read while listening to some Southern gothic tunes 🎶 I suggest Big Dark Love by Murder by Death!

Colour leeched out of the world here. There is something almost comforting about that, something familiar. Familiar too is the way this town moves like syrup too thick to be pleasant in your mouth. It was how you moved though the world once. Not anymore though, no, now your mind is your own and not an invading force. Now you can appreciate the drab slowness as something external to yourself, just an environment around you and not a prison closing in inside your head.

There wasn’t much of a plan really. A will reading that left you with not a lot, but enough to get the hell out. Signing with a fountain pen that made your skin crawl with how it scratched. A stiff drink and a dart thrown at a map and tearing a ragged hole in the Greenbrier River as the sharp point didn’t quite sink far enough into the board and tore its way through the paper on the way down. You were never any good at darts.

You aren’t putting down roots. Those were for old growth, not for hardy weeds that broke through concrete and always found another crack through which to grow when killed. Nothing that felt too much like a home, so instead a room at the only inn.

This town is too small to warrant one, but it doubles as a watering hole come evening. It doesn’t seem to have been updated in an age, you wonder idly if the plaque upkept to a gleaming shine declaring the inn to have been opened in 1824 is somehow conveying pride at the fact. The peeling wallpaper in your room was probably pretty once, but the green now seems sick with age and the delicate floral pattern has started to wilt.

There is no routine to your days here until one slowly creeps in as it always does.

Breakfast first. You don’t know if it’s something in the air here, but you wake up with a bitter taste in your mouth and are eager to drown it in food and mint toothpaste. The inn has a small kitchenette for guest use and you make yourself toast with butter and strawberry jam. It’s a little too sweet but the tea helps, black with no sugar.

You stretch out the back of the inn and enjoy the view of the woods. You don’t call it yoga because it makes you less likely to do it, but you had learned when things were bad that quietly engaging your body in the morning was a good way to quiet your mind. There’s a little tension in the back of your neck you try to work out but it sticks there until you finish up and go back inside to shower. The hot water fixes it you think.

The first few weeks here you just sit and watch the world go by, but then you one day you decide to get up and spend some time wandering the town. It’s small, decrepit. There is the inn, a few sparse houses, one general store. The library, despite being the only venue with any chance of entertainment, is usually empty. You meet Mrs Lela Kaletaws who runs it, although she isn’t always around.

Roads here are barely holding together, but the one main road that runs out of town is at least in somewhat better condition. It runs parallel with the woods at one point, curving off just past old Mr Kleer's house. The man in question usually sits on his porch but he’s friendly enough so you don’t pay much mind to the gun.

After you’ve wandered town you make sandwiches for lunch. It isn’t much exciting, but it is routine and is filling enough that you bunker down for a nap after.

In the afternoon you go for a long walk before returning to the inn for dinner. There is a bar downstairs that opens in the evenings and serves food that while not a delicacy by any means is hot and filling. You retire to your room, read some of your book and go to sleep.

It continues that way. Breakfast, stretch, shower, wander, lunch, sleep, walk, dinner, read, sleep.

At first you only really skirt the edge of the woods, but with each passing dreary day you venture closer to the depths down the packed dirt path. The path through the woods is confusing and unmarked. Where you swore just yesterday it went to the right, today it goes to the left. Even so it must be your sense of direction, because the path always leads you past the jimsonweeds that come up to you chest before spitting you out on the road that leads to old Mr Kleer's house. The flowers are beautiful, but there is some metallic tang to their otherwise sweet scent that causes your teeth to ache.

—

More comfortable with the area now, it causes a fright when you see a man in the woods just in the corner of your eye only to snap your head around and have him vanish. You force calming breathes and keep walking. There is no such thing as ghosts in these woods.

Old man Axell calls to you from his porch as you pass, rifle butt settled on the rickety wood that you worry will collapse and left leg stretched straight out towards you like reaching for something.

“Seeing things in the woods kid?”

“I look spooked sir?”

“Like you’ve seen a Ghost I reckon.”

You give a shaky laugh at that.

“Only if ghosts come in flesh and blood and quick feet. Some man gave me a fright is all.”

“Must be out of towners” Axell says.

You do not like the way he says it. You do not like that he looks at you strangely. But you smile and nod and get on your way. He is only an old man.

—

There is someone in the woods. You feel his gaze on you, feel the dull prickle that rests on your nape from those eyes.

“We really must stop meeting like this” you say.

You have stopped trying to catch him. Now you only speak, eyes set on the dirt path in front of you. You do not think you will get a reply and when you do you shudder horribly at how much closer the voice is than you had anticipated.

“Don’t enjoy the company?”

He’s English and you frown. Out of towner. The old man must know something, but maybe you cannot begrudge him having fun at your expense. You have not made friends here.

“Enjoy company where I can see it if it’s all the same to you.”

The man laughs. It is a confusing laugh, warm and cold all at once as it bounces through the trees.

“Careful what you wish for.”

You resist the urge to turn even as his voice moves strangely, like he is swaying from one side of the path to the other.

“Must have a face like sin to keep hiding away” you say.

The next words you can feel. His breath is right at your cheek, a strand of your hair lifted by his fingers.

“Quite the opposite.”

Your heart is a prey animal running from a predator, beating wildly against your ribs as you turn to find he isn’t there. Only you certainly felt him. He leaves a sweet smell behind.

—

Sleep does not come easily that night. The rain against your window casts the moonlight strangely into your room. You spend hours watching as the creeping vines on the wallpaper seem to twist and shift beneath the moon flowers. When you finally fall asleep, it is almost as if you can smell them. Sweet and slightly metallic.

You wake up with the fading scent of damp earth and something on the edge of rot in your nose and the feel of dirt packed uncomfortably under your nails. They’re clean you find, but you spend the start of the morning cutting them down once you see the fading scratches left on your arms and legs through the night.

—

He is not the only stranger in the woods. You swore you would not go back, but routine takes you there without thought.

The Scottish man likes to walk on your right hand side, just enough steps behind you that you can only see him at the very side of your vision. You think he is handsome, but it is difficult to be sure. What you can be sure of is that he is dressed oddly. You have spoken to him for a while now, discussing yourself mostly. Perhaps it is the eerie quiet of the woods that makes you want to fill the dead space, but you tell him more about yourself than you ever would have thought yourself comfortable with.

“Are you a soldier then?” you ask.

“Sometimes, I think.”

You take a moment to chew that answer, wonder at the taste of it. There is a panic when you smell blood on the air, but it is quickly blanketed by sweetness. You have reached the jimsonweeds. It is too early, you have not walked far enough to be here already. But before you can protest the steps to your right stop and you know the man is gone.

None of them ever come farther than this.

—

You try the next day and the next to get answers from him. He seems to make a decision at one point just as the familiar smell reaches you and you think you will leave with no more information than you had before.

“I’m SAS.”

He is not there when you turn to thank him. He is not there at all when you return the next day.

—

The library run by Mrs Kaletaws is added to your routine. Breakfast, stretch, shower, library, lunch, try to sleep, walk, dinner, read, try to sleep. The small building has the peculiar addition of a cat you never quite see. You hear the skitter of claws on worn wood floor that has started to smell of sickly sweet rot, see fading scratches on the legs and arms of the chair, find hairs on your clothing, feel the prickle of eyes focused on you from the dark running up your spine to settle dully on the back of your neck. You have tried before to get a glimpse of the creature, but it only seems to exist in the very corner of your eye and retreats when your gaze tries to creep around to catch it.

Lela never talks about the cat. She told you once that it is only her and her wife that live in the basement below the library. You have never seen her wife and fear she must have some permanent sickness that stops her from being able to do much. You think they should move above ground so she can at least see the world through the windows obscured by racing raindrops, but you keep it to yourself.

The one computer here is old, the white plastic exterior now yellowed. Still, it is the only gateway to the outside world in this little town and you blow at your tea while waiting for your search results. ‘SAS military bases in West Virginia’ is a shot in the dark, but you need to start somewhere. After a sip you dump more sugar into your cup before looking at your finally loaded results.

There are none. No British military installations at all in the USA. You had hoped at least the results would bring up something about training exercises but it is just pages of useless information about bases around the world. You read about the SAS, fall down a rabbit hole of how they torture their soldiers to train them to withstand it. You go through pages and pages of search results until finally one talks about SAS soldiers in this area.

The link takes you to a dusty website that stopped being updated sometime in the late 90s. It’s some sort of conspiracy blog and you are prepared to close it, but you can’t help but get lost in the story it tells.

The details are unclear which you suppose is the hallmark of any good conspiracy. 40 years ago. There was a team of two, or maybe four or maybe seven. They set up just outside the woods with little to no explanation. There’s an interview from a local, not a name you recognise so one you think is likely long dead. She says two of the soldiers went into the woods first. She remembers something bad must have happened, because there was an argument between the five left outside. Nobody was allowed close, but she watched two more men go into the woods. After that the operation seemed to vanish entirely overnight and nobody heard anything more about it.

Whoever authored the blog has a gift with words because despite your logical mind knowing it was probably nothing but a random training exercise, the hairs on the back of your neck raise.

There is a photo of the alleged unit at the end loading slowly. You stare in fascination as line by line appears from the top. The world stops before it fully loads. At first you are confused as to why your whole body is tense, why your heart is racing. And then you figure it out. Silence. Complete and all together sudden silence. No rain hitting the windows, no scratching of the cat echoing, not even the whir of the computer.

You do not want to look away from the screen. You do not want to turn around. The prickle on your neck goes from dull to sharp.

The computer powers down.

—

He says to call him John. This man does not walk to your right like the Scottish one, or behind you like the first one you met. He walks in front of you. You can see the full expanse of his back clad in a vest. He wears a hat. He only ever turns slightly, enough to see that he has sideburns but never enough to see his face.

You are so enraptured by being able to see so much of him so clearly that it takes you a while to notice there is someone on your left. A few steps behind like the Scottish one does on your right. It takes you by surprise enough that you are about to forget the unspoken rules and turn, but John predicts your move.

“Eyes forward.”

“Sorry” you say automatically, fixing you eyes to his back and letting the other man stay as the impression of a creature just in sight of your left eye.

“They’re pretty, Captain.”

“I’m aware.”

It should not make you blush but somehow it does.

“What’s you name?” you ask.

There is no way to direct it specifically to the man on your left, so you simple direct it to the back of John and hope that the trees will send it where it needs to go.

“Captain?” the man asks, not for permission but as if genuinely unsure of the answer.

“Kyle, your name’s Kyle.”

“Right. Kyle.”

You catch the movement of him touching his chest, maybe rubbing at a name tag there but you can’t be sure.

“You can call me Gaz if you like.”

John and Gaz are your company for weeks. Whenever you ask after the other two, the air turns sweet and bloody and you are left alone among the jimsonweeds.

—

“Got intae trouble for ye.”

You’re not sure where you are but you recognise the voice. Is he in your room?

“We both did. Curiosity would’ve killed you little kitten,” comes the other voice from the first man in the woods somewhere behind you.

You hazily look down at yourself. You are not in the bed at the inn, you are in another bed laid on your back. You feel your legs brush against one another, not clad in the flannel you remembered wearing. Silk, you are wearing silk. Delicate against your skin, not much of it. Were you wearing perfume? Something smells sweet.

As you stare at the bare expanse of your leg a hand sinks into your thigh, squeezes.

“Fuck LT, so soft. Fingers just sink right in.”

You fight the urge to look to the right where the hand is coming from. You can’t look, some primal part of your brain knows you cannot look.

“Stay away from the woods” the man behind you whispers into your ear like a caress as his hands settle gently around your neck.

You do not feel the snap of bone, but you hear it. You taste the blood in your mouth.

You do not manage to fall back asleep when you wake.

—

Breakfast, library, try to sleep, don’t go into the woods, dinner, try to sleep, stare at the wallpaper, try to sleep.

—

You overhear Axell and Lela once. You think they are talking about you.

“You think we’re doing the right thing?” Axell asks.

“I don’t think there is a right thing anymore.”

“It’s been a long time now. Maybe we should let them go.”

“You think we could?”

There is a silence. Neither of them thinks so. Paranoia settles over you that you haven’t felt since back when things got bad. It’s like an old vice settling into your bones, or maybe seeping out of them as if it never truly left. You cannot go back to that place again so you take some aspirin for the rhythmic pulsing behind your eyes and the dull prickle at the back of your neck and resolve to put any thoughts of conspiracy out of your mind. Lela and Axell are simply old, there is not something they know that you do not.

—

You do not mean to walk into the woods again. The man behind you is back. He feels different somehow.

“I could eat you right up” he says against your neck.

Old Mr Kleer sees the bloodied bite at your throat and says nothing as you walk by.

—

You book a bus ticket. It feels too much like there are tendrils growing from you to burrow into the ground, to fix you here. If you don’t rip them out now, it is only a matter of time until the roots are so deep you won’t be strong enough to move. You aren’t eating properly, you’ve hardly slept and when you do you wake up with a bitter taste in your mouth and covered in scratches. There is still the shape of a bite on your throat and the B&B owners in Pennsylvania look at you with pity as you check in.

The building is charming and fairly new. You stare at the neutral pink wallpaper. One corner of it has lifted ever so slightly. You fall asleep staring at the peek of green underneath.

—

It doesn’t rain as much here, the sun is out and everything seems more colourful. Weeks pass in a haze and you slowly emerge again, eating properly, sleeping through the night. The town on the Greenbrier starts to fade to an unpleasant dream.

—

There is something comforting about the old man who comes to stay and sits by you for breakfast in the mornings. He has the remnants of a Russian accent and laughs frequently and easily. The stories he tells are fantastical, but he’s non-committal about his visit to small town Pennsylvania although he at least tells you that he likes the nature around here. He whispers that his legs aren’t up for much walking anymore, so he has to take the easy paths through small patches of nature.

It takes a week or so more to work up the courage to accompany him on a walk. It seems silly, but the woods make you feel afraid. Maybe a short walk through the small area he spoke of will help you get beyond it. You rub at your neck, feeling the marks faded but still there.

—

He notices your discomfort and tries to ease it with his stories as you walk the dirt path.

“It’s the most important thing I’ve learned you know” he says, the aching grief in his voice causing you pause, “you cannot leave friends behind.”

You turn to him, intending to ask how much longer the path leads since it is getting dark now. He is not there.

“Nik?” you ask, calm at first but increasingly more frantic.

That old familiar dull prickle settles on the back of your neck as you run back down the way you came to get out of the woods. Drooping tree limbs get in your way and you push through, ignoring the scratches. As darkness falls you slow to a walk, unable to see anything in front of you. You catch the smell the sweetness of the jimsonweeds. You can smell blood.

Foot steps that are not your own surround you. A set in front of you. One behind. To the left and to the right.

“Welcome home.”

[lepusrufus]

To bargain for immortality pt.5

Another few good weeks passed before they heard from their so-called goddess, gone who knows where. Not that anyone would ever question her absences, even the lords knew better than to stick their noses in her business.

When Nicole found herself once again following Emma through blue-lit underground corridors, there was an odd determination in her strides. She wanted to figure out what the hell was going on with her and Miranda, if nothing else, was a scientist who above all loved solving an equation. And what else could her situation be described as if not an intricate equation with a bit fat X as her missing factor.

She was right in thinking that Miranda would find her issue of interest, as when she finally brought it up the woman furrowed her brows and turned to face her, a clipboard grabbed from a nearby table.

“And there was nobody else?”

“No. Just me, Cassandra, the pharmacist and some guy that came for his medicine,” Nicole answered with a barely contained huff.

“What for?” Miranda tapped her pen against the paper in anticipation, a clear sign that she may be onto something and was only putting together some puzzle pieces that nobody but her could see.

Nicole had to dig through her memories for a moment. “An infection. At least that’s what the pharmacist mentioned.”

Miranda hummed and scribbled something else. There was no point in trying to decipher what exactly, the woman had the handwriting of two drunk doctors put together. How very fitting for her.

Without another word, she was on her feet, unbuttoned lab coat flowing after her the same way her black robes did when in goddess mode. “Follow me. I want to test something.”

And what else was she supposed to do really?

Quick steps took them down the hallways, black stone walls surrounding them and taking on an odd shine under the unnatural neon lights above. At least Nicole didn’t have to jog for once, Miranda not being that much taller than her.

The journey was short and they reached their destination quickly, which seemed to be a door not unlike the one belonging to the lab they had just vacated, except this one had the number 24 engraved on a small plaque on it. Miranda pushed it open to reveal a small hospital looking room, four beds divided by grey curtains but only one seemed to be occupied, a sleeping woman hooked to a heart monitor whose rhythmic beeping caused some memories to resurface in Nicole's mind.

Those memories however were quickly pushed down by a sudden burst of nausea at the decaying smell that seemed to forcefully crawl its way down her throat. Nicole all but slapped a hand to her face and turned around in a pathetic attempt to block out the overwhelming sensation. Some blood also started to trickle down her face and past trembling fingers, although thankfully not an ungodly amount like before.

By some mercy of well… herself, Miranda didn't stop her when she decided to do a wobbly turn and hastily exit the room. She followed Nicole out and observed as she slumped against a wall, pulling a tissue from a pocket to wipe at her face.

"What… the fuck," Nicole breathed out.

"Was that the same as before?" Miranda's eyes were full of a weird kind of glee that could only belong to a mad scientist. Not that that would be an inaccurate description for the woman.

Nicole only nodded, trying to get her face on a more presentable level before speaking again. "Is she-..."

Miranda scoffed. "Are you deaf? I can assure you the woman is quite alive," she responded with an eye roll.

The soft beeping monitoring the heartbeat could be heard faintly from behind the closed door, so her words had to hold some truth to them. Though her intentions were still shrouded in mystery.

"Then why the hell does she smell like that?"

"She doesn't," came the nonchalant reply and it had Nicole almost seething.

Is your ego stuffed up your nose, is what she wished she could snap and say, but she knew better.

If Miranda noticed the daggers in her eyes, she paid them no mind. Instead she noted something down on the paper precariously attached to the clipboard she got a hold of before exiting the lab they had been in previously. When she finished, she simply motioned for Nicole to follow and continued further down the hallway, without a second glance.

She only stopped once to exchange a few words with an unfamiliar assistant on the whereabouts of certain patients. Patiens. Why would Miranda keep any sort of patients down there?

Before she had time to dwell on it, Miranda pushed another door open, this time leading to another corridor dimly lit by strategically placed torches. Apparently nobody bothered to get electricity to this particular part of the underground maze of tunnels, the warm light so pleasant on the eyes as opposed to the harsh neons of the previous area. The tunnel was also long, way too long for it to be an often used path, especially given how awfully humid the air was becoming. Nicole tried to take a mental note of where they were heading, squinting her eyes in an effort to imagine what was above them, but with how convoluted the tunnels down there were, it was fruitless.

After maybe fifteen minutes of walking, awkward silence -at least awkward on her part, Miranda didn't seem to care- only broken by the echo of steps and the soft sounds of crackling fire from the torches, the tunnel ended in what looked to be a far too modern stairwell. Nicole had to pause for a second, looking at the unnerving contrast where dark ancient stone gave way suddenly to gray concrete and steel, going up in sharp angles and blocking the view to whatever laid above. The overall architecture did look vaguely familiar though, but Miranda didn't seem to have the patience for sightseeing as she quickly started walking up the stairs.

At the top of the staircase stood a steel door that was quickly unlocked to finally reveal a place that Nicole recognized. She blinked rapidly in surprise, all but freezing in the doorway at the sight of the hospital corridor she had walked down on so many times before, complete with a handful of nurses discussing in a corner. She shook her head and slowly followed the woman, not wanting to remain behind. It didn't take long before they came across the one person Miranda was apparently searching for.

"M- Mother Miranda," Salvatore's voice came in an oddly high pitch, at least for him, when he almost crashed with her in his hurry to get somewhere.

"Moreau," Miranda greeted with a nod and unreadable expression. "I need the documents on each of your patients and where they're staying." Straight to business apparently.

He simply nodded and moved his attention to one of the nurses standing nearby, instructing him to finish whatever task he was supposed to before their arrival. The man moved rigidly, painfully aware of Miranda's presence. Then, Moreau led them to his office, starting to pull out a consistent number of files from a large bookcase.

His office was, unsurprisingly, a mess aside from the one place he held the documents keeping track of all his current patients, complete with a few books and office supplies haphazardly placed on the desk. A few spare white coats were hanging just by the door, together with a long and worn leather jacket that he often times wore when outside the building. A familiar string of bones was also peeking from one of its pockets, nowadays worn as a necklace since, after the effects of his mutation were lessened, he found the crown quite unsightly.

"Are you coming by anytime soon," his voice came from behind, snapping her out of her exploration. "We could use a hand sometimes."

Nicole turned to give him a polite smile. "I may, but I have some things to get out of the way for now."

A glance in Miranda's direction revealed the woman hunched over the documents on the desk, writing down a list with the aid of whatever she was reading. They could do some small talk for the time being.

"How have you been," Nicole asked, turning to him again.

She and Salvatore were on quite friendly terms ever since she started occasionally helping out in the hospital that he was in charge of. Not that they had much time to ever hang out, but the few times they did, it's always been a pleasant interaction among colleagues.

"Some days are better than others," he responded with half a shrug.

Judging by the deep purplish circles under his eyes, today wasn't particularly stellar. He was slightly hunched, whether it was out of habit from a time when sitting straight was quite impossible or from tiredness, she couldn't tell.

"Any news from the castle?" He asked with a chuckle. He was rarely welcomed in Alcina's home so the curiosity wasn't unwarranted.

Nicole shrugged. "Same old same old. Bleeding out prisoners, stopping Daniela from breaking vases and all that boring pseudo nobility stuff."

He let out a quiet laugh. "Nobility? Should I start calling you my lady?"

Nicole snorthed, giving his shoulder a small shove that didn't make him move in the slightest.

Their joking banter was interrupted by Miranda all but shoving her way in between them and out the door, calling for her to follow. With a small wave, Nicole was quickly after her, falling in step just slightly behind the other woman. Though it was a small building after all, so it didn't take long to reach the first door on Miranda's list.

"I want you to tell me exactly what you feel," she flatly told Nicole while pushing the door open.

She frowned, eyes slightly narrowed in confusion and glued to Miranda's back as she stepped inside the small room after the woman.

Any incredulous question died on her tongue when she seemed to be yanked back in time, to the yearly family trips her father insisted they all go on. It was to a relative, or family friend, Nicole couldn't quite recall, who owned an old cabin near a lake. Problem was, the lake was always murky and full of algae, the water gaining an unpleasant scent under the August sun. She and Alex never tried swimming.

"Well?" Mirada raised an eyebrow, impatient.

Nicole scrunched up her nose, both wanting and desperately trying not to take a deeper breath. "Pond water? The kind of water that's stagnant and muddy in summer, full of dead fish and weeds."

She tried not to fidget, her mind running a thousand miles an hour. The so-called goddess seeming completely uninterested in shedding light on what the hell they were doing was not of much help either. A frustrated sigh threatened to escape when another person spoke up.

"Doctor?" A meek voice came from the only bed in the room, from a young woman who seemed asleep when they had walked in. She looked between the two of them confused and with squinted eyes.

Miranda simply raised a hand, not even sparing the girl a glance. "Pay us no mind, we're only here to check on something. We'll be on our way in a moment."

Nicole couldn't help the confused look she threw the girl's way. Was she not recognizing the woman this whole town worshipped? An amused snort almost escaped her but she knew better. Besides, who could really blame her? Mirada was wearing an oversized lab coat, blonde hair held back in a ponytail and there was no trace of the makeup that usually accompanied her ceremonial robes and mask.

Not that Nicole had time to appreciate the odd humanity of Miranda's outfit, as the woman turned on her heels and exited the room as soon as she was done writing. She was starting to grow annoyed with the uncooperative and know-it-all attitude, but decided against voicing any opinions and settled for following along to the next door.

It kept on being a rinse and repeat of the first room, only variables being the patients inside and her answers. Sometimes the change wasn't too obvious, maybe just a more metallic undertone or a new faint smell latching onto her senses, like the sickly sweet aroma of honey. A handful of times though she had to all but slap a hand over her face to not be overwhelmed by the enveloping stench. One room in particular made her almost stumbled backwards and out the door, when a strong metallic smell contrasting the accompanying one of decomposition hit her like a slap in the face. The man inside, who was evidently not doing particularly well, didn't seem appreciative of the apparently crazy woman coming in and rudely interrupting his rest.

Nicole didn't look forward to lingering around by that point, but there was one more room to check.

They pushed open the door, and the familiar stinging scent of decay immediately overtook her senses, seeming to latch on to the very inside of her throat. A small rivulet of blood also started dripping down her face, and Nicole quickly pulled out a paper tissue from her pants pocket to press against her nostrils. It was both to stop the bleeding and to shield her senses from the smell.

Once outside, Nicole was trying to catch her breath while Miranda was simply writing something down. Another set of steps approached them, who turned out to be Moreau coming to check on their findings. Upon being given the clipboard to read -he could actually decipher her chicken scratch, really?- he let out a curious hum.

"I need to go over John Abbott's file and compare them," Miranda started, clicking her pen and putting it back into her pocket. "I'll send an assistant after it later." Then she looked her way and waved a hand dismissively. "You're free to go, I'll send Emma after you when you're needed."

Nicole blinked, dumbfounded, her voice coming out harsher than she probably should've allowed it to be. "That's all? What did you find?"

The exasperated edge in her voice did not go unnoticed nor was it appreciated. Miranda rolled her eyes slightly and gave her an answer. "You can distinguish illnesses by smell. We'll do a more comprehensive test and list, but for now we have enough to say that's how the Mold manifested with you," Miranda explained, half turned away and ready to leave.

And she did turn to leave as soon as she was finished. With a nod towards Salvatore, she made her way back down the hospital corridor and presumably towards the passageway that led back to her lab.

Nicole wasn't particularly keen on going down there again if she could help it, so she instead stuck by Salvatore's side as they walked back to his office.

That day wasn't the first time Nicole had entered that room, so the fact that it also served as some kind of archive did not go past her. The office itself was decently sized, and even had a storage room attached to it with the sole purpose of keeping old files that may be important but Miranda didn't need at hand. Although, in all honesty, Salvatore wasn't particularly skilled in keeping everything organized. That's what my secretary is for, he would say, ignoring the fact that Miranda would gut anyone who touched those documents if they weren't part of the small group of people she deemed worthy. Therefore, the files were a mess, the only saving grace being that he at least had the foresight of organizing them by decade.

With a sigh, he started looking through the binders all but stuffed on one of the many shelves. Nicole sat down at his desk, occupying herself with a crayon that she started twisting around her fingers absent mindedly. There was some semblance of relief in finally figuring out what had so cruelly changed in her body, and what an ironic twist of fate said change was. To have spent years pouring over books learning about the illnesses that now were recognizable by something as simple as an acidic smell of blood. On the other hand though, the knowledge that Miranda had a tendency to find some kind of use for all her experiments left a sensation of dread slowly making its way into the deepest crannies of her chest, where a certain parasite had burrowed and made a nest for itself.

"Mind if I call the castle, I don't really feel like walking all the way back," she asked, eyes settling on the phone pushed to the side by a couple books and scattered pens.

"Sure," he responded without moving from where he was pulling out papers, only to shove them back inside their folders when they weren't the correct ones.

Her hands hovered over the keys for a moment. She wasn't about to call Alcina's personal phone to ask for a ride, heavens no. The phone in Carolina's study, where the Constable would spend her time when not in the stables, would be the best choice if only she could remember the number from memory. Nicole decided that the one in the main hall was the best next thing, where one of the guards at the entrance would probably hear the ringing and answer.

She dialed the number and listened to the typical ringing sound once, twice, until she thought nobody was actually around, but at last, a voice came from the other end.

"Alo?"

Nicole took a moment to recognize the voice as Dalia's, the head chambermaid.

"Hey, it's Nicole," she started toying with the pencil again. "I'm at the hospital, can you send Carolina with a horse to pick me up?" She sensed the slight hesitation on the other woman's side and thought to clarify. "I'm not injured, just with Moreau."

She heard a slight exhale from the other end of the line and had to entertain the thought of whether the woman was relieved due to genuine concern for her wellbeing, or she was well aware of how irritable her wife could be. Her being injured definitely made its way on the list of things that would bring out the anger and cruelty carefully crafted over almost a century.

Before hanging up the phone, she sighed and thought better of her request. "Actually, tell Cassandra to come."

She could almost feel the slight grimace from Dalia at being asked to go talk to the most sadist of the sisters, and with a request no less. Oh well, there's to hoping that Cassandra wouldn't be too peeved at said request coming from her wife.

She hung up after hearing an of course, my lady.

With a way to get back home without having to do the trek on foot assured, she leaned back in the chair, watching Salvatore continue on his search. He was standing with his hands on his hips, eyebrows pulled into a frown that slightly wrinkled the already rough skin of his forehead. He looked almost as if he resorted to glaring at the piles of papers, hoping that enough intimidation would scare the right file into jumping into his hands.

It almost made Nicole snort, were it not for the curiosity that both acted as a distraction and pleaded to get some more answers. "So, who's this… Jack Abbott?"

"John Abbott," he corrected without tearing his eyes from the shelf in front of him. He grimaced then. "He was one of Mother Miranda's earlier experiments, and had a very similar mutation to yours."

At that Nicole's eyebrows shot up past the low line of her fringe, interest successfully piqued. She turned in her seat to fully face him, one arm thrown over the back of the chair. When he didn't continue talking, instead pulling out one of the last binders on the shelf labeled 1930's, she impatiently prodded for more information. "And?"

Moreau pulled a face, probably wondering if he was even supposed to talk about it. It didn't take long for him to let out a defeated sigh, the demand to play dumb were Miranda to ever ask about this going unspoken, but more than understood. "Same thing as you really. He could tell what illness someone had by a specific smell, down to the nasty nose bleeds whenever it got too much," he started, noticing a few drops of blood that had dried on her upper lip.

He turned back to pulling out the very last binder dedicated to that decade and relaxed his posture ever so slightly when he saw JOHN ABBOTT written in big letters and black ink on one file. Another frown tugged his cracked lips downward, the information written in such a clinical way only mudding the memory of the frail man he had briefly met so many decades ago. "His body took well to the Cadou until… well ,until it didn't. I don't know what went wrong, but his body just rejected it at one point and he died being slowly consumed by the infection."

At that Nicole's face fell, dread now overtaking her usual curiosity. He must've noticed, for his next words came the slightest bit rushed and with a strained kind of reassurance that wasn't convincing to either of them.

"It may very well not be connected."

Nicole almost scoffed, not at him but at the situation at hand. The hand holding the pencil was tense and, had she not been as weak as she was, the wood would've probably cracked by then. "Did you know him?"

With a slight shake of his head, he answered, not a negation but more a gesture of pity. "Barely. I was brought here only after he started," he narrowed his eyes at a wall somewhere behind Nicole trying to find the right word. He didn't. "...deteriorating."

That was about as much as her brain wanted to know at the moment, letting a heavy silence fill the space for endlessly too long. She was caught in her own thoughts that started to twist and turn into countless what ifs. Thoughts that crashed to a halt when a nurse knocked on the half open door to announce her presence.

"Lady Cassandra is waiting outside," she told Nicole, expression pulled in a poker face that could only belong to someone who had to deal with her wife and tried to seem unbothered. Tried and failed.

Nicole sprung to her feet, circling the desk and about to make her exit when he called out. "Take care of yourself," Moreau told her, looking up from the papers he was reading.

Her lips turned slightly upwards into a smile. "You too." And then she left, rapid pace taking her through off-white hallways and slight smells that she was now painfully aware of.

Stepping outside was a breath of fresh air in more ways than one, the orange hue of the setting sun welcoming her after the hours passed under the harsh lab lights. How ironic was her hatred for the damned neon lights, when not too long ago she would've gladly spent her life under their bluish glow.

Even better than the warm sun on her skin, was the sight of Cassandra, dressed in her usual riding attire and absent mindedly scratching the furry muzzle of one of the castle's Clydesdale horses. A big beast of a horse, black and white with its feathery legs that, Nicole realized with an eye roll, she wouldn't dream of getting on without help.

Her pace quickened until she found herself embraced by a pair of strong arms, the stable smell mixed with Cassandra's cologne filling her senses with something finally pleasant. She didn't let go until she felt a gentle kiss placed on top of her auburn hair.

"Darling," Cassandra greeted her once she pulled back, gloved hand coming to rest on a pale cheek. "How are you?"

Nicole sighed and pushed into the touch, the kind of tiredness that could only be felt after a day spent bending over backwards to every one of Miranda's whims settling into her bones. "Ready to go back home."

Cassandra simply nodded once and moved her hands on her hips, getting a good enough grip before picking Nicole up to where her foot could reach the stirrup so she could pull herself up. Her wife decided that climbing in the saddle was below her at the moment, choosing instead to turn into a swarm, only to retake her human form a mere second later, on the horse's back, her front comfortably against Nicole's back. With a few taps of her boot against the stirrup still occupied by Nicole's foot in a silent demand to let her guide the horse, she took a hold of the reins and they finally started moving down the stone paved road.

There was no complaint on Nicole's part, taking it as a good opportunity to sit back and enjoy the ride, pressed to her wife's chest.

A few eternally long minutes were spent absentmindedly scratching the horse's muscular neck, where short black fur met the mane held in a beautifully done french braid, that only their Constable could pull so seamlessly. A few long minutes spent mulling over what she had found out, thoughts twisting cruelly with every worst case scenario her mind could conjure. Had she made a mistake? Was the infection a mistake to begin with? How cruel could fate be sometimes. Back in New York she had come to terms with a meaningless life, the only truly important thing she had amounted to at that point being choosing a career path to spite her father. But now, after finding a place to call home where she ached to stay to the point of seeking eternity for it, the very thing that could allow her to remain there forever could also take her life away, miserably so.

"What's wrong?"

Cassandra's voice snapped her back to reality, so much so that she even shook her head a couple times to chase away the lingering thoughts. She gave an inquisitive hum in an attempt to play dumb. The attempt was met with an incredulous eye roll.

"You're quiet," she simply responded.

"I'd think spending decades with Daniela would make you appreciate quiet people," Nicole jokingly threw back.

"Not you," came the reply, one hand leaving the reins and coming to rest on her thigh. "I love hearing you talk, even when you're blabbering about proper medical technique."

At that Nicole let out a light gasp, turning around with mild offence written in her eyes. She couldn't find anything to retaliate with for once, setting instead for giving her wife a slight shove with her elbow, that only elicited a laugh.

She shook her head and let out a sigh. "We did figure out what's with the damned nosebleeds." At a curious hum and Cassandra's chin coming to rest on top of her head, she went on. "Apparently I can distinguish illnesses by smell. Now that would've been useful during med school," she finished with a bitter laugh.

Her wife responded with a snort. "If I were Daniela, I'd say you're joking to hide how you really feel." She shrugged. "However I'm not her, and I'm assuming you'll simply tell me without the need of an impromptu psychoanalysis," she said almost smugly, the hand that was until then lazily placed on her leg finding its place around her waist.

The times when Nicole wished to curse her wife's apparently impeccable observation skills were rare, but this was one such occasion.

She almost let out a groan, pushing further back into Cassandra's form. "There was this other man, John Abbott, with the same mutation. Except his body rejected the Cadou and he died slowly and painfully," she explained, her voice quieting halfway through, but almost flinched when the arm around her went stiff with an almost vice-like grip. The realization of how long Cassandra has really been in the Village for slowly crept its way from Nicole's memory, having been filed away and almost forgotten in a metaphorical drawer of obvious things that however were rarely brought up. "Did you know him-"

"You won't end up like that sorry bastard."

The conviction behind that one simple sentence almost had Nicole letting out another short bitter laugh. Not out of bemusement of course. Irony perhaps, at how determined her wife was to double down on cheating death, not only for herself but her too. Even when death could be brought by the very thing keeping them alive.

"Not much we could do about that," she said in a small voice, one hand toying with the black fabric of Cassandra's sleeve.

"Don't think for one moment that I'm joking," she started, an edge of a warning behind her tone. Her hand came to rest more gently on the bottom of Nicole's sternum, where the skin had healed in a dark scar that seemed to send jagged cracks all the way to her stomach. "I'll pull the wretched little thing out of your chest myself if I have to."

At that Nicole actually let out a laugh. "Way to go with something morbidly romantic."

Cassandra chuckled close to her ear, bending down slightly to leave a peck where her neck and shoulder met. "You're not going to die. I won't allow it."

A silent possessiveness accompanied her words. An implication that she now belonged there, in her arms, and frivolous things such as death had no place to come between them. She should flinch at such implications, were it not for the fact that it was mutual and Cassandra knew better than to recklessly throw herself on death's path, knowing well that soon her wife would follow in her steps.

The soft kiss was returned when Nicole bent back again, until the angle between their bodies allowed for their lips to meet tenderly, in a way that anyone would believe was so utterly uncharacteristic to the both of them, ruthless in their own ways but soft like velvet running on smooth skin with each other.

They rode in comfortable silence up until the gates to the stable, where they dismounted and handed the reins to one of the servants waiting there. The sun had set by then, purple and dark blues reigning the skies as they entered the castle through one of the secondary doors.

She parted ways with her wife, saying that she would soon join the rest of their family as she headed up the stairs. A change of clothes was due. That and a request to their seamstress.

Oh her way back down, she stopped by the open door to the woman’s studio, busy with readjusting some garments for one of the ladies. A curt knock on the wooden frame of the entrance got her attention and had her pulling a face upon realizing that she had probably lost count of whatever she was mentally keeping track of. Nonetheless, she offered a polite smile when greeting Nicole.

“My lady, what can I do for you?”

“I need a facemask,” Nicole started.

The woman’s eyebrows pulled in a confused frown. “I thought a new batch of surgical masks just arrived the other day.”

Nicole raised a hand when she went to check on the shipments list. “I meant something I can wear for longer and outside the lab, surgical masks have a tendency to clash with an elegant gown, you know,” she explained with a chuckle. “Preferably that can filter out any smells?”

“Oh. Of course, I’ll just need to take your measures to make sure it’s fitted for you.”

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” she proposed and, after the seamstress gave her an hour, she continued on her way down the hallway to where the rest of the Dimitrescus were gathered.

Being home brought some peace of mind, thoughts of dying and being forcefully ripped away from her life momentarily placated in favor of enjoying a few hours by the fireplace with her family. Leaning against Cassandra as she draped an arm around her shoulders and listening to Daniela and Bela have a hilariously heated debate over the latest book they've read felt downright blissful in its mundane aspect.

Although no matter what, the little parasite that now called the inside of her chest its home, was quietly gnawing at her worried mind.

[cuuno-moved]

Tommy's Perch (part 2)

Heyo! I know I said I'd do Hermitbur with Elytra next but this came to me so here we are. It's Tommy's turn with the Hurt/Comfort juice. 

Also Grian is here because they don't wanna leave Wil completely by himself just yet. 

Hope you like it :D

This is beyond weird. Tommy's seen plenty of weird before but this is different. Everything is so peaceful and normal. Where's the chaos? The drug vans? The fucking gods that look two years younger than him? Instead these people have massive fucking buildings and mini-games and capitalism (okay maybe that last one is cool). 

Wilbur seems to like it though. Like them. He's weird now too. Calm. He's almost like his old self again, which is kinda off putting. 

  The older one is currently trying his best not to drag his brother to where ever the fuck they were going. Some dude with rainbow feathers is with the pair for some reason. Tommy likes him. He's funny. The bird-man and Wilbur seem to get along so he approves.

  After a few minutes of walking (they tried to teach him how to use Elytra- let's just say it wasn't his thing) they reached a grey stone wall. It was tall, but not intimidating. It reminds the boy of L'manberg. Wilbur lets go of his hand to press a button next to the entrance and the door slides into the ground. Tommy can see the gold and green blocks pulling it down. Inside is a green field with a few buildings circling a small tower. From one building comes a smell of bread, another potions. It was homely. Familiar. Almost nostalgic, even.

  "Welcome to L’Symphony, Toms," Wilbur grins. The spark in his eyes isn't something the blonde has seen in a long time. It was like he was seeing his president all over again. His brother.

  Their companion spoke up, "Well, aren't you gonna show him around Wilbur?"

  "Yes! Yes, of course. Follow me!"

  There he goes grabbing his hand again. He doesn't remember him ever being this touchy before.

  Wilbur pulls him to a few shops. They start at a whole shack dedicated just to music. A few guitars on the wall, a drum kit, and even a trumpet laying in the corner. Tommy picked it up with a smile.

  "Hey Wilby!" he shouts with a mischievous grin. He puts the mouthpiece to his lips and blows. Disappointingly, no sound comes out.

  The musician bursts into laughter before meeting his chocolate eyes to Tommy's blue. "You're playing it wrong. You can't puff your cheeks," he explains, "you wanna keep the corners of your mouth tight- like this." 

  Wilbur makes what Tommy can only vaguely describe as a fucking duck face.

  "You look like an idiot."

  "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just trust me, okay?" 

  Tommy sighs and pulls the metal back to his face and blows again. A loud C rings through the room.

  "Yeah! Just like that!! Good job Toms!" Wilbur cries. There's that big dopey smile again.

  The pair continue on with Grian following behind them. The president continues to explain each building to the child. 

  "Hey Wil, you still have drugs?" The gremlin asks a little too loudly. Grian looks absolutely shocked, but what really surprised him was Wilbur's response.

  "Is that even a question?”

  Did Wilbur just admit to making drugs in front of a 16 year old? 

  Tommy curls over in laughter for a solid 2 minutes after seeing Grian's confusion.

  Before they realize it, the sun starts to fall. A golden hue is cast over the small country as the trio slow their pace. Wilbur turns to his brother with a much calmer tone than before.

  "Toms, can I show you one more thing?"

  The boy nods. Picking up on the sudden change in atmosphere, he slows his pace. Wilbur starts to fidget with his sleeve as they walk. It's a nervous habit that he’s had since Tommy was little.

  They make their way through the streets and fields of grass all the way back to the center of town. The leaves rustle quietly around them as the president halts. In front of them is the small tower Tommy noticed earlier. It's not very tall, nor is it decorated.  If Tommy climbed up one of the trees, he could probably land on top of it with ease. All that sits in front of it is a wooden bench and a jukebox. He was too far away to read what the plaque on the bench said. The part that caught Tommy's eyes though was not it's simplicity but what was used to build it: cobblestone. His favorite block.

  A hand is placed on his shoulder. The youngest tilts his head to see his brother standing beside him. His eyes are also on the structure.

  "This is-" he chokes, "this is Tommy's Perch. Its L'Symphony's center, it's heart."

  The boy feels his own heart stop. Tommy's Perch? As in- his? A stone tower made just for him?

  "Awww Tommy!! You can call me Wilby, Tommy. No need to be embarrassed."

  "Vice President Tommyinnit!"

  "I'm proud of you, Tommy. I'm proud of you."

  Look, Tommyinnit is a big man. The biggest of men! There is no one bigger than him (except Philza Minecraft). He does not cry. That's ridiculous!

  The water streaming down his face begs to differ.

  A few traitorous tears manage to slip down his face and he sniffles a bit. Wilbur made him a tower. A cobblestone tower! He didn't hate them (or him). 

  Wilbur panics. "Wait- shit. Toms- I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to make you cry! I can take it down-"

  "No!" Tommy yells, surprising even himself with his volume, "it's awesome, Big Man."

  The musician visibly relaxes. Tommy missed this so much. He missed when they could just laugh with each other. No fucking dictators or politics or wars or fucking bombs, so many bombs. Just a kid with some discs and a man with his guitar, making their mark on the world. 

  He doesn’t have to miss that anymore, ‘cause it’s right here. 

  The brunette smiles and opens his arms to the other. Tommy returns his grin and closes the gap. They both melt into each other's arms.

  "Tommy- I'm so sorry. For everything-"

  "I know."

--manifold's comment: oh.... oh my god... head in hands dude... oh...--

[welllpthisishappening]

All These Things and More

Festive nature is not something Emma Swan is particularly familiar with. Even less so after nearly breaking her ankle in the middle of Central Park, and she can’t believe it isn’t someone’s job to de-ice those stairs. 

As it is, her ankle appears to be swelling with every passing moment, and she can’t get her keys off the floor, and she’s pleasantly surprised she doesn’t flinch when the door across the hall from her apartment opens. Or when the guy who presumably lives behind that door offers his help. With her dropped keys, and, it turns out, just about everything else in Emma’s life. 

‘Tis the season, or whatever. 

----

Rating: Teen Word Count: 8.8K, let’s all act surprised that these keep getting longer AN: Today’s prompt(s) come from @illicitaffairslongingstares and while she did say��“or,” my mind was like LET’S USE ALL OF THEM, so here we have: "people are jerks, but not you.""a thunderstorm is rolling through town and you’re scared of lightening/thunder so i’ll protect you.""this is probably a bad time, but marry me?" Thank you for the prompts, babe. I hope you enjoy this massive pile of fluff. 

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam || 

----

“Are you alright?” Emma bites her tongue. So as to also bite back the rather immediate and far too snarky response sitting there. Of course she’s not alright. She doesn’t normally walk like this — trying very hard not to bend her knee because somehow that makes everything hurt more, and she can’t quite believe that anything could hurt more than the twelve blocks she essentially dragged herself down, but there are also scrapes on either one of her palms and the lack of any creaking floor behind her means the voice has not left yet. 

That only kind of frustrates her. 

Hopping on the one good foot she has left, Emma nearly falls over more than once. Which is very impressive, actually. Both because she hasn’t moved very much and because the lack of stability in either one of her knees isn’t entirely biological. 

He’s stupid good looking. 

The voice, who she suddenly realizes belongs to that guy across the hall and she knew that guy across the hall had very nice eyes, from the few times she’d allowed herself to acknowledge such a ridiculous thing, but now she’s also got to deal with the knowledge that his hair kind of artfully falls across his forehead when he bends his neck at that very precise angle and—

“How did you manage to get up the stairs?”

Shoulders slumping, Emma lets out a breath she wishes she hadn’t been holding. She’s already running low on functioning body parts, doing any extra damage to her lungs just seems like a bad choice. Although that could be the sub-headline of her night at this point. 

“Sheer force of will,” she replies, not quite able to keep the sarcasm out of the words and that almost feels like a vaguely twisted victory when one side of the guy’s mouth tugs up. The one she’s inexcusably staring at. 

So as to distract herself from the overall color of his eyes. 

Maybe she’s concussed. 

That’d make her feel better, honestly. 

“Still not really an answer, though.” “I’ve almost forgotten the question,” Emma mutters, and she’ll use her injury as an excuse. For the continued sarcasm, and what feels suspiciously like a fluttering heart because the guy’s mouth is starting to twist into something that looks suspiciously like a smirk. 

Directed at her. He’s wearing gym shorts, it’s absurd. And no socks. 

“Aren’t your feet cold?” Absolutely smirking. Still at her. There’s no one else in the hallway, it’s two in the goddamn morning. “They are, in fact,” he nods. His hair moves. It looks very soft. So she’s probably insane now. “But you’re very loud, so—” “—Shit, did I wake you up?” “Not really. I was admittedly a little concerned you were being attacked over there, though.” “Were you going to defend my honor from unknown enemies without any socks on?” “I was seriously considering it.” Laughing somehow makes several different muscles and at least half a dozen joints ache, but Emma can’t seem to help it and the overall tightness between her shoulder blades lessens ever so slightly. “Very gallant of you.” “That’s my schtick, for sure,” he agrees, far too charming and far too easy and Emma’s keys are still on the floor. That was her problem, really. 

Getting her keys out of her back pocket was something of a challenge when she was trying to balance all her weight on her right foot, and the lack of feeling in her fingers after spending the last four hours chasing a skip through Central Park made it all but impossible to get the kind of grip she needed and, well—

Cursing every single God she could think of when she dropped those keys and then was apparently unable to bend the right way to pick them back up seemed entirely reasonable. 

She hopes her ankle didn’t swell too much. 

She hopes that skip also trips down some ice-covered stairs in Central Park and twists one of his ankles. Either one, Emma’s not going to be specific. And she hopes every single member of the New York City Department of Public Works gets coal in their stocking. Or whoever is in charge of de-icing Central Park stairs. 

God, she hates Central Park. 

Navigating that place continues to be an insurmountable challenge, no matter how long she lives in this city. 

“So, uh,” sockless, very good looking neighbor guy continues, leaning across his doorway and Emma can’t believe she doesn’t know his name. She can’t ask him his name now. Then he’ll know she’s as insane as she absolutely is. “Should we rehash, then?” “About your question?” “And if you’re ok.” “Oh, right, right, right, I’m uh—”

Lying should be easier. Should be second nature, honestly. Lying’s part of the gig, lulling skips into a false sense of security that makes catching them easier and getting paid inevitable, and Emma would very much like to lie. If only to try and convince herself. 

She shakes her head. 

So, that’s a weird chance of pace. 

Sockless, very good looking neighbor guy whose shirt is actually far tighter than Emma realized, gives her a tight-lipped smile, nods his head once, like that’s that and crosses the space between them. Which also feels much smaller, all of the sudden. 

He picks her keys up on the first try. 

Figures, he’s still in possession of two functioning ankles. 

“Which one is it?” “Hmmm?” “Your keys, love,” he says, as if that’s something he can say and it’s entirely possible Emma simply imagined that. Delirium is admittedly starting to sink in just a bit. Everything hurts. 

“Oh, uh—the uh...the one with the dot. The—the green dot on it.” Humming, he somehow makes sense of her garbled instruction and neither of them try to move closer to each other, but it happens all the same and he’s undeniably solid when Emma slumps against his side. 

She still doesn’t know his name, it’s ridiculous. 

She swats her hand against the wall as soon as her door swings open, finally finding the light and illuminating her apartment. Which is not very welcoming. Now or ever, really — but the inherent loneliness of the place feels as if it reaches out and slaps Emma in the face, while the very good looking sockless guy with questionably jacked arms is standing next to her. 

Her cheeks ache. When she forces herself to smile. 

“Thanks,” Emma says, “for the willingness to defend while not properly clothed and—”

One of his eyebrows lifts. “Do you not think I’m properly clothed?” “You’re not wearing any socks.” “You know more curse words than any sailor I have ever met.” “Have you met a lot?” Lifting a shoulder in what Emma can only assume is a shrug and a wordless brush-off, the glint in his eyes dims ever so slightly, but she also should not be noticing any sort of glint and she’s got to sit down. She’ll fall over otherwise. 

“You should go to the doctor,” he says instead, nodding towards an ankle Emma can’t bring herself to look at. Feels like it’s swelling. To grapefruit-level proportions. “Urgent care, or something. Like—as soon as possible.” “Are you a doctor and a knight in sockless armor?” “You might be obsessed with my feet.” “Nah, there’s a name for those kinds of people and that’s not—” Heat rises in Emma’s cheeks when she notices him smirking again, and it’s disappointing to realize this is the first time a guy has been in her apartment in months. She’s so lame, it’s ridiculous. “If I tell you something will you promise not to laugh?” “Scouts honor.” “You were not a boy scout,” Emma challenges, which is patently unfair when she also doesn’t know his name, so—“Can I insult you if I keep referring to you as sockless guy in my head?” Leaving out very good looking is a victory she will cling to for the foreseeable future. 

As is his answering laugh. 

Not quite boisterous, but loud enough that his shoulders shake and his hair moves and she deserves at least two medals and possibly a plaque for not pushing her fingers into the strands.

“I’d rather you didn’t insult me at all,” he says, “but it does seem rude not to introduce myself when I know your name.” “Less knight-like, honestly.” “One of your friends has a habit of kicking on your door and shouting your full name. It’s exceedingly loud and absolutely impossible to ignore.” “You’re an eavesdrop.” “That’s not the right way to use that as an adjective, but your ankle is closing on pumpkin-type dimensions and—” An arm slips around her waist, directing Emma back towards her couch before she can even begin to object and she doesn’t want to object and he smells like soap. Nice soap. The kind of soap that could help lull her to sleep. As if that’s something a cleaning product is capable of. “Anyway,” he adds, “my name is Killian Jones, we should stop discussing my sock situation and I promise not to make fun of whatever you’ve already forgotten you were going to tell me.” “Rude.” “Your friend is ridiculously loud, do you know that?”

Emma nods. “That’s part of Ruby’s charm. And, uh—I don’t know that I can get back down the stairs. Plus, this isn’t really that bad.”

Liar. 

Lying liar who lies. And Killian’s other eyebrow moved that time. 

“I’d hate to see what could have possibly been worse. So, fine—don’t go down the stairs by yourself, then.” “Do you see a lot of other people in this apartment?” Bitterness replaces the sarcasm, which is far too telling an emotion and quite possibly Emma’s base emotion, but Killian doesn’t blink. He smiles, waving a hand through the air and it’s only then that she notices there’s only one hand and she’s got more questions and vaguely distracting thoughts about his eyes and his face and her lungs are doing that thing again. Not functioning properly. 

“And here I thought we’d gotten past the insults.” Emma’s jaw drops. And pops slightly in the process, which is one of the more embarrassing things that’s happened to her that night. “You don't know me,” she argues, louder than she’d like, but she’s so ridiculously tired and that’s a much more sweeping commentary about her life than she’s willing to admit. “I could—I could be a murderer!” “Can’t be all that good at it if your murders end with broken ankles.” “Ah, shit you think it’s broken?” Killian shrugs. “I’m not a doctor, or a murderer. For the record as it were.” “Saying it makes me more suspicious, quite frankly.” “That is frank,” he chuckles, “and it’s not a trick, or anything except the kindness of relative strangers. Which, as everyone knows, gets accentuated at Christmas.” “Not for another two weeks.”

“Christmas lasts for all of December, don’t you know that, Swan?” Last names probably don’t count as endearments. This one sounds that way, though. As if it’s easy for him to say, and that probably has something to do with the return of the glint and her growing obsession with the various shades of blue in his eyes and Emma’s nodding before she’s totally come to grips with what she’s agreeing to. He gets her Tylenol before he leaves. 

It’s not broken. 

So, that’s something. And about nothing else. Negative else. 

Purple bruises and some other color that almost resembles black swirl across the skin covering Emma’s absolutely worthless ankle, a pair of crutches under either one of her arms that are already starting to chafe her sides, and she took a perverse pleasure in the overall circumference of Killian’s eyes when let out a deluge of curse words in the Urgent Care office. 

Part of him almost looked proud, though. 

Which is just—it’s ridiculous. 

Emma blames his ability to smirk as potently as it does. It’s throwing her off entirely. Although that might have something to do with her inherent lack of balance as well, and this might be Bill de Blasio’s fault. None of the sidewalks in this stupid city are clear. 

And that is why, Emma will eventually argue, it makes entirely perfect sense to hobble up the stairs back towards her locked apartment door, drop her keys in Killian’s upturned palm and say—“Do you want to come in? I have tequila.” “It’s eleven in the morning.” “Ok.” The smirk gains power. Festive-based power, because they walked by at least four stores with garland in their windows and Emma’s always prided herself on her ability to ignore such emotional nonsense, but now this guy who is presumably wearing socks since he’s also wearing boots, keeps looking at her like she’s fascinating and not entirely depressing and there’s this little inkling of hope in the pit of her stomach. 

‘Tis the season, or whatever. 

It just kind of happens, really. 

Over the next five days, Killian Jones doesn’t quite move into Emma’s apartment, but he becomes something of a presence at the end of her couch and he’s very good at dialing for delivery, and reminding her to take the medication the doctor at Urgent Care prescribed, and it’s so goddamn nice she cannot begin to cope with it. 

He makes her laugh with startling regularity — helpful since August had adamantly told her she couldn’t come back to work without another doctor’s note because, as he put it, he wasn’t getting sued, Emma, but that also meant it was very difficult to get a paycheck, and it’s far too easy to fall into this routine. 

Even when she starts to wonder—

“Don’t you have a job?” Emma asks on day six, which also happens to be a Friday and it’s kind of insane he doesn’t have something better to do on his Friday night. Than sit in the corner of her couch and scroll through GrubHub listings. 

She’d do something drastic for some Indian food. 

“Of course.” Widening her eyes, Emma waits for the rest of the explanation. It doesn’t come. Patience has never been one of the virtues she possesses, though. So. “And that job is...”

“Are you worried about my ability to pay rent, Swan?” “In theory. And curious, I guess. About—” “—Me?” Killian quips, but he’s far more accurate than Emma wants him to be and the overall force of his ensuing smirk sends her flying into the metaphorical stratosphere. Of friendship, or whatever. She figures they’re friends now. 

If he orders her extra garlic naan. 

“I teach,” he continues, “some gen-history classes at CUNY. Finished the semester about a week and a half ago, which is why you only sort of woke me up before. Grading is exhausting, and occasionally depressing and I was trying very hard not to fall asleep on top of all the essays like a giant cliche, when you announced your presence to the hallway.” Gritting her teeth, Emma fights off the wholly unacceptable wave of disappointment cresting her consciousness. She’d sort of—well, she’s not really sure what she hoped for, honestly. Maybe something sort of sweeping. 

As if he simply had a sixth sense that she was in need of a quasi-rescue, and woke up to do that. Finding out she’d just interrupted his job is almost a little crushing. 

In a friendship type of way, obviously. 

“How does one become a teacher of gen-history at CUNY, then?” “I’m a professor, technically.” “Shit, that sounds very fancy.” He grins. Wide and honest, and almost like he’s preening a bit under Emma’s less-than-genteel praise. She’s going to eat at least three samosas too. “It’s exceedingly fancy,” Killian agrees, “and care of the United States GI Bill, which—” “—Didn’t stop after World War II?” “You learn something new every day, love.”

Flicking her finger against his arm happens far too easily. As if this has been going on for months, or years and that’s probably not a sign. Emma’s still firmly entrenched in Ebenezer Scrooge territory. 

Although, some soft and distinctly traitorous part of her mind is quick to point out, even Ebenezer Scrooge had a girlfriend. 

God, if she gets visits from obnoxious ghosts any time soon, she’s going to be really annoyed. 

“Is that why you knew sailors?” “Past and present tense,” Killian amends, and the grin is still there but it also looks a little forced and Emma’s leaning forward. When exactly she decided to do that, she’s not entirely sure, and it obviously doesn’t matter when Killian’s hand flips. 

Against hers. 

He’s very warm. 

Not a sign either, she’s positive. 

A million more questions jump to the tip of her tongue, and Emma’s spent way too much time thinking about her tongue in these last six days. She doesn’t voice them. The questions, or the thoughts. Not when she can see the muscle in his clearly clenched jaw jumping with an almost alarming rhythm, and she’s always been very good at reading people. 

It’s what’s made her such a good bail bonds...person. At least when she’s not nursing a high ankle sprain, and she hardly notices Killian’s hand shifting against her calf. To move that same ankle back up onto the pillows piled on top of her exceedingly wobbly coffee table. 

Goosebumps explode everywhere. Possibly in her heart too, just for maximum absurdity. 

“What’s the most random and historic Christmas fact you know?”

Narrowing his eyes makes it difficult to see whatever shade of blue they’ve evolved into, but Emma’s a bit more concerned with the inevitable pink on her cheeks and she desperately needs Killian to move his goddamn hand. To several other places. Across her body. Ebenezer Scrooge probably didn’t want to make out with his girlfriend this much. 

Would have scandalized Bob Cratchit. 

That wasn’t the right timeline for the story at all. 

“Jingle Bells was written as a Thanksgiving song initially,” Killian says, “and was also the first song to be broadcast from space.” “Very different aspects of this fact.” “I like to bring a lot to the table.” “The Thanksgiving one?” “Any holiday,” he shrugs, expression not quite as lined and just a hint easier and Emma’s heart sputters. Like it’s flipping and flopping and possibly expanding, which is a totally different pop culture reference and she’s starting to lose track. “I think Trans Siberian Orchestra is overrated.” “Sounds suspiciously like an opinion.” “That’s also absolutely right,” Emma promises, and she doesn’t get into specifics. For what is very obviously an opinion of the emotion-based variety, and Killian doesn’t press and they order enough Indian food for the entire apartment building. 

She doesn’t know anyone else in the building. 

That’s not as depressing as it once was. 

“Screw Steve Jobs.” “That’s the spirit, for sure.” “What about the other one?” “What other one?” Killian asks, not glancing away from the TV screen or the streaming options that limit their Christmas movie-viewing choices. “Are you just shouting names at me?” Emma tuts, wrestling the remote from his hand. “There’s no shouting involved, I’m just expressing my frustration at whoever is in charge of Apple now, and Steve Jobs and his legacy and how it’s preventing me from watching A Charlie Brown Christmas.” “I’m not sure how those things go together, but I can get behind hating on Apple if that’s actually what we’re doing.” “It is. Do people actually pay for Apple Plus, or whatever it’s called?” “If the overall popularity of that soccer show is any indication. And that one with Reese Witherspoon got a bunch of Emmy nominations, I think.” “Why do you know that?” His shoulder bumps hers when he shrugs. They’re sitting very close. “I know everything, I thought that was obvious.” “Can you get A Charlie Brown Christmas to play on my TV without giving any money to Steve Jobs?” “Technically, I think it’d just be his estate getting the money.” “Don’t get technical.”

He nods once, all confidence and charm and there’s got to be something else he could be doing with his time, but Emma doesn’t want him to be doing anything else and he pulls her laptop across the coffee table. She will never admit to counting the minutes it takes, or the exact way his eyes flit her direction more than once during those minutes, but then the laptop dings and Killian announces “done,” and asks if she “has an HDMI cable?” She doesn’t. 

It takes three minutes for him to jog back to his apartment. And back, hooking up several things that genuinely impress Emma, and the first few notes of the Vince Guaraldi Trio tug on whatever heartstrings she’s still in possession of. 

He calls her out for mouthing along with the lines, laughter clinging to his voice and the crinkles she’s only just realized exist around his eyes and Emma shifts out of habit. When the Peanuts start dancing on stage, all too aware of Killian’s eyes. 

And how they linger. On her, specifically. 

She’s less prepared for his wrist to flip the way it does. “May I?”

Thinking seems stupid in a situation like this, so Emma doesn’t think and the calluses on his fingers are enough to inspire a whole slew of other ideas, and they don’t really dance. Neither do the Peanuts, though — so, there’s something to be said for consistency and lower-body strength and they just kind of bob in time together, content to exist in each other’s space and there’s not that much space and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. 

Neither are the tears that sting Emma’s eyes nearly twenty minutes later. She always cries during Linus’ speech. 

Going stir crazy is inevitable and happens at precisely two forty-seven on the Tuesday before Christmas. The walls of Emma’s apartment suddenly feel much closer than they were at two forty-six, and she doesn’t bother grabbing her crutches. Before huffing out a frustrated breath, hopping across the hall and effectively falling against Killian’s front door. She resists the very legitimate urge to knock with her head. 

And it doesn’t matter anyway. 

The door swings open, another pair of gym shorts that make Emma’s brain short-circuit just a bit and Killian’s hair is damp. “Were you in the shower?” “No,” he shakes his head. 

Oh. Oh. So, she’ll probably just die in this hallway then. That will inevitably be preferable to the realization that he works out, and she kind of knew that already because there’s absolutely no way people just have biceps like that, but she also cannot deal with even the idea of him doing something as absurd as burpees in his apartment. Not when the walls were already doing that thing before. “Should you be in the shower?”

Leaning against the door frame feels like cheating. On his part. Crossing his feet at the ankles is even worse. “Are you suggesting I should?” Killian drawls, and Emma’s come to realize he’s got this habit of only lifting the left side of his mouth when he’s trying to tease her. It’s very effective. 

“Maybe before we go out.” “You want to go out? Where, exactly?” “I don’t know,” Emma admits, “anywhere. Somewhere. That is not my kitchen, or like—the mailboxes downstairs.” “I’ve gotten your mail.”

That’s true. He figured out which key it was on his own too, which shouldn’t have any lasting effect on Emma’s pulse at all. “Whatever,” she grumbles, “that’s not the point.” “What is, then?” “I want fresh air and—” “—Where are your crutches?” “In my apartment.” “Did you hop over here?” 

Nodding, she’s not entirely prepared for the force of his laugh or the hand that lands on her hip as easily as if there are magnets there. “You’re going to have the most impressive calf muscles of any bail bonds person in the greater Tri-State area.” “Flatter me some more when we’re outside, please.” “I should probably shower first.” Emma hums, biting her tongue until she can taste blood because suggesting anything involving Killian and water and a distinct lack of clothing is only going to get her another smirk she cannot possibly be expected to deal with. He smirks all the same. So, the world hates her apparently. Waving an arm behind him, Killian ushers Emma into the apartment like it’s not the first time she’s hopping inside. “Make yourself at home,” he says, already halfway down a hallway that must lead to the bathroom because that’s what her hallway does and the layout is almost identical. “There’s coffee too.” “Do you drink coffee while you work out?” His eyes goddamn sparkle. “Sit down, Swan. Then we’ll figure out where else you can hop.”

He’s gone before she can even consider an appropriately sarcastic response, leaving her balanced between his living room and kitchen and there are very soft-looking blankets draped over the back of his couch. Music plays softly from a nearby speaker, not quite festive, because it’s 90s rap and Emma can’t decide which part of this is the most endearing. 

Probably the frames. 

Lining nearly every flat surface of the multiple bookcases he has, smiling faces gaze back at Emma from what looks like a dozen different places, and several faces repeat themselves. A woman with soft brown hair and a smile that makes it clear how nice she inevitably is, her shoulders are often covered by another man’s arm and occasionally that man’s in uniform. 

She has to hop to the next frame, another uniform, although it has more medals, and this man’s eyes are familiar. Not blue, but the glint in them is unmistakable. Especially when he’s standing next to Killian. 

Their smiles make something ache in the very center of Emma, the kind of deja vu she doesn’t want to understand. The man’s only in a few of the pictures. He looks happy in all of them. 

Overjoyed, occasionally. 

The water in the bathroom turns off. 

And Emma only just manages to throw herself into the corner of the couch before Killian’s back in the living room, a towel pressed to even more damp hair. “You ok?” he asks, a very symmetrical question she can’t answer. 

With the wad of emotion currently taking root in the middle of her throat. 

Piecing things together is one of her better skills, after all. 

“Fine, fine,” she stammers, “can we go?” “Have you decided where you’re going to hobble?” “Ah, that’s mean.” “Am I going to have to carry you down the stairs?” “Don’t be a dick.” He smirks. The bastard. And doesn’t really carry her down the stairs, per se — even if there’s more leaning involved than Emma would like, but that also means she gets to take full advantage of just how warm he is, and she’s starting to wonder if Killian retains heat solely for her benefit. It’s a very dangerous thought. 

This can’t last forever. Not with modern medicine the way it is, and she’s been taking the medicine and the swelling has gone way down and—

Emma gasps when she puts more weight on her ankle than she’s entirely prepared for. Spinning on the spot, Killian’s center of gravity must be better than hers and that probably has something to do with sea legs, and waves, and his hands are back on her hips. 

She’d very much like them to stay there. 

First kisses aren’t supposed to happen in the middle of the sidewalk. 

Outside a Duane Reade.  

If she doesn’t kiss him soon, she might scream. 

“C’mon,” Killian says, tilting his head towards the automatic doors and this wasn’t quite what Emma had planned. She had no plan, but it did not involve Duane Reade carpet or the holiday aisle, and Killian’s hands don’t move. They direct her. Towards that aisle, and the gingerbread houses on its shelves and he grabs one that has deluxe in the name. 

“Makes it fancier,” he explains, presumably when he notices the overall height of Emma’s eyebrows. She doesn’t argue. Inflating his ego anymore isn’t part of her unplanned plan, either. 

And there’s not really much of a discussion, but they somehow end up back at his apartment, pieces of gingerbread strewn across his kitchen counter while he changes the music, and—

Emma tosses a sugar plum in the air. So she can catch it with her mouth. “Color me impressed,” Killian says, and it’s her imagination. There’s no allusion. Nothing passably secret or unspoken in those words, and Emma refuses to let herself consider the possibility. Not with Bing Crosby in the background. 

He was kind of a jerk in real life. 

“Although,” he adds, “you’re using up all our decoration.” “They give you so many sugar plums! Who would need this many?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Gingerbread.” “I’m sorry, what?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Gingerbread,” Killian repeats, “who live in this deluxe, undeniably fancy gingerbread house.”

“Why would their last name be Gingerbread when that’s what their house is called? It’s like someone being named—” “—Wood?”

Emma sneers. “I’ll throw sugar plums at your face.” “Then we’ll really run out, and the peppermint swirls aren’t as decorative.” “Because peppermint is the inferior Christmas flavor,” Emma announces. “Tastes like you’re eating toothpaste, also they don’t make houses out of wood anymore. Learn about the industrial revolution, please.” He’s already started positioning gingerbread walls. “Mr. and Mrs. Gingerbread met by happenstance. Had passed each other in the Sugar Forest before, but—” “—These are absolutely horrendous names.” “You’re ruining the flow of the story, love.” Emma mimes zipping her mouth shut. “Anyway, they’d noticed each other before, but hadn’t ever spoken, until fate and festivity intervened, and they realized they had more in common than they expected and got along very well, and eventually they got married and lived happily ever after.” “Just like that?”

Her voice likely does not crack the way she imagines it does. That would be impossible. It’s because of the sugar plum, and all that extra sugar. Caking the inside of Emma’s throat, or something and that’s a kind of disgusting idea, but Killian’s staring at her with enough intensity that her cheeks are starting to heat on their own and it’s a crime she hasn’t gotten her fingers in his hair yet. 

“Just like that,” Killian echoes. 

He’s moving. Emma’s positive he’s moving. Maybe that’s her. Or the entire goddamn Universe. Flying off kilter and possibly right into the sun and it’s so stupid when she opens her mouth. 

“How’d they get engaged?” The left side of his mouth tugs up. “They went ice skating.” “Did that not dissolve their legs?” “It was magic ice.” “Oh, right, right, yeah of course.” Definitely getting closer. “And the future Mrs. Gingerbread had fallen over. Wasn’t used to the skates, which Mr. Gingerbread found oddly enchanting, and while she was sitting there on the ice, cursing every one of Santa’s elves, he bent down and said, ‘This is probably a bad time, but marry me?’”

“What’d she say?” “She swatted at the sugar plums on his chest, but she was also swooning a bit and—” “—Losing frosting from sitting on the ice?” “That’s not how frosting works at all.” “They don’t give you much here,” Emma says, not a perfect change of course, but she wasn’t the sailor in this relationship and she's so stupid it's painful. “Can you make more?” Killian nods. It makes his hair move. And Emma’s pulse trip over itself. “Absolutely.” They make several batches of frosting, because deluxe gingerbread houses are apparently thicker than usual and require more, and at least half of it gets wasted when Emma keeps eating it. And swiping some across the bridge of Killian’s nose. 

Neither one of them mention Mr. or Mrs. Gingerbread again. 

Their house turns out very nice, though.

She blames the medication. 

For telling him about the one high school she went to in Minnesota where they decorated their lockers for spirit week, and how the foster house she’d been living in gave her exactly one roll of dollar store wrapping paper and a box of ancient tinsel, and Killian barely flinches at the words foster home in that particular order. 

He’s a rapt audience, like this is fascinating information, and not decidedly Scrooge-like, and “we didn’t have that at my high school,” he tells her. Which just about seals the deal, as it were. 

Emma nearly kills herself more than once, burrowing through her closet and calling in favors from Ruby who only furrows her brows slightly when she shows up on a Thursday morning with a bag of Christmas decorations that—

“What are we doing, exactly?” “Decorating,” Emma says, and to her credit Ruby doesn’t object. Or kick on Killian’s door. Which is in fact, what they’re decorating. Lining the frame with garland, and lights that require an extension cord and are probably breaking their lease somehow, but he doesn’t wake up and no one tells them to stop, and the whole thing turns out pretty fantastic. If Emma does say so herself. 

They opt not to hang ornaments off the door. For fear that they’ll shatter. But there are window clings taped to the imitation wood now, in addition to the garland, and Emma can’t imagine where Ruby found tinsel, but it’s appropriately festive and she uses her crutch to knock. 

Killian only needs five seconds to answer. 

Blinking at the scene in front of him — and an almost overjoyed-looking Ruby, who still mercifully hasn’t expressed the opinions Emma can practically hear vibrating around her skull, but then Killian’s turning and exhaling softly and the press of his lips to Emma’s cheek is jarring and sudden and absolutely perfect. 

“You’re blushing,” Ruby drawls, soft enough that it can’t be heard over Killian’s praise of what may be lower Manhattan’s most obnoxiously decorated door. 

Emma’s crutch collides with her shin. 

“Thank you, love,” Killian says. Sincerity colors every letter, that particular shade of blue like the sky and the ocean and it’s not exactly a holiday color, but it might be Emma’s favorite color now and her mouth is very dry. 

“That should be the other way around,” she objects, “for everything you’ve done and—” “I wanted to.” Ruby’s still standing there. With that specific wolf-like smile on her face. “Well,” she proclaims, “I’m going to go, eventually we’ll get officially introduced across-the-hall guy who’s very cute and—” The tips of Killian’s ears go red. More festive. “Take care of Emma on Christmas, will you?”

She leaves almost as soon as the question’s out of her mouth, Killian staring expectantly at Emma because she hadn’t admitted to the inevitable singularity of her Christmas in three days, but she just kind of figured he’d have other things to do and she didn’t want to be depressing. 

They’d progressed past depressing by now. 

And even the thought of going back to Storybrooke made her ankle ache. 

Because well...what if he didn’t have actually anything else to do? What if he was home alone too? What if she left and there wasn’t anyone here and—no, Emma’s not doing that. She hasn't asked. She’s willing to risk the answer. 

Or admit it to anything. At least not completely. 

“You’re not going home for Christmas?” Killian asks lightly, but Emma can hear the rest. She shakes her head. “Ruby wants me to, and I’m friends with her friends, but—” Her shoulders don’t move very easily on that shrug. “My ankles still kind of messed up, and they’ve got families and traditions and it always feels like I’m—” “—Overstepping?” “Something like that, yeah.” “You want to order Chinese food on Christmas Eve or Thai?” “Both?” Killian beams. Emma’s cheek is on fire, she’s positive. “Deal.”

“Lift with your legs!” “Would you like to come down here and help?” “Not really, no,” Emma laughs, leaning over the railing at the top of the second-floor landing, and the Christmas tree guy at the end of the block had been understandably concerned that they weren’t going to get the tree back to their apartment in one piece. 

Neither one of them mentioned that they live in different apartments. And aren’t a couple. Or dating. Whatever, Emma’s too worried about Killian straining something to care about other adjectives. 

“Invalid,” he calls back. Her smile’s going to stretch her face muscles. 

“Put those arm muscles to good use!” “Are you ogling me, Swan?” “You show them off.” “Little of column A, little of column B.”

She clicks her tongue, the smile obvious in his voice even when there’s a tree blocking his face and they put the tree in her apartment. After getting a blanket out of Killian’s closet to put underneath it, and the guy had taken pity on them earlier, adding in the star as part of the tree cost because it was Christmas Eve and no one else was buying trees and Emma honestly does not mean to fall asleep with her head on Killian’s shoulder. 

Waking with a start, Emma has to blink. More than once. To make sure she’s not still dreaming, but if she were there’d still be a shoulder under her cheek and preferably an arm around her waist, or maybe less clothing, and none of that is happening, so this has to be real. 

“Are you ok? 

Her voice doesn’t entirely sound like hers — still tinged with sleep and Emma’s only marginally worried there’s bits of tinsel in her hair, because obviously she’d had an extra box of tinsel from the door decorating and they’d thrown that, quite literally, at the tree. The one that almost appears to be shimmering in the bit of moonlight creeping through her curtains, Killian staring out the window at the—

“Is it thundering out?”

He nods without glancing at her. “Happens sometimes. Not often in the winter, but—” Another clap echoes around them, and that must have been what woke Emma up. Not the lack of shoulder, or her recently-acquired ability to read the exact angle of Killian’s shoulders and what that means and he flinches. 

“Hey,” Emma says, almost able to walk towards him without wincing, “what’s going on?”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” “That’s not a big deal, what’s happening with your shoulders?”

Turning slower than any human should be able to, Killian levels Emma with an incredulous stare. She juts her chin out. In something akin to almost romantic defiance. “Staring at my arms, now my shoulders. You’ll give a man a complex.” “Stop being an idiot, then.” “Huh.” Lightning joins the fray, snow swirling just outside that window and Emma’s not sure she’s ever been so grateful to be inside. Warm and maybe not entirely content, at least not yet, but definitely safe and even more happy, all of which seems as good a reason as any for everything that happens next. 

“What happened to your brother?” Killian’s eyes widen, surprise mixing with something that’s almost dangerously close to anger. Only to disappear just as quickly, morphing into what Emma’s sleep-addled brain can only describe as disappointment. “He’s dead.”

“And?” “That’s usually the end of things.”

“Nuh uh,” Emma objects, which isn’t the worst thing she’s done, but Killian flinches again when she rests a hand on his tension-filled shoulder. “It’s depressing.” “Why’d you wake up?” He tells her. Only after forcing her back onto the couch, because “your ankle’s going to start swelling up again, Swan,” but then the story is as depressing as advertised, with storms and ships and the dead brother who has since achieved hero status in Killian’s brain. And the tears clouding his eyes don’t ever actually fall—which is probably for the best, because Emma isn’t convinced she’d be able to do anything except kiss them away, but he doesn’t look away from her either, and at some point her fingers start tracing over the blunt edge of his left arm. 

He doesn’t move. 

Doesn’t tell her to stop, or pull away. Just lets her trace over scars that are equal parts metaphorical and literal, and that’s enough. To help ease the cracks in her, swallowing once and meeting his depressing with equally atrocious, and to Killian’s credit there’s no interruption. 

Not through foster home explanations, or the whole thing with Neal, meeting Mary Margaret and Ruby, and how it’s never felt like that life could be totally Emma’s, even when she wants it so much she’s certain it’ll explode out of her. 

Minutes turn into hours and evolve into the middle of the night, and the snow doesn’t stop and the thunder doesn’t stop and there’s enough light lingering around them that Emma’s able to notice the flickers of blue in Killian’s eyes and the quirk of his lips and—

It was about time, honestly. 

Her fingers curl into his t-shirt, all but yanking him closer because not kissing him is the dumbest thing she could possibly do right now. And she’s not dumb. So, that’s her only option, really. 

And it takes him a second to respond. 

Like he hasn’t also been counting down to this one, exact moment. It’s that moment that almost gives Emma pause, ancient worries rising up in the back of her throat and threatening to spill out her mouth, but then Killian’s mouth is moving and there’s more tongue than she’s entirely prepared for and fingers pushed into her hair, and she genuinely has no idea how she ends up in his lap. 

Not that she’s complaining. 

Makes it easier to find a rhythm, anyway. Rocking against each other with a sudden burst of friction that’s somehow not nearly enough, roaming hands and lips that trail across the side of Emma’s neck and underneath her chin, and it takes all her willpower not to groan too loudly when Killian laughs. 

As soon as he notices the goosebumps on her skin. 

“A complex,” he mutters, but it sounds like a compliment and something close to a promise and Emma’s rolling her hips before she can think of all the reasons she shouldn’t. 

The groan she gets sends her flying. Metaphorically, literally. Some other adverb that doesn’t matter when there’s an arm around her waist and her legs wrap around Killian on instinct. 

They don’t stumble once — although Emma’s feet never touch the ground, so she’s not sure she should be part of the equation, and her laugh bubbles out of her as soon as her back bounces against her bed. 

Strictly speaking, the rest is a bit of a blur. Clothes are thrown with abandon, tossed this way and that, and Emma’s teeth find her lower lip when Killian pulls his shirt off, but then his eyes noticeably widen as soon as her leggings are gone and that’s a rather large boon to her confidence. And his hair is somehow softer than she expected it to be. 

They’re also very good at kissing. 

She considers both things very important. 

And Emma’s got no idea what time it is by the time she’s flopped back to her side of the bed, only that there was no discussion about sides and that leaves her feeling warmer and safer and—

“Don’t leave, ok?” Killian flips his head. To smile at her. Like he could—no, not yet. They’ll get to that eventually, maybe. “I don’t really want to.” “Good, thunder kind of freaks me out anyway.” Sheets twist underneath them when he inches closer, and for half a second Emma wonders if he’s going to kiss her again, eyes already fluttering in anticipation. He does, just not where she expects. Not her lips. Everywhere else. The bridge of her nose, either one of her cheekbones and the edges of her eyes, across her brows and the tiny wrinkles in her forehead, each one feeling as if it stamps something onto her soul and her heart and she’s such a goddamn sap at whatever time it might be.

“I like you,” he whispers. “Yeah?” “Yeah. “Good.”

Snow covers the street when Emma blinks awake on Christmas morning, the scene looking like some idyllic version of a city that only a few weeks earlier left her with an abnormally large ankle. Now she can’t feel much except how much she loves this place, and this slightly drafty apartment and—

The noticeably empty right side of her bed. 

Huh. 

Flopping onto her back, Emma tries very hard not to let her mind wander, but her mind is already in the hallway and there’s talking in the hallway. The loud kind, not totally annoyed, but sounding genuinely confused and that cannot be the first time Killian has grumbled “this is not a big deal” in that exact tone.

Not thinking is really Emma’s greatest talent. 

She doesn’t bother putting on shoes before she opens her front door, hair still a tangled mess and there may very well be hickeys on her neck if the look on the face of the guy standing outside Killian’s apartment is any indication. 

“Oh,” the woman breathes, and there are apparently two people in the hallway. Emma’s admittedly staring pretty intently at Killian. 

Who is not wearing anything on his feet either, and the whole thing is symmetrical and confusing and it takes her way too long to recognize the hallway people. From the frames. Ones that also included uniforms and wide smiles and the guy sticks his hand out like this isn’t the weirdest thing in the history of New York City. 

“Will Scarlet,” he says, “and this is my fiancée, Belle. You must be the ankle girl.” Killian pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“He did tell us your name,” Belle adds, and Emma’s breathing very loudly. Out of her mouth. Which is hanging open. 

She can’t believe she’s not wearing socks. 

“Were you stalking me?” she asks Killian, who immediately flushes and grits his teeth and it would be very easy to fall in love with him. Potential felonies not withstanding. 

“No, no, no, that’s not what’s happening here.” “And what is happening?” “We’re inviting you both to Christmas,” Belle explains, “because Killian said he couldn’t come if you were here and—” “—You’re certainly here, aren’t you?” Will adds. Killian punches his arm. 

Emma’s frozen. Stuck, and still breathing abnormally, eyes like pinballs as they try to figure out who exactly she should be glaring at, but none of the emotions currently churning in between her ribs resemble anger. Confusion, definitely. Possible attraction to the exact way Killian squeezes one of his eyes shut. But nothing even in the realm of frustration. 

Huh, again. 

“Explain what’s going on,” she demands. Both Belle and Killian’s arms move when Will opens his mouth, a soft grunt of pain that should not be as gratifying to hear from a stranger. 

“Can you walk?” Killian asks. 

“Are you kidding me?” “No, we kind of forgot about the medicine last night, so—” Hands flying to her mouth, Belle barely manages to contain her response, and Will doesn’t seem to bother, noise bouncing off the hallway and its ugly carpet and Killian’s hand finds the small of Emma’s back when they move. Away from his door and her door and he hisses in a breath through his teeth. “There’s no stalking involved, I swear.” “What is it, then?” “Pining, maybe?” “Pining?” Emma echoes, and the noise Will makes is way closer to a guffaw now. 

Killian grimaces. “Not—I mean, not in a totally creepy way. I just...I wasn’t kidding about Ruby being very loud when she kicks on your door. So I’d seen you, and heard like...of you and—” Flustered is admittedly a good look on him. They all are, but Emma hasn’t had any coffee yet and there’s a peanut gallery watching this entire conversation, which is more accidental symmetry and Killian visibly exhales when her hand finds his chest. Still questionably solid. “Anyway, uh—you know how you’re aware of people and think they’re good looking?” “You think I’m good looking?” “Did I not make that obvious enough yet? That’s disappointing.” It’s her turn to blush apparently, ducking her gaze to stare at her bare feet so she doesn’t do something ridiculous like jump him. Emma’s ankle isn’t capable of doing that yet. “And then I heard you cursing Poseidon or whatever Gods you were beseeching that night—” “Ok, Poseidon was not involved,” Emma argues. 

Killian’s thumb taps the side of her jaw. She doesn’t snap her teeth. Points. Christmas points, even. “So I opened the door, and found you there. Not being attacked, like I was legitimately worried about, and it all just—” “—Happened?” “Kind of. You kept inviting me inside.” “Well as far as I know you’re not a vampire, so that wasn’t a requirement to come inside, but—” “—I wasn’t just going to barrel into your apartment, Swan.” “No, no, I know,” she promises, waving her hands because she’s suddenly kind of flustered and she never responded last night and she’d like to respond with some emotions, but that’s never really been her thing, so all Emma can do is mumble, “most people I know are jerks, not including Ruby or Mary Margaret, who you don’t know, but—” Killian catches both her wrists in one hand. It’s patently absurd. “That’s not the point.” “What’s the point?” “You’re not.” “A jerk?” “No,” Emma says, trying very hard to smile without crying and it doesn’t really work. Tears land on her cheeks, throat apparently collapsing, and only one of those things seems like the end of the world. Until there are lips on her cheek again, following a pattern that can’t possibly be the one he traced last night. 

Or this morning, she supposes. 

That’s not the point, either. 

“Why?” “Why?” Killian repeats softly. “Because you’re very easy to like.” “That’s not true, at all. I’m—prickly, and angry and I hate Bill de Blasio.” “Everyone does, that doesn’t make you special.”

Exhaling the way she does only ensures she sags against Killian’s chest, and he doesn’t mind all that much. If the way he smirks at her is any indication. “I didn’t want to go to Mary Margaret and David’s for a gazillion reasons, but it wasn’t just my ankle and I—” Her fingers tighten in his shirt. That helps, honestly. Makes her a bit braver and bit surer and kissing him once is more than enough to make Emma’s lungs function normally. “I like you too,” she says, loud enough that she kind of sounds like she’s announcing it and she supposes she almost is. “With or without all the Christmas stuff, but the Christmas stuff was really fun.” “That’s the first time I’ve cared about Christmas in a very long time.”

“Rude,” Will shouts, but Killian’s eyes don’t leave Emma and at some point these imaginary Christmas points became very important to her internal dialogue. He’s got, like, forty billion now.

At least. 

“I would have wallowed,” Emma admits, “sat on the couch and hated on everything festive, but...well, I kept calling you good looking in my head.” “When? Before the cursing?” “Yeah, but especially during the cursing and like...now. Were you going to blow off your friends to spend Christmas Day with me?” “Yes,” he says, easy as anything and that’s absolutely, one-hundred percent a sign. One Emma is very willing to read. For as long as she possibly can. “Because he’s only a jerk to us,” Will yells. “You can come too, Emma. We weren’t going to leave you here by your lonesome!” “Except we wouldn’t call it that,” Belle adds, “because this isn’t a Dickenson’ian novel.” “She’s a librarian,” Killian explains when Emma glances questioningly at him, and his fingers are very close to the hem of her shirt. 

“Oh yeah, yeah, that makes sense. I should probably shower before we go though.” Eyebrows jumping and smirk settling onto the mouth Emma is totally staring at makes it all but impossible to do anything except ignore the slight twinge in her ankle when she pushes up on her toes and kisses the ever-living daylights out of the good looking guy she hopes is her boyfriend now. They’ll get to that, eventually. 

“What are you doing on New Year’s Eve?” she asks, not bothering to move away from him even as Will and Belle jeer from the other end of the hall. 

“Whatever you want, Swan,” Killian says. They probably lose some Christmas-type points when he flips off his friends. 

They don’t go out for New Year’s Eve. 

It’s snowing again, and while Emma's ankle is the right color, it’s easier to claim sitting on the couch is a relationship-tradition when they’re both very eager to use that particular qualifier, and it’s more fun to make out that way. They'll go ice skating eventually.

[tloujm]

Part XXIV: Teeth and All

Author’s Notes: This one’s a lengthy one at 3232 words. I was very happy with this one and its following chapters; I was on a roll  when typing ‘em all out which, with WIP’s, is a very successful feeling. I hope you guys enjoy reading as much as I did writing it! This is part one if you will of the aforementioned canon inspired chapters. 

Genre: A six piece bucket of fluff with a side of angst

Summary: You and Joel convince the new kid to break out her comfort zone by going on a scavenging trip. You want it to be at the science museum because of it’s agriculture collection and because it’s kid friendly. The car that the three of you ride in breaks down, but that doesn’t stop you guys. The museum is a surprise for the kid and needless to say, she opens up more from the fun of it all. 

Ship: Joel Miller x Fem!reader “It’s gettin’ late.” Joel huffed as he looked down at the deflated tire on the passenger side. “Our destination is only a block out; we have just enough daylight to make it. I say we head there on foot,” He sighed again. “and make camp, then we can scavenge tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.” You nodded before slamming your door shut. Kiddo did the same as she left the back seat. 

“Hopefully the place got a tool box somewhere. Maybe in the maintenance closet or somethin’. Matter-a-fact, I’ll walk back while y’all start scavengin’ and change the tire out, then I’ll drive up and meet y’all.” All three of you took your gear from the trunk and set out.

One day, Joel had the idea of taking Kiddo on a little scavenging trip to see what she was comfortable with. While all of the other kids played and learned skills, she still seemed withdrawn. He figured after a few months of her settling into Jackson, she would be okay with going back out into the world again. The two of you were going to be by her side the whole time and you reminded her of that every so often.

Joel arranged for the three of you to ride in a pick up truck just in case any one of you found something big to scavenge. The destination was a museum of science and natural history. He didn’t see the point of going to a museum, but you recommended the spot because of its possible collection of agricultural resources as well as the fact that Kiddo might find it interesting. 

You were in the passenger seat reading the map for him while she was in the back reading a comic book when all of a sudden the car swerved on its own. He was able to quickly gain back control of it, but he was just as confused as you were as to why it happened. He pulled over and slowed the vehicle to a stop before asking if the two of you were ok. He looked back to watch Kiddo nod. During the following silence, the two of you figured out what was wrong. Air hissed from the back passenger side and if you stayed still long enough, you could feel the car dipping as well. Joel got out and walked around until he found the culprit. It was nearing the end of summer, but it was still hot, so you swung the door open to let in some air and watched as he assessed the damage.

His fists were placed steady on his hips. “Good news is that this is the only tire with a leak. Also good news is that we have a spare and a jack in the bed.”

“You can fix it so we can get there, right? I swear, this couldn’t have happened in like 5 more minutes ‘cause the place is like a half a mile down the road.”

“I know, I know it is. The bad news, though, is that I ain’t got any tools. Now, how am I supposed to get these lugnuts off?”

“Oh, you can’t just twist them off?” You offered, already knowing the answer.

He shook his head with a gentle smile. “It don’t quite work like that, darlin’.” 

******

“Hey, darlin’, come look at this,” Joel whispered in a deep yet soft voice. “Where’s Kiddo?” He crouched down before looking back to find you two. Quietly he beckoned you forward. She followed suit and crouched down right next to him. “See it? Just through there. Look.” He pointed to a particularly lush section of the wooded area that the three of you were walking on the outskirts of. “Ya see it?” He looked down and asked her. He watched as Kiddo’s face transform from confusion to astonishment. He knew that she had finally seen it. “You ever seen a whole family of deer like that before?” She shook her head, eyes still focused on them. There were 3 baby deer, 2 does and 2 bucks. They were all lazily grazing. 

 “Let’s cut through here,” You began in a hushed tone with the map unfolded in your hands. “It’ll take us to the back end of the property, but we’ll get there a little quicker.”

Joel looked up at the sun growing closer to the horizon. “Alright.”

******

According to the map, the three of you were going to be approaching the museum’s garden any minute now. You assumed it was going to be hiding in plain sight given the garden’s overgrowth and its proximity to the woods. Your eyes were glued to the outstretched paper when you heard a loud gasp. You immediately knew it was from Kiddo. You followed her gaze only for your eyes to meet a life size rendition of a tyrannosaurus rex.

“Well I’ll be. Won’t you look at that.” Joel exclaimed.

You folded your map and put it away. “We’re here.”

A smile broke across Kiddo’s face as she ran up to the statue. It was hauntingly beautiful. Vines of leaves grew along the legs and wrapped itself up around its body. It stood in the middle of a large, deep fountain of water. The statue was nearly as tall as the trees surrounding it. A giggle even escaped her mouth as she ran up to get a closer look. Joel yelled out for her to be careful. His gaze scouted the area to make sure they were alone. You walked up to the information plaque next to the dinosaur.

“King of the tyrant lizards.” You read. 

Joel walked up behind you. “That’s a big boy alright.” You continued to read more when Kiddo started to casually climb the T-Rex from its tail. “Hey now, what are you gettin’ up to?” She didn’t respond to him. “Kiddo, be careful! It’s gettin’ darker out. I need you to watch your step!” He shouted up at her as she quickly reached it’s neck. He was hoping that this verbal realization would compel her to turn around and get off, but she continued to walk closer to the head. You heard your husband let out an exasperated sigh. “Can you talk to her?”

“She’s already up there. I trust that she’ll be careful. Besides, what am I gonna say that you haven’t already?” You reasoned. Joel was beginning to get annoyed with your lack of worry and still wished that you’d say something. Maybe she’d listen to you. He looked back up at the girl with a backdrop of an orange and purple sky behind her. “Just don’t die up there, ok?” Was all he could think to say. He had meant for it to come out casual and lighthearted, but his voice broke at the beginning. He sensed a cloud of melancholy impeding as his chest began to tighten.

“Joel?” He looked back down and saw you place your hand on his chest.

“I’m alright.” He meant it, or at least he wanted to. He tried his best to push away the sad memories but he knew it was easier said than done. A childish bellow snatched his attention away from you as he looked back up to find Kiddo now standing on the dino’s head. She was smiling, teeth and all. You could only imagine how liberated she felt in that moment.

“She’s a courageous one, I’ll give you that.” You said proudly of her.

“You better not be thinkin’ about jumping. Just climb back down. I’ll meet you at the tail.” He requested. Even from that distance, the two held each other’s gaze. He was pleading and anxious; she was testing and teasing. 

“Rooooaaaarrrrr!” She screamed out as she jumped from the T-Rex’s head.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Joel yelled out. The two of you could do nothing but watch and wait. Admittedly, you did not think she would go so far as to jump. Suddenly, her head popped up over the surface of the vaguely green water. She gulped in a deep breath before smiling. Joel finally let out a breath that he hadn’t known he was holding. She climbed out the fountain dripping wet and laughing to which he just shook his head and walked away toward the entrance. 

“I give that dive a 10 out of 10, love.” You said to her in a hushed tone. He still heard you as you condoned the behaviour. 

The three of you entered through the busted glass doors of the back entrance. The area was dilapidated and almost bare. To your left, however, you found a rack with a single hat on it. It was a wide brimmed, brown hat similar to what Indiana Jones wore. You doubted she knew who that was. Still, you called her over and dusted the hat off before placing it on her head. She gifted you with another smile. Joel took a look at her with it on and grunted before walking on by. You watched as she ran off into a certain direction before going up to him.

“Are you jealous?” You questioned lightheartedly.

“Hmm?”

“Of the hat? If you ask nice enough, I’m sure she’ll let you try it on.”

“I don’t want to try on the hat.” He responded matter of factly. He turned to you. “We need to sweep the place before we can lay our heads down anywhere tonight.”

“I agree.”

There was a bout of silence before he continued again. “What was that back there?” Joel asked.

“What do you mean?” You brows furrowed.

“Her climbing and jumping, you being so...nonchalant about it. We’re lucky she didn’t break anything, (Y/N).”

“I didn’t think she was going to jump, so yes we are lucky with that.”

“She could have slipped, (Y/N)! What would you have done if she died, huh? Her body just...just laying there in your arms.” He looked down at his own arms as the memories replayed in his head. It was too late for him to stop them. His adams apple moved as he gulped. “You gave me such a hard time about going camping because you were so fearful of the outside world---”

“That was not fear, that was caution!” You firmly asserted.

“Well, where was that caution a few moments ago? She was yelling at the top of her lungs. That could have attracted hunters and infected and Lord knows what else.”

“You were yelling too!” You brought up.

“For her to get off!” He countered. He took a moment to inhale and exhale. “The difference between the camping trip and here is that I planned it out. I chose the area, I checked the area, I prepped the area. I did it all not only to be safe, but to give you peace of mind. This area is new to us. We need to treat it as such.” He reprimanded you and, while logically you knew he was justified, you hated it. You decided to hold your tongue, however, until you got back home. You didn’t want to hash it out in a potentially triggering environment for him, especially with the kid around.

He shook his head while avoiding eye contact with you. “Maybe you were right, maybe you’re not ready.”

“Ready for what?” Your brows furrowed even deeper. You suspected what he had meant. “Ready for what, Joel?”

“Ready to be a parent.” He responded simply. You were taken aback at this point. 

“You didn’t seem to think I wasn’t ready all those times you came inside me. You knew what you were doing!” Your voice raised slightly causing Joel to scan the room and see if Kiddo was of earshot. 

“Where is she?” He heard you take in a breath to say more, but he cut you off.

“I saw her go that way a few minutes ago.” You began walking in said direction. You rounded the corner only to find two doorways and a dead end.

A scuffling sound emitted out of one of them. The two of you exchanged glances and silently agreed to respectively sweep each room. Your hand hovered over the gun tucked in the waist of your pants as you entered. They fell limp to your side when you saw that she was the source of the sounds. As soon as Joel was done with his sweep, he met up with you in the other room only to pause behind you. The two of you watched on as she made faces in the mirror with the hat on. He leaned against the threshold and watched on with a small smile on his face. He thought back to the times when he would beg Sarah to get out the bathroom so he could use it just because she wanted to make faces at herself in the mirror above the sink. It was at that point, he invested in a wall mirror to go on the back of her bedroom door for which both of them were grateful. 

Joel beckoned them to leave the restroom. At this point, the sun was hanging very low in the sky allowing for a minimal amount of light to enter through the windows. The three of you broke out your flashlights and continued to sweep the building together. While you and Joel stealthily scoured the large exhibition room, Kiddo stopped to admire another rendition of a dinosaur. She flashed her light over its name displayed on the wall behind it: ‘Stegosaurus’. She walked up to the fenced display and placed her hat on its head. She stood back to proudly admire what she had done.

“What’s that there?” Joel flashed his light on her and the dinosaur. You followed suit.

“It’s exactly what it looks like.” You said flatly.

“Well, it looks like a hat on a dinosaur.” 

“It’s a hat-o-saur obviously.” You responded just as flatly despite feeding into Kiddo’s playfulness. She smiled as she hopped up to retrieve her hat. His light followed her as she moved on to a triceratops. The stature of the animal was larger, so she climbed the short fence and placed her hat on its head as well. 

“Hey, is this gonna be a thing?” He asked her, knowing she wouldn’t respond. “Please don’t let it be a thing…” He mumbled to himself. He watched as she began to climb the fence again and raced to meet her at the display. Being much taller, he simply reached over and slid the hat off the dino’s head. “Whoa, don’t wanna be on the business end of those horns.” She reached up to him to take it, but he laid it on top of his head instead. He gave her a smug smirk. “Mine now, Kiddo.” The three of you walked on into an adjoining exhibition room that displayed nothing but dinosaur skulls.

“My God, look how thick this one’s skull is.” You said under your breath. Still, Joel heard you.

He walked up next to you and shined his light on it at different angles. “Catch it in the right light and…boom! Tommy!” You stifled a laugh.

“I’m telling him you said that too.” You teased, trying to maintain a flat tone. 

“Please don’t.”

“You’re his big brother, what is he gonna do?” You teased again.

“Exactly, he’s my younger brother, so he has more energy to beat me up over it.” 

You decided to sweep a small room off to the side. It looked administrative. As soon as you gave it the all clear, a light bulb went off in your head. If he wanted to all of a sudden be playful and act like he didn’t just insult your maturity a few minutes ago, so could you. Silently, you beckoned Kiddo to sit on your lap as you sat at the desk. It didn’t take long for Joel to follow. As soon as his head peaked past the doorway, you picked up the long dead phone.

“Oh, hello. Sorry, the dinosaurs are busy right now.” You feigned a conversation.

“What are you doing?” He crossed his arms.

“Oh, wait! One of the dinosaurs just arrived.” You took the phone away from your ear and laid it against your chest. “Joel, it’s for you.” You smiled smugly. 

“Very funny.” He said flatly. You couldn’t tell if it was his normal dry humor or if he really didn’t like the joke. 

You giggled. “It was pretty funny, actually.” He watched as Kiddo doubled over in laughter before leaving the room. “Did you get it?” You asked him. “I know you got it.” You said to her. 

“Oh, I get it.” His voice echoed in a playful tone that gave your mind a little bit of ease. The two of you moved on to the next room looking for him only to find a set of stairs. At the top, you saw him in the distance gazing at something beyond the fence he was standing by. You walked closer to reveal his line of sight. It was a part of the brachiosaurus display. The dinosaur was so tall that its head reached the second floor. Without looking back at you, he spoke. “Kinda looks like a giraffe, don’t it?”

“It does.” You agreed softly. In that moment, you found it incredibly hard to be mad at him. 

The two of you were in Utah, just miles away from the hospital, from the Fireflies. You guys were inside this building, you couldn’t remember why anymore, but all of a sudden, you saw a giraffe staring at you through a window. A giraffe! You had to do a double take. What you did remember was Joel being upset that you didn’t respond to him when he asked if you were alright. You couldn’t help but be entranced by the colossal beast chewing on the leaves that grew alongside the building. You finally came to and asked him if he saw what you had. His eyes were full of astonishment the same way Kiddo’s were when she saw the T-Rex. He bravely approached the edge of the building, where the wall was no longer there, to pet it. He promised you that he would not scare it away and he kept his word. You remembered him telling you that it was alright as he motioned for you to join him. His large hand ghosted yours and guided it onto the giraffe's neck. It was the most intimate you had been with him. Your back was damn near pressed up against his chest as he continued to pet as well. Your eyes glanced at the sharp teeth of the dino and it made you think back to when the giraffe stuck out it’s tongue; it was so long. You laughed and looked back at him. He was smiling too, smiling at you, teeth and all. 

He finally looked back at you to read your face. He could tell you were reliving the same memory as he. Kiddo’s approaching footsteps attracted his attention to her. He took the hat off and placed it back on her head. She let it sit there for a moment before giving it back to him with a friendly smile. Without words, he thanked her. He let his hands roam over the material for a moment before gently tossing it onto the Brachiosaurus’ head. It landed perfectly. 

“I see the appeal.” His deep voice muttered.

[spicycreativity]

Howl- Ch. 3

Chapter: 3/10

Add'l Notes: Fic is posted in full on my AO3, WizardGlick

Chapter content warnings: Depictions of alcohol use

“Nothing,” Remus pronounced. His breath ghosted over Virgil’s ear and he shuddered, pulling away so he could look Remus in the face. Remus was still in his work clothes and he smelled, not wholly unpleasantly, of sweat and dirty water.

“Nothing?” Virgil ran his pointer fingers behind both ears, just barely resisting the urge to dig in with his nails and see for himself, dammit.

“I think you’d know if aliens had stuck a tracking chip in your head,” Remus said, his own fingers dancing across the countertop toward the basket of enamel pins by the register.

Virgil ran his fingertips across his temples, still feeling for something, some marking or scar. “But if it wasn’t aliens...”

“Far be it from me to be the voice of reason,” Remus said, “but are we sure you weren’t just sleepwalking? Or high on peyote?"

Virgil continued to track Remus' fingers as he stuck his hand in the basket. "If you steal anything, it comes out of my paycheck." Not strictly true, but it would make Remus pause.

"I wasn't gonna steal!" Remus exclaimed, holding up his hands. "But now I kinda want to."

"Please don't." Virgil sighed and put his face in his hands. He'd noticed a strange metallic taste in his mouth after waking up properly, and even the desperate mouthfuls of Monster he'd been forcing down his throat couldn't seem to touch it. It hadn't touched his exhaustion much, either. Whatever Virgil had been up to last night had not been a restful activity.

"Oh, c'mon, don't freak out." Remus' hand sat heavy on Virgil's shoulder, warming him through the thin fabric of his Baphomet t-shirt. "You were probably just sleepwalking. It happens all the time. Roman used to sleepwalk all over the place when we were kids. One time we even found him asleep in the yard. Naked, just like you."

Virgil peeked over his fingertips. "Really?" Remus was not the type to lie to make someone feel better, but this story seemed a little far-fetched.

"I swear," Remus said, eyes wide with childish solemnity.

The only customer in the store stepped up to pay, and Remus stepped aside to let Virgil deal with them. He made faces behind their back, contorted himself into absurdly sexual poses and stuck out his tongue and wiggled his hips like Elvis in his prime. Virgil pursed his lips to keep from laughing. It had been a hard decision to ask Remus for help with this, but Virgil was glad he had chosen him.

Patton was a big softie and nearly as prone to panic as Virgil was. If he didn't escalate Virgil's paranoia about aliens then he would probably end up pressuring Virgil to make a police report. A useless endeavor, since no crime had actually occurred as far as Virgil knew. Roman and Janus would just make fun of him for being a tin foil hat-wearing loony. And Logan… Well. He might judge. He might not. But Virgil didn't want to look stupid in front of him. Not to mention that Logan would ask questions, force Virgil to face something he wasn't ready to face.

So Remus it was.

"Thank you," Virgil said when the customer had left and Remus had stopped gyrating his hips. "I know I'm being dumb and it was probably nothing."

"Janus isn't here right now," Remus said, pouring out the basket of enamel pins. They scattered and clicked across the countertop. "But if he was, I think he'd say--" Remus shifted his weight and crossed his arms, "'Now what did we say about negative self talk?'"

Virgil chose not to remind Remus that Bienvenue was only a few blocks away and he could easily go get Janus if he wanted. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I know it wasn't aliens."

"But if it was peyote, you do have to share," Remus said, his attention already back on the pins. He poked through them with one dirty fingertip.

Virgil watched for a moment, then joined in, turning the pins to face Remus so he could get a good look at them. Remus seemed particularly fixated on one shaped like a death's head moth. "That one's six dollars."

Remus braced his elbows on the counter and clasped his hands under his chin, lashes aflutter. "You know how you could repay me for checking your skull for alien trackers?"

Virgil nearly reached for his wallet before he realized what Remus was actually getting at. He sighed, biting back his smile all the while, and made a show of turning to inspect the rotating sticker display. "Uh-oh," he said in an exaggerated monotone. "I'd better make sure all the stickers are properly organized. Gee, I sure hope no one shoplifts while I'm doing that."

There was a brief moment of silence. It was broken when Remus, presumably done pocketing the pin, said, "So bowling night?"

"Huh?" said Virgil, trying to find the dirty joke. Maybe something about balls?

Remus pulled his phone out of the pocket of his work pants and shook it at Virgil. "Pastor Patton's little group bonding venture?"

"Don't call him that," Virgil muttered, digging his phone out of his pocket. Sure enough, of the messages he'd been ignoring all morning, one was a new group chat. He read through the messages. "How did Patton get your number?"

"Roman gave it to him."

"How'd he get Janus' number?"

Remus grinned. "I gave it to him. No way am I suffering through some corny adult bonding shit without backup."

"Am I not backup?" Virgil asked, unsure whether he should be offended.

"You can't be backup," Remus said dismissively. "You're the bridge. You forced me 'n' Roman to reunite, you made us all hang out. You're the bridge. You won't be as mean as I need you to be."

"I'm mean!" Virgil said. "I'm so mean!"

"Say something bitchy about Patton right now. Quickly!" Remus began to snap his fingers.

"Um," said Virgil. "Uh. Sometimes-- Well, sometimes he can be kinda… Smother-y?"

"Oh, please." Remus rolled his eyes. "That was almost healthy communication."

"Fine." Virgil crossed his arms over his chest.

Remus let him pretend to be upset for roughly three seconds. "But you are coming, right? Or are you gonna spend the night playing with Data's joystick?"

Virgil's cheeks went hot. "Of course I'm com--" He paused and reconsidered his choice of words. "Of course I'll be there. And Logan will, too."

"Wonder if I can start a betting pool," Remus said thoughtfully.

The bells on the door tinkled and Virgil leaned over to see past Remus. "Hi, welcome in," he said in his best customer service voice, which wasn't very good. "Let me know if I can help you find anything."

"Just browsing."

"Alright."

"Well," said Remus, affixing the moth pin to his hi-vis vest. "See you tonight?"

"Yeah," said Virgil. "Please be nice to Patton."

Remus winked and started to back out. "Sorry! Hazing is mandatory."

He slipped out the door, leaving Virgil to marinate in his anxiety.

--

Although he was exhausted, Virgil went for a short walk after work. He wandered by Bienvenue and stared at the fancy suits in the window and wondered how Janus always had the audacity to dress like he was attending a funeral at a high-end night club. His feet took him forward and he smiled a little. If there was one thing Janus had in abundance, it was audacity.

He stopped again by the reflecting pool at the Plaza and read the plaque. It had very little information and devoted barely half a sentence to the supposed curse. A shiver ran down Virgil's spine. He took a deep breath and carefully did not panic. As Logan would say, he shouldn't jump to conclusions. He needed more data.

Virgil didn't want more data. He would happily chalk his misadventure up to sleepwalking and banish it forcefully to his subconscious, if only it would never, ever happen again. He shivered again despite the balmy weather and muffled a yawn behind his hand. Time to go home and get whatever sleep he could before the inevitable disaster of bowling night.

He managed to get home without hitting any potholes. Whatever stormy weather had threatened Vaillant earlier in the week seemed to have passed, and he was treated to a spectacular view of a great blue heron flying low over the road. He even managed a few hours of sleep before he had to wake up and get ready.

He chose his outfit with care, scrutinizing it through Logan's eyes. What would Logan like? What did Logan like? Virgil had no idea about his preference in men or how he slotted into it.  Was it his height? His body shape? His eyes? What should he play up to make Logan like him? So Logan wouldn't regret choosing to be with him?

He dithered over this until he made himself late, and chose an outfit that he felt good in: long sleeves, long pants, the reassuring weight of his hoodie on his shoulders.

He kept it zipped up to his neck even after he entered the warmth and light of Vaillant's singular bowling alley, Gator Lanes. His friends were already seated. Waiting. For him.

Despite the wash of guilt, Virgil slowed and surveyed the scene. Patton and Logan sat on one of the low, pleather couches with a pair of bowling shoes between them. That left Roman, Remus, and Janus wedged on the other couch. They all looked like they were getting along, which was good. Roman and Remus were speed-eating French fries while the others talked.

Virgil approached from the back, gesturing for Patton and Logan to be quiet. He didn't miss the way Logan's eyes lit up; it sent a pleasant little rush of adrenaline all through his veins. When he was close enough, he leaned over and stole the pineapple off the rim of Janus' hurricane glass. It was dyed red from grenadine and tasted vaguely of rum.

"It's fine," said Janus, casually flipping Virgil the bird. "I wasn't saving that or anything."

"Guess you'll have to get another one," Remus said.

They started bickering about how drunk was too drunk for bowling night, so Virgil came around to Patton and Logan's side of the table. He kissed Logan hello while Patton explained about the shoes: "They were out of your size, so I got a size down instead of up, because I know you wear those really thin socks and I didn't want you to slip."

"Thanks, Pat," Virgil said. His hand found Logan's, somehow, and he smiled. "I wouldn't have put that much thought into it."

"That's why you have me!"

"Can we start now?" Roman asked, wiggling in place.

Patton stood up to fiddle with the control, and Virgil forced himself to nuzzle Logan's jawline with his nose. He wanted to do it, but the idea of being witnessed while he did so made his skin crawl.

Logan turned his head so they were nose-to-nose and smiled before pulling away. "Do you want me to order you a drink? We were going to, but we weren't sure what you'd want."

Roman threw a straw wrapper at them. "We're just about to start!"

"You're up second, too," Patton said cheerfully, flopping back down on the couch. "I put us in alphabetical order."

"I'll go, then," Virgil said. He squeezed Logan's hand and let go of it, stood.

"Don't forget to put your bowling shoes on," Janus said, eying Virgil's ratty leather ankle boots. Janus himself had somehow done the impossible and matched the colors of his suit to the dull red and blue of Gator Lanes' bowling shoes, making his whole outfit look deliberately tacky.

"When I get back."

"I'll go with you!" Roman got to his feet. "I already know I'm gonna lose. What's one more drink?"

"That's the spirit!" Remus said.

"Ha," said Patton, "I get it."

They turned to go, Roman bumping Virgil with his hip to prompt him forward. "So you and Logan, huh?" he said once they were out of earshot. "How's that going?"

"Fine," Virgil said, feeling the blush crawl onto his face. It was a short walk to the bar, but it suddenly seemed like miles and miles.

"You sure keep things close to your chest, don't you? Didn't say a word to me." Roman crossed his arms and looked sideways at him.

"I didn't think I had a chance!" Virgil exclaimed. "Wait. Did he say something to you?"

Roman winked at him, shushed him, and bellied up to the bar so he could order. Virgil hung back, one hand on his wallet, but Roman waved a hand. "Janus has a tab going," he said, turning back to Virgil.

"Does Janus know he has a tab going?" Virgil asked.

"Uh, yeah, it's not like I stole his card."

"It's not you I'm worried about," Virgil said, thinking of Remus and the moth pin.

"Ugh, you worry too much."

"This shouldn't be news to you, Roman, I have 'Worry Too Much' Disorder." Virgil flicked at his zipper pull. "Wait, so did Logan say anything to you?"

Roman smiled, even laughed a little. "Uh, yeah, he practically asked me and Patton for permission to ask you out. He made us promise not to tell you. Honestly, it was kinda cute how nervous he was."

"Nervous?" Virgil repeated. It was obvious now, but it hadn't occurred to him that Logan had lost just as much sleep over Virgil as Virgil had over him.

A harried-looking bartender popped up behind Roman, slid their drinks over, and vanished again practically before Virgil could force out a 'thank you.' Roman passed him his vodka Red Bull. "Let's go."

"Alright." Virgil sighed. It was probably better not to try to wring the details out of Roman, especially since he'd said that Logan had told him not to tell.

They reached their lane and he  scooted in next to Logan, snuggling up a lot closer than was necessary, especially given that Patton was currently up to bowl. "Welcome back," Logan said.

Virgil set his drink on the table and began to change his shoes over. "Having fun yet?" he asked Janus. He was still a little resentful that Remus and Janus didn't think he could be mean anymore. Just because he didn't want to shit-talk Patton behind his back. Sure, Remus had been the one to say it, but Virgil had no doubt the sentiment originated with Janus.

"Sure, I guess there's a sort of primal thrill in hurling a 14-pound ball at a target," Janus said primly.

"10 pounds," Logan said.

Virgil bit down on his lip to hide his smile.

"I'm sorry?" Janus tilted his head.

Logan gestured at the bright yellow ball sitting in the ball return. "10 pounds, not 14." Patton's ball came back, followed shortly thereafter by Patton. "16 pounds," Logan said.

"Pat's strong," Virgil said, elbowing Patton as he sat down. Janus bit down on an ice cube. "By the way," said Virgil, feeling a spark of pure evil manifest inside himself. "Have you guys made cutting boards yet?" To Janus, he said, "It's kind of a tradition."

"I'd heard," Janus said, shooting him a covert dirty look.

Virgil smiled at him and turned to Patton. "Janus would rather die than say so, but I can tell he's excited."

"Oh, good!" Patton said. To Janus, he said "I was actually a little worried you wouldn't want to do it."

Virgil's killing strike was delayed slightly by Remus' reappearance and Roman's subsequent disappearance, and he knew he had to act quickly or Janus would wiggle out of it when Virgil was taking his turn. Remus finally sat and stopped crowing about his spare, which no one had witnessed. Virgil pounced. "Bienvenue is closed on Sundays, isn't it?" he said to Janus, as though the shop hadn't kept the same hours for years. "Maybe you guys could do it then."

"The weather should be clear, too," Logan chimed in. Virgil looked at him, trying to gauge if he had picked up on the game, but his face gave nothing away.

"Works for me!" Patton said. "I'm putting the finishing touches on a coffee table for somebody down south, but I can make time on Sunday."

"Great," said Janus with a plastic smile Virgil knew he usually reserved for difficult customers. The daggers in his eyes promised a thorough bitching-out later, but Virgil didn't even care. So he wasn't mean anymore, hm?

"All you," said Roman, tapping Virgil on the shoulder.

Virgil nodded and took a long swallow of his vodka Red Bull. It was stupid, but walking up to bowl always felt like walking out on stage. He knew full well none of his friends were paying attention and even if they were, their friendly teasing was nothing to worry about. They knew when to stop. But still, his heart quivered as he approached the lane. By sheer luck, he managed not to get a gutter ball, then turned and hovered awkwardly as he waited for his ball to come back.

Logan caught his eye and winked at him, not even pausing in his explanation of the physics of bowling. Virgil smiled back, and suddenly everything seemed that much lighter, that much more bearable. He really had to stop worrying so much.

[radishaur]

some zuko fluff pls :)

Zuko fluff coming your way! I hope this is new and creative! :)

•••

Secret Tunnel (Zuko x Reader)

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

Part: 1/1

Summary: Zuko and you get lost traveling through the Earth Kingdom and stumble upon the Secret Tunnel

•••

“Zuko, I don’t think this is a good idea,” you said, your nerves getting the better of you as you stood at the entrance to the mountain.

“This is the fastest way! I’m not going all the way around when there’s a path right here!” he argued, his forehead wrinkled and eyebrows knit.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” you asked him indignatly, your arms crossed as you glared up at him.

He glared back at you, his eyes melting into your own as he stayed silent, the tension thick between the two of you. You guys had been traveling aimlessly and it was his reckless wandering that had gotten you lost in the first place.

“Do you have a better idea?” he snapped.

“Not going through the dangerous tunnel!” you retorted, your fists clenching and your face growing red from anger.

Zuko rolled his eyes at you and huffed before pouting. He crossed his arms over his chest and turned to look away from you. You scoffed at this; his ability to act like a toddler never failed to surprise you.

“I think you’re just scared.”

“What?”

“You heard me!”

“Why you-“

The sound of scuffling caught your attention and you stopped talking to look into the forest. You gasped, recognizing the signature red suits from miles away. Without another thought, you grabbed Zuko’s arm and booked it towards the opening.

You began wondering why Fire Nation soldiers were this far into the Earth Kingdom. Surely they wouldn’t risk being this close to Omashu? Then again, you really had no idea. It seemed that day after day the Fire Nation became more rash and entitled.

You heard Zuko begin to protest but shushed him quickly, throwing both of you into the dark shadows of the tunnel. You peered out and saw three Fire Nation soldiers looking around for travelers. You let out the breath you had been holding and relaxed, leaning against the cave walls as you calmed your heartbeat.

“Great. Now thanks to your yelling we have soldiers looking for us,” Zuko grumbled as he tugged his arm out of your grip.

“My yelling?” you asked in disbelief.

You two began to bicker when suddenly the ground began to rumble. Out of instinct, you grabbed right back onto Zuko’s arm to steady yourself. This time he didn’t seem to mind, instead pulling you closer as the two of you tried desperately to figure out what was going on.

Just as you were about to run back out of the tunnel’s entrance, the rocks above it came crashing down, sealing both of you inside. Your stomach dropped immediately. Zuko lit a small fire in his palm to light the place up.

“Oh no. We’re gonna die in here!” you exclaimed, still not letting go of Zuko’s arm.

“Who’s fault is that? I believe it was you who dragged us in here,” Zuko said dryly.

You ripped your arm from his and turned to glare at him.

“YOU WERE THE ONE WHO WANTED TO GO THIS WAY FIRST!”

This was going to be a long day. The two of you walked around in the tunnel for what felt like hours, and probably was. Your legs began to ache and Zuko’s willful determination was beginning to turn into impatient anger.

Eventually, you began to realize that you were going in circles. You kept seeing the same rock structures and the same cracks running up the walls. You groaned, deciding to take a break and sit down.

“We’re never going to get out of here, are we?” you asked numbly, all hope of getting out having disappeared a long time ago.

“We have to. I still have a destiny to fulfill,” Zuko said back.

You rolled your eyes. Zuko and his stupid destiny. Even after failing so many times and becoming a traitor to his own nation, he was still blindly following a path that his father set for him. When would he stop to realize that the people who actually cared about him were right in front of him?

You and Uncle Iroh had been by his side since the first day of his banishment and yet even after three years he couldn’t see it. He was too focused on restoring something that, in your eyes, he had never lost. Honor isn’t something that can be taken, it’s something that you loose on your own.

You sighed, getting back up to your feet and prepared yourself mentally for another 3 hours of mindless walking. Zuko seemed lost in his own thoughts as well, but snapped out of it when he felt me staring. He cocked his eyebrow at me and I waved him off.

“Let’s keep walking,” I sighed.

“Let’s go right this time,” Zuko suggested.

The two of you walked side by side once more as you tried once again to find your way out. You could feel the warmth from the fire lapping at your skin as the time passed. You could tell it was beginning to get late and you would bet that the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon outside.

You shoved those thoughts away when you realized that this was a part of the tunnel you hadn’t been to yet. There was a huge circle opening in the wall that looked like it lead into a ginormous room. Zuko also noticed it and the both of you walked over to the opening to peer inside.

“What is this place?” you asked curiously, taking in all the details you could.

“I don’t know, but it can’t hurt to look,” he said, taking a few steps into the room.

You were more hesitant to follow, afraid that the door would close and you two would we sealed away forever, but eventually you followed after him. Your eyes roamed the area and began taking in all the details. What caught your eye the most was the huge circle in the middle of the room.

“It’s a tomb,” Zuko said in surprise.

You took a closer look and realized that Zuko was right. You also saw little panels that covered the walls of the tomb. Taking a closer look, it seemed like they were telling a story.

“I think these pictures tell a story,” you said, waving Zuko over to take a look.

Begrudgingly, he moved closer and looked at the pictures. You began to read them out loud for both of you, walking slowly along around the tomb to continue reading. Zuko followed after you, keeping a few inches apart.

“Isn’t there a song about this?” you asked, taking a pause from reading.

“Do I look like I would be able to answer that?” Zuko asked in exasperation and annoyance.

You rolled your eyes and continued reading. The story was beautiful but incredibly sad as well. The very first earthbenders, using their powers for love. When you finished reading, you turned around to face the two statues of Oma and Shu with a small smile. You read the plaque that was placed between them quietly.

“Love is brightest in the dark,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“This seems like a load of crap to me,” Zuko huffed, effectively ruining your happy moment.

“What would you even know about love? All you love is your stupid honor and capturing a 12 year old boy,” you spat angrily, turning away from him and walking back up the stairs to the enteryway.

Zuko was shouting behind you, but you paid little attention to him. All you could feel was the cracking of your heart as you realized you were in love with a lost cause; someone who would never love you back.

You continued stomping through the tunnel with Zuko angrily running after you. You finally stopped walking and turned to face him when you realized that you wouldn’t be able to get out of there alone.

“What is your problem?” Zuko yelled heatedly as he approached you.

You could see the orange glow from the fire in his palm flickering across his face, highlighting every wrinkle and twitch of his eye. You normally would have laughed at how stupidly handsome he still looked, but right now when you looked at him all you felt was anger.

“Why do you have to be so negative all the time!?” you accused him, shoving your finger into his chest.

Your outburst caught him by surprise and he stumbled back slightly before catching himself. He glared at you as the fire in his hand grew slightly.

“What do I have to be happy about?! I’m a banished, dishonored prince who’s been sent on what everybody thought was a wild goose chase for three years!” he yelled, his anger finally tipping over the brink as he added, “Besides, why are you so happy all the time? I wish you weren’t so happy all the time.”

His words struck you like a knife and before you could even register what was happening, you were shouting back at him.

“You want me to be more negative? Fine! I hate my life and more importantly I hate you! I hate the way you walk all over your Uncle and I. I hate the way you’re so devoted to someone who doesn’t care about you. I hate the way your eyes glaze over with rage when someone even so much as mentions the Avatar. I hate everything! I hate it!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, hot angry tears streaming down your face as you choked on your words, “I hate...I hate...”

You let your legs give out as you crumbled to the floor on your knees. You cried like you hadn’t cried in years, finally letting go of all your pent up emotions. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at Zuko as you finally managed to force out your last sentence.

“But most of all, I hate myself. I hate myself for allowing myself to love someone who couldn’t care less about me.”

You used your left hand to steady yourself on the ground and your right hand covered your mouth to muffle your sobs. You vaguely heard Zuko shuffling in front of you and barely registered when he kneeled down across from you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t...I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” you heard him say.

You wiped away your tears and looked up at him. You met his eyes and saw something in them that you hadn’t seen in a long time. It was almost unrecognizable to you, seeming so out of character for him.

“I really care about you. I know that...well, that I should have done more to show you, but it’s true. You’re so important to me and you do make me happy. I just got so wrapped up in capturing the Avatar that I began pushing you away,” he said softly, his regret evident in the way he spoke.

“I know. It was selfish and rude and hurtful.”

“I know. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so so sorry.”

“...It’s...I forgive you.”

As your words hung in the air, you couldn’t help but notice how close he was. His knees were brushing yours and your faces were a mere few inches apart. You couldn’t stop your breath from hitching as he took your hand into his. You saw him open his mouth to speak before shutting it once more. Finally after a few more seconds, he tried again.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asked, pausing slightly before clarifying, “That you love me?”

You could hear the hesitation in his voice as he spoke. You couldn’t stop the small pink blush that creeped onto your cheeks. You used your free hand to wipe at some stray tears before meeting his eyes. You took a deep breath before answering.

“Yea. I did.”

Something in Zuko’s eyes changed in that moment. It was quick and almost unnoticeable, but it was there. You held your breath and shut your eyes as you waited for him to reject you, but it never came. Instead you felt a hand cup your cheek and then a brush of lips.

It was soft, almost timid at first, but when you didn’t shove him away, it became more present. His lips were warm and slightly chapped from going without water all day, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You kissed back just as passionately and found yourself grabbing onto his neck, gripping onto him like he might disappear when you opened your eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips.

The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine. It was everything you had been waiting to hear and more. When the two of you finally broke apart, your foreheads were still pressed together.

Zuko’s thumb was rubbing soft circles into your hand and his other hand was still holding onto your cheek. You sighed happily before realizing that there was still light in the tunnel. Both of Zuko’s hand’s were occupied, which meant that he couldn’t have been producing it.

You cracked your eyes open and gasped in awe. All along the tunnel’s ceiling was these beautiful green and blue crystals. They were glowing brightly and were casting a soft glow around the two of you.

“Zuko, look,” you said breathlessly, your eyes never once leaving the ceiling.

“Love is brightest in the dark,” Zuko whispered.

The two of you eventually did manage to find your way out of the cave. Holding hands, you simply followed the trail of crystals until you made your way out. The stars were shining bright and the moon was high in the sky but neither of you could care.

You were both alive and safe and happy. You two had finally even figured out your feelings for eachother.

Perhaps running into the tunnel wasn’t so bad after all, you decided. You two had trusted in love and were better for it.

[fivenightslaughter]

Wicked Serpentine (Part 3)

pairing: draco malfoy x femravenclaw!oc

summary: slowburn enemies to lovers fic, multiple parts. <3

warnings: use of m*dblood, bad parents, swearing

word count: 2,882

taglist: let me know if you’re interested in being added!

We had taken boats to the towering school. It was admittedly even more grand from the inside, which was almost shocking. I was led forward by just “Hagrid” as I noticed others had called him, along with a straggle of first years. I felt out of place amongst them, rightfully so.

We arrived upon large doors into an even bigger hall, abustle with candor and joy, as well as the welcoming scent of food. A woman in a rather large hat stood, gently moving us apart into a more organized group. I could feel a few eyes on me but tried my hardest to ignore them. Not much was spoken, except for a few welcoming words from her and a large, white-bearded man.

I’d heard about this next part from brief conversations between first years on the boat, and I feared it. I feared how little I knew and what my “sorting” would tell of my personality. My body felt frozen in time as it had before I willed myself to leave the train. Would this feeling ever go away?

I breathed slowly, painfully, awaiting my turn as I watched small children walk up to a chair near the front middle of the room. Did this really have to be such a spectacle? I heard my name and nearly choked on my own spit.

“Eris Woodwork!” It was the woman who had spoken when we entered the hall, beckoning me to the front. I heard faint snickering that sounded unpleasantly familiar. It was for the better, though. I now felt my resolve steel a bit, sure that regardless of wherever I ended up, I wanted to be nowhere near that impudent blond boy and his lackeys.

I sat in the chair, my back finally no longer to what now seemed to be a still and curious audience. I’m sure there were a myriad of questions, one of them I recall I heard murmured as I stood with the first years a moment before. It was simply “where did she come from?”

Blond caught my eye now that I faced the full hall, and I noticed him sitting among a table of green. I silently pleaded to the brown burlap hat in the woman’s hands to put me anywhere but there. I didn’t even like the color green.

For a moment, I heard nothing but blood and my heartbeat in my ears as I replayed that request over in my mind, willing the hat to hear my thoughts.

I was shocked out of my deep concentration as the hat now waited restlessly atop my head, sounds of decision coming from it, when finally it perked up, shouting a resounding,

“RAVENCLAW!”

I felt my heart swell with pride, telling myself it was my skills of mental pleading that had won me a good house.

A long table of students cheered, dressed with some sort of blue, minus the first years in inconspicuously black robes. I breathed a sigh of relief and hopped down from the chair. I scurried over to the table, quicker than I’d meant to. Snapping back to reality, I had noticed Luna at the table as well. What I hadn’t noticed before was her dark blue and white striped tie on the train.

I sat immediately next to her, glad I wasn’t a completely aimless fool. Thankfully, I was the last to be sorted and now came food. My stomach gave a growl and I remembered I hadn’t eaten since the day previous due to sheer nerves.

The food was hot and extravagant and there was much more than I’d guess there would be for a hall of teens. The tensity in my muscles had eased as I ate, hearing forks clink and amicable conversations around me. For the first time since I had learned of magic, I finally felt joy. Pure, unbridled joy. I was sorted like a real wizard and I was eating and laughing among them. I was meant to be here, “mud blood” or not.

It was quite late into the night, although hard to tell with the hundreds of lit candles that floated in the dining hall. It was lit brightly, but the night’s darkness still crept up the glass windows. Eating and talking had slowed as people had their fill of fun and socialization. Tiredness creeped the same as the darkness did, but I’m sure it was due to a homely feeling rather than exhaustion.

I glanced at Luna, a weird set of glasses perched on her head and her face trained on the same upside-down magazine I’d seen her with earlier. Without even looking up at me, she traced her fingers on the cover and spoke.

“You’d like to see the rooms.” She spoke dreamily, her voice always seemed thick with distraction, despite being more focused than anyone I’d seen so far. I nodded and she stood, floating off in the direction of the door we had entered through. I felt a few glances in our direction, but not more than few. Besides, something told me that they weren’t exactly looking at me, as Luna seemed to be even more peculiar than my presence was.

We walked through the lonely halls, lit by torches and candles and I prayed I could remember this path for later. We arrived at a door and she swiftly turned to me. Her eyes seemed less ghostly in this darkness as she spoke.

“The other houses have passwords… But here, you’ve got to answer a question,” she was ready to continue but I immediately halted her.

“What if you get it wrong?”

She waited a beat before turning to the raven knocker.

“Well, you have to wait for somebody who gets it right,” She said. “That way you learn, you see?”

She rapped on the door, startling me as the noise bounced and echoed off the walls.

A soft, musical voice escaped the knocker in a question, a riddle.

“Which came first, the phoenix or the flame?”

Luna paused thoughtfully, turning to me.

“Would you like to answer?”

I shook my head quickly, panning through possible solutions in my mind. I wasn’t sure, but I waited for Luna, as I’m sure she had something bubbling in that eccentric mind of hers.

She hummed to herself for a few seconds before she parted her lips, glancing up at the large beams leading to the high, vaulted ceiling.

"I think the answer is that a circle has no beginning."

The door creaked open and a smile lightly painted my face. She was truly an enigma, in the best ways.

I took in the beautiful common room, blue and white splayed everywhere. The ceilings were just as high but instead of bareness, they were lined with volumes of books. There were stairs leading up to a floor that wrapped around the room, overlooking down inside. There were more shelves of books and beautifully grand windows, the stars twinkling softly against the glass panes. There were dark blue velveteen chairs and soft looking blue carpet of the same material, large oak tables with lit lanterns illuminating the space. A lit fireplace could be seen on the far side of the room, crackling quietly.

My own eyes couldn’t do the beauty of the space justice, really.

A marble statue of a beautiful woman appeared to tenderly gaze through the window at the stars, as if she could see them at this very moment the same way I could. A plaque at the bottom read, “Rowena Ravenclaw”. She must have been as important as she was beautiful and regal.

Luna waited patiently as I absorbed the huge space, her face resting in a dazed smile. I was sure it was impossible for her to frown. When it was clear I soaked up as much as I could for now, she began to walk towards a set of large, dark blue drapes on the left of the room. Opening them to allow me through, there was a set of stairs that led upwards in a spiral. I slowly began to ascend, trailing my fingers on the rough stone of the walls.

I faintly heard Luna’s retreating footsteps, as it seemed she wasn’t ready to sleep just yet. Or rather she was giving me space to relax and get to know the castle on my own.

I finally came to a door and pushed it open quietly, wondering if anyone else had come to bed already. I stepped through the doorway and quietly gasped to myself, again marveling at the intricacy of my new living space. This room did well to mimic the grandiosity of the common room below, with watery blues and soft whites. The room was circular with three four-poster beds with sky blue silk eiderdowns and blue curtains. The deep blue of the room was cool and elegant looking. It struck me with the same regality as the statue of Rowena.

The four poster beds had two shelves at the back of the bed, an owl perch on one side, a small carpet next to the bed and a wooden nightstand at the end. There was a wooden table in the centre of the room with a stack of books with an hourglass on top of them, an open book with a Self-Writing Quill, parchments and a plant in a flower pot on it.

In the dim light of the room, I recognized my trunk that one of the Weasley twins had loaded onto the train. I felt my mouth go dry as I realized I had lost track of it without even realizing until now. I squeezed my eyes shut, grateful my stupidity hadn’t had any real consequence this time. Opening them, I started towards it. It lay at the end of one of the beds, neatly and unopened.

I continued to eye over each of the beds. A blue upholstered armchair much like the ones in the common room sat on one side of each, near the nightstand and the windows that wrapped symmetrically around the room.

I lifted my case unto my bed, pausing as my body nearly melted into the soft blue downs. My hands rested on the cold metal of the latches on each side for a few seconds before I flipped them up, their simultaneous clicks nearly making me flinch as I finally realized how quiet this room really was, aside from the light wind rubbing the windows.

I pushed the top open, sitting cross legged in front of the only belongings I now owned.

My parents hadn’t been supportive or helpful except for vague locations. Places they sent me off to alone, too afraid to assist their daughter into the world they tried so painstakingly to escape from. Much like King’s Cross, they had given me a general location; A pub called the “Leaky Cauldron”. I had found myself at another dead end before the barkeep had assisted me, noticing me the same way the two Weasley boys had. I had wondered if it was magical ability that allowed them to do that, or if ‘hopelessly lost’ was just written on me at all times. He led me through a very sketchy backroom that led somewhere that shouldn’t have been possible. And he called it, “Diagon Alley”.

I tried to snap back to the present, looking into my folded clothes. I fished through them for a slender stick that scared me to hold more than I’d like to admit.

I found the memory I’d pushed away taking over my brain, now that I finally had time to sit down and mull.

Just days ago, my parents were frantic. They were afraid, more than I’d ever seen them. They were apprehensive and suddenly, they were cruel. I tried to convince myself that they tried to push me out of their minds so it’d hurt less if I met the same unfortunate fate as whoever they had known years ago.

Attempting to discuss the letter I’d received from an owl set them on edge. They were jumpy and antsy and snipped at every question I had. I’d gotten so fed up at going without answers that during one of their arguments in their room about me, one of the many that permeated the thin walls of our house, I snapped. I had knocked on their door and before my knuckles could rap the door a third time, it swung open.

Much to the surprise of all three of us as they sat on either side of their bed, nowhere near where I stood. There sat a box between them but it didn’t catch my attention nearly as much as the now self-autonomous door. They shared a look and my father pursed his lips. My mother had begun to wring her hands in her lap. Their argument had ceased with my arrival.

My heart was fluttering in my chest as I spoke softly, my anger dissipating into confusion. “Did I do that?”

My mom looked up at me, her face akin to petrified stone. My father’s face hinted at an angry redness as he began.

“Magic doesn’t exist, Eris. We ought to cart you off to a fucking loony bin, you know that? You’ve become a crazy little girl. Owls and magic school? Wands? “Robes”? Have you completely fucking lost it? Do you need to be medicated?”

I saw tears well in my mother’s eyes as she looked back down at her hands in her lap. I hadn’t expected the harshness of his voice. He’d never swore at me until this very moment.

Looking to him, a pit of fire erupted in my stomach, spreading in winding tendrils up through my ribcage and finally wrapping around my heart. My face felt red and hot as if I were fighting off tears. How could he speak to me like that? Where did my loving father go? I felt like everything was spinning and yet completely still. I had closed my eyes without even realizing it, the sound of my blood rushing to my head was the only sound in my mind.

My eyes snapped open when I felt an unsteady shake beneath my feet and I’d realized the whole house was wrecked and shivering. Lights, shattered and broken, things had tossed themselves from the shelves. The curtains windblown to the floor, despite the closed windows. The very foundation of the house was shaking and my parents could only gape at me in fear. I knew this time, from the waning pit inside me that I really had done this. I knew from their faces they could no longer deny that they knew it too.

My mom gingerly reached for the box on the bed. Slowly, as if she might alarm a wild animal. I felt her fearful and scrutinizing gaze as she picked it up and rose just just as slowly. My father’s hand shot out and gripped her wrist, his eyebrows drawn in concentration. She pulled herself away from him, easier than I’d expected.

“Eris, please just… Take this. And go. Your father and I have much to discuss, okay?” She crossed the room towards me and tentatively placed the box in my hands. I backed up, outside of the threshold of their door unintentionally, my legs nearly buckling backwards. My mother had slowly closed the door and I heard the lock click gently.

The only thing that had snapped me out of my daze was feeling the wall against my back and the box in my hands. I rushed to my room with a sudden determination. I palmed through it on my bed, finding a few curious things. Little gold coins and some weird letters from someone named “Lily”. They were insanely old and written on such yellowed paper it was a wonder it didn’t crumble at her touch.

They read like a schoolgirl conversing with her best friend, written in a rather mature cursive.

“Dear Amelia,

It’s wonderful! It’s all so beautiful here! Things float and soar and it’s such a vast world of color! I bought a wand from this little shop called ‘Ollivander’s’ and it’s breathtaking- can you believe it? A wand of my very own. It only cost seven galleons. That’s what they buy things with-they’ve got a completely different currency here, Mel. I’ll include twenty with this letter, so you can see them for yourself. Maybe even treat yourself to a visit to Diagon Alley sometime. I have my very own owl now, too, and no doubt he’ll be how you receive your letters from me from here on out. I can’t wait to see you again. Lily”.

I let my fingers travel over the edges and designs of the gold coins. Galleons.

The other letters had detailed Lily’s travel to King’s Cross and to the platform, as well as to the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley. These letters from Lily to my mother would serve to be my only guidance for what I should do next. I’d follow in her very footsteps as best as I could.

One thing I chose to ignore in the box was the bone-white parchment in the bottom of the box, one addressed solemnly to my mother containing the details of one "Lily" Potter and her untimely death.

[sammiexwtf]

DIO Sounds About Right

Hi please enjoy my shitty JJBA fic (You can find it on AO3 and Wattpad with the same name) NSFW

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“Giorno I am so sorry that you haven’t been on good terms with your father practically since your birth, but I am NOT failing this project just because you want to avoid him,” You huffed. The blonde man on your phone screen shot you an annoyed look, which most likely mirrored the one on your own face.

“I don’t know why you’re so damn adamant on staying at my house to finish this project Y/N. I’ve already stayed over at your place countless of times and as a plus you’re closer to the library, we could just walk over when we need to,” Giorno let out a deep sigh as he leaned against his bed frame. “You know how I get when he’s around and since his business trip was cancelled he’ll be here for the whole weekend.”

“Look Gio, I know you try and avoid him as much as possible and I’m not clueless about your feelings towards him,” you mumbled with a small frown. “It’s just that my roommate is planning on using the apartment for one of her ridiculous parties and we’re not going to have any peace for our work if you come over here. Besides, even if your dad is going to be home all weekend you always tell me he locks himself in his study, so it’s not like we’re going to be graced with his presence anyways.”

“Still it’s just the simple thought of being under the same roof as him that’s bothering me. Plus, I don’t think you’ve even met my dad, so you wouldn’t really understand why I’m so against it.”

“You make it sound like he’s some sort of monster, maybe we should start calling him Count Dracula or something.” Your friend snorted at your stupid joke, trying to hide his smile by turning his face away from the screen.”Either way you won’t be completely alone with him if I’m there, and I know you wouldn’t be able to put up with a bunch of drunk college girls trying to get you into their panties.” At your last remark the blonde made a look of disgust and knew that you basically won the argument. If there was one thing that bothered Giorno the most, it was those self proclaimed ‘fans’ of his that were scattered throughout the university that you both attended, your roommate being one of them. Trying to avoid their affections while they were drunk would cause him even more displeasure than usual.

“Fine then. I’ll text you the address.” You couldn’t hide your excitement as you jumped out of bed to start packing your bag. This would be the first time going over to Giorno’s house since you’ve met him, and you weren’t going to waste any time if he decided to change his mind last minute.

“Alright I’ll see you soon then. Bye Giogio!”

“I told you not to call me that!” You playfully stuck your tongue out at the blonde before ending the FaceTime call to finish packing.

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You couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed at the enormous house before you, flicking your head back and forth between the address Giorno had sent to you and the one plated in gold above the large double set doors. You even asked the boy more than once if he sent you the wrong address by mistake, earning you a barrage of middle finger emojis and obscenities at having to repeat himself over and over. Gingerly you lifted your hand to the doorbell and rang it, hearing the chime as clear as day echo inside. Your eyes shifted above the doorbell and noticed a plaque with the name ‘Brando’ etched across it. The sound of one of the doors opening gained your attention once more as a gorgeous young woman stepped out from them. She was wearing what looked to be a tight fitting maid’s uniform, with long brown hair swept to the side and cascading down one of her shoulders.

“Welcome to the Brando residence,” She said with a polite smile. “How can I help you Miss?”

‘Brando residence?” You thought to yourself. ‘I thought Giorno’s last name was Giovanna?’

“Uh hi...I’m looking for Giorno? I’m not sure if I’m at the right address.” The young woman perked up at Giorno’s name and stepped aside, holding the door open with a warm smile.

“You must be Y/N! Please come inside, Mr.Giovanna is indeed expecting you tonight!” At the confirmation you let out a breath of relief before stepping through the threshold, only to stop at the sight of the marble staircase before you. The house was far from being considered a mansion, but nonetheless did it look like something straight off of one of those celebrity reality shows. You jumped at the sound of the large door closing behind you, forgetting momentarily about the girl as she quickly made her way towards you. “Just give me one moment to go get Mr.Giovanna for you, he was insistent about showing you the house on his own.” All you could do was nod your head as words seem to fail as she hastily made her way up the stairs. You didn’t have time to look around though as Giorno came around from the top of the stairs and smiled down at you.

“This would be the part where I’d say welcome to my humble abode, but there is absolutely nothing humble about this monstrosity, my father made sure of that,” He sneered. He motioned with his hand for you to come up and you quickly began to ascend the stairs. Once you were at the top it didn’t seem as scary as before, but the rest of the home was just as beautiful. You honestly weren’t paying attention to where you were going, you were trying to take in everything at once from the amazing artwork that lined the walls, to ornate furniture, and even taking a moment to look at how pristine the hardwood floors were that you could practically see your face through it. Ok, maybe they weren’t that clean but still.

Before you knew it, you were in Gio’s bedroom as he made his way to his bed and opened his laptop. His bedroom was a simple creme color, a coffee brown bookcase filled with novels and trophies was lined next to a window that reached from the floor to the ceiling. Directly across from his bed was a flatscreen T.V sitting on top of a matching brown dresser. His walls were covered in paintings that looked as if they belonged in an art museum and a map of the world hung above his headboard. You stared down at his bed then, afraid to sit down as you didn’t want to wrinkle the deep purple duvet atop it. It took Gio a moment to realize that you were still standing by the doorway, his eyes following yours as they danced across his room as well before stopping right back at you.

“What?”

“Why am I just finding out now, after 2 years of friendship might I add, that you’re fucking loaded? I mean I knew you came from a family with SOME money but holy shit dude!” You stared into his green eyes, looking for an answer. Only to be met with a smile.

“Well technically I’m not rich. My father is. Hence there was nothing to find out.” You gave the blonde a dirty look, earning a chuckle from him before deciding that the bed was no longer intimidating and sat down on it.

“You know what I meant. I know you said your dad had a busy job, but what does he do to be able to own a house like this? Is he part of the mafia?” This time your question earned you a hearty laugh from your friend and you felt your ears get hot, not liking to be laughed at when you were being serious. You threw your duffle bag at Giorno, only for him to catch it with ease before placing it next to him on the bed. “I’m not trying to be funny Gio! Answer me!”

“First and foremost, you should know the mafia is MY forte, and I probably would respect the man if he actually was a member. It would make getting in a bit more easier.” You snorted at his answer. If you had a dollar for every time the boy mentioned dropping out of school to join the mafia you’d probably be as rich as his father by now. “However, every now and then he gets one as a client, if they’re willing to pay good that is. He’s a lawyer.” You looked around once more and out the open door as the maid walked by carrying a basket full of laundry. If this is what a lawyer could afford, maybe you were studying the wrong major.

“I have one more question.” Gio simply nodded his head for you to continue as he began typing on his laptop, pulling up the notes for the project you were assigned. “Why did that maid say this was the Brando residence? There was a plaque outside too with that name. I thought your last name was Giovanna?”

“It is Giovanna,” he answered without looking up from the computer screen. “That was my mother’s maiden name. My father’s last name is Brando. They were never married.” His curt reply told you that there was definitely more behind the story, but you decided not to press the issue for now and kept any more questions to yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roughly three or four hours had passed since you and Giorno had begun working on your project, satisfied with the work so far you both decided to take a break. The due date wasn’t until a week from now, but this project was for your marine biology class and the professor was known for being a hardass when it came to grading so the sooner you could work on it, the more time you could use to perfect it before it reached him. You tossed your pen onto the bed, cracking your fingers and stretching your arms. Giorno had brought out his espresso machine an hour into the session and was now brewing himself another cup. You honestly never heard of anyone who kept a spare coffee machine in their bedroom, but Giorno mentioned that while he lived in Italy, it apparently was a normal thing. You called bullshit but decided not to break your head over it anymore.

“You sure you don’t want another cup of coffee Y/N?” You covered your mouth to stifle a yawn, wagging your finger at him.

“No thank you, if I drink too much caffeine I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Besides,” You added while hopping off of his bed. “Another cup of anything and I think my bladder will explode. Where’s the closest bathroom in this maze?”

“Down the hallway on the other end of the staircase, turn right.”

“Grazie!” He simply shot you a thumbs up as you made your way out with his, albeit vague, directions. Soon you went down the hallway and passed the stairs. “Alright he said turn right and we should be in business…” As soon as you turned the corner you stopped to see three doors, one on the right side closest to you and two on the left. All three were closed and Giorno hadn’t mentioned there’d be more than one door. “Well...only one way to find out.” Without another thought you naturally went to the single door on the right and opened it without hesitation. Not the brightest idea.

You halted in place, mouth going dry. The door you opened led not to the bathroom but to an older looking study. The three walls in front of you were lined ceiling to floor with bookcases, a small globe in the corner. In the center of it was a large mahogany desk, covered in scattered papers. What made you really stop however was the tall and muscular blond man casually leaning against the desk...with the maid on her knees facing him. The moment you had opened the door he had slowly looked up from the woman to you, not even startled by your intrusion. At first the only sounds you could hear was your own rapid heartbeat echoing in your ears, but now you were focusing on the sounds coming from the maid and noticing how her head was bobbing. A blush began to creep up your neck to your face as it looked like he made no intentions of stopping her either.

“Is there something I can help you with? I’m a bit busy if you couldn’t tell.” His deep voice had wrapped around your mind, slowly dragging you out of your thoughts. It sounded so calm, despite the current situation. You had to basically tear your eyes from the scene in front of you, your face burning more.

“I-I’m so sorry! I was just looking for-” You began to stutter, but he raised a hand stop you mid sentence.

“It’s the door across.” You quickly bowed and practically slammed the door shut, missing the sinful look on the man's face as he watched your retreating form.

You bolted into the room across, thankful this time for it actually being the bathroom as you locked the door letting out a shaky breath. You had no doubt in your mind that you had just met Giorno’s father, and unceremoniously at that.

“What a great first impression,” You thought aloud. You made your way to the sink to run some cool water on your face in hopes of getting your flustered look back to normal. After you were done and completed your original business you just stood at the closed door, you were a bit nervous to step foot outside the bathroom if god forbid HE was to come out at the same time. Unfortunately, god decided to dislike you at this moment as you heard a small knock on the restroom door. “Just a second,” You shakily called out. Deeply hoping it was Giorno wondering what was taking you so long. When you finally had the gall to open the door you were instead met with the sight of the young maid, her hair this time was a bit disheveled and a small pink tint was hinting at her cheeks.

“Hello again Ms. Y/N,” She squeaked out. This time she would not meet your eyes, looking towards the ground instead. “Mr. Brando would like for you to join him in his study for a moment. I will be taking my leave for the evening, please enjoy the rest of your stay.” She bowed and sped away and out of sight, not giving you a chance to apologize about walking in on them. You swept your eyes over the closed door to the study across from you, feeling a cold sweat begin to form on your brow. You inhaled deeply before settling your nerves and walking over. This time you knocked on the door and waited for an answer.

“Come in.” With another deep breath you slowly edged the door open, once again being welcomed by the dimly lit study. This time the man, whom you now knew was in fact Giorno’s father, sat behind his desk patiently, fingertips pressed together right above his wide chest. “I’m glad you learned how to knock this time,” He teased with a grin.

“Trust and believe I learned my lesson, again I want to properly apologize about intruding on...something so private.” You could hear your voice falter under his intense gaze, and he let out a deep chuckle. The sound was so alluring, and you felt your throat beginning to dry.

“That’s quite alright. I wanted us to start over on that first impression. Given the maid explained to me you’re a friend of my son, I didn’t think it appropriate for your first meeting of me to be in the middle of having my cock sucked,” He stated as if he were just talking about a small inconvenience. Your eyes widened at his crudeness and you couldn’t help but blush and look away, positive that you were as red as a cherry now.

“Well then...I appreciate the second chance then Mr. Brando.”

“Dio.”

“I beg your pardon?” You turned your face back to him, now he had his arms resting beside him on the chair. There was an almost playful look in his eyes.

“You can call me Dio. Mr. Brando is far too old for my taste.”

‘Of course his name would be something like Dio...how well it suits him too,’ You thought to yourself.

“Alright then...Dio. I’m Y/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You bowed to formally greet the man, and when you looked back up he was beckoning you with his finger to come forward. You thought about just staying put but in the end began walking towards him. As you got closer, you were able to notice his features more clearly. His vibrant blond hair sat at neck length, small fringes of bangs reaching right about his thick brows. His eyes almost looked cat like, predatory even yet strikingly alluring. You assumed they were a light brown color but with the dim lighting they almost looked red, adding a supernatural aura to him. He was gorgeous, and now you knew where Giorno got his looks from. Once you reached the edge of his desk, he held out his hand for you, almost as if he were asking for a handshake. You reached out your own to reach his, taking notice at how incredibly large his hand was to yours. However he gently wrapped his fingers around your hand and leaned over, placing a warm kiss on your knuckles. The small action immediately sent a wave of heat through your entire body. He looked up at you through hooded eyes, not moving your hand away from his face. Your blush had never left, and the heat began to grow unbearable as you watched his eyes slowly sweep down your face, stopping for a moment at your lips before coming back up to lock once more with your own.

“The pleasure is mine, Ms. Y/N.” His voice dropped to a seductive whisper, the breath from his words ghosting over your knuckles and sending a shiver down your spine. Slowly he slipped his hand from yours, lingering on your fingertips for the briefest of moments before resting it on his thigh. You followed his movements with your eyes, noticing how thick and muscular his thighs were, straining against the fabric of his beige dress pants. Your eyes crept up, landing on the small amount of skin peeking out from his shirt he hadn’t bothered to tuck back in. The white button down seemed to be a second skin, as it clung to every contour and muscle on his body, the first two buttons undone to give you a glimpse of just what lies underneath. Finally, your journey stopped on his lips; deliciously pouty and upturned into one of the most devilish smirks you’d ever seen. “See something you like?” You dragged your eyes up completely to meet his, only to be greeted with an intense gaze that burned through your entire body. He had watched you ogle him shamelessly like a horny school girl, and couldn’t look more proud about it. At that moment the door to the study swung open, snapping you out of your trance.

“I was worried you got lost, looks more like you got trapped.” Giorno’s familiar voice was laced with venom, his face contorted to one of disgust. He stayed at the entrance of the study, holding the door open to allow the light from the hallway to seep through. He was focused solely on Dio, who sat relaxed in his chair unbothered by the angry blonde boy.

“Oh, what a pleasant surprise my son.” He emphasized the last two words, earning an eye twitch from the younger. “ I was just introducing myself to your exquisite friend here. I’m quite hurt that you hadn’t introduced me to her sooner.” Giorno simply scoffed at his father’s words.

“Well now that you’ve met, I’d like to have her returned to me now. We have a project to finish.” Giorno then turned his eyes to you, his gaze softening immensely. “Come on Y/N, I ordered us some takeout and it should be here soon so we can get back to work.”

“O-oh. Uh thanks Gio,” You mumbled. Your mind was still in a bit of a haze, but you were beginning to get your bearings. You turned to look at Dio and bowed once more. “It was nice meeting you Mr...I mean Dio. Please have a great rest of your evening.�� With that you turned and began high tailing towards the door. Giorno moved back into the hallway as you approached, but before you could close the door that seductive voice reached out to you once more.

“Y/N,” he purred out. Slowly you turned towards him, hand still in the door knob. “If you need anything at all tonight, please do not hesitate to come look for me. You are our guest here and it would be my...” his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, “greatest pleasure to assist you.” You couldn’t help but swallow at the second meaning behind his words. Afraid to hear your own voice you simply nodded your head before softly closing the door behind you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Giorno had interrogated you for a bit on your meeting with Dio, and you lied and told him you simply got curious after finding the bathroom and stumbled upon the study. You could tell he knew you were leaving something out but you would be damned if you actually told him the real way you found his father. After making sure you were ok enough for him and confirming that the man never touched you he dropped the subject and you both went on with the project while enjoying the food he had ordered. At around 1 AM you both agreed on turning in for the night and to continue in the morning. Giorno showed you to the guest room right next to his and bid you goodnight, finally leaving you alone with your thoughts. You laid on top of the bed just staring at the ceiling for a while. No matter how hard you tried, you kept replaying the meeting with Dio over and over again to the point that the memory of the maid slowly morphed and it was now you on your knees in front of him instead of her.

“Get out of my head!” You angrily whispered, not wanting for your friend to hear you through the walls. You glanced at your phone to see the time, ‘1:30 AM’ mocked the bright numbers. You got up from the bed and dug through your duffle bag and pulled out your pajamas. You thought about just changing and forcing yourself to sleep but you felt too warm and wanted a shower. Immediately you thought about going to the one down the hall but your stomach dropped, you did NOT want to run into you know who. “This house is huge, there’s definitely another bathroom somewhere.” You slowly made your way out of the room and into the quiet hallway. You checked the other rooms near yours only to find another guest room and a movie room, which you knew you were going to beg Giorno to set up a movie night after all of this. You walked down the hall and stopped at the stairs, looking at the hallway across from you where you knew the bathroom was.

“Maybe he’s not there anymore and went to bed?” You said to yourself. You shook your head and continued on your mission of finding another bathroom and descended down the stairs, you weren’t going to take any chances. Finally after finding the kitchen, two more guest rooms and a billiards room, you found a second bathroom. It was smaller and less ornate than the one up stairs but it was still a decent size and had a stand up shower. You mentally cheered before placing down your items and quickly began stripping. Soon you were in the shower letting the cool water bounce across your skin, feeling the tension in your body slowly melt away. Occasionally your mind would wander onto the relationship Giorno had with his father, yes the man was indeed intimidating and there was something below the surface of that beautiful face that felt a bit dangerous, but there was nothing else that struck out to you as to why your friend couldn’t stand him. He’s told you about how egotistical the man is and how they always lived on edge of a fight, but never actually gave you hard proof or reasons for the intense dislike. Giorno had told you about his mother and how a complete bitch she was while he was growing up and everything she had put him through so you understood his feelings towards her completely. Eventually she dumped him off onto Dio one day and just disappeared from his life, ‘good riddance’ he had told you. Yet the mechanics of his relationship with his father was still kept a mystery to you and he would close up about it if you started asking too many questions. The only answer you’ve gotten so far was that they shared a difference in morals, and that was it.

After a good while you finished your shower and started to dry off. You felt as if a thousand weights were lifted from your shoulders and quickly put the events of the evening to the back of your mind, finally feeling sleepy. You began to get dressed but noticed something odd. You could have sworn you brought a clean pair of underwear to change into along with your pajamas. You looked around the bathroom floor to see if maybe it had fallen but found nothing.

“Maybe I left them in the bag by accident?” You shrugged your shoulders and just decided to just slip on your night shorts without underwear , you’d put some on when you got back to your room. You opted for a simple tank top as well to complete the look, your body was still a bit wet so the shirt became damp making the material a bit see through. You didn’t really care much, not like you were going to run into anybody like this..

You made your way out of the bathroom, the air inside the house suddenly felt a lot more colder and you began to shiver. Scurrying your way through the first floor you finally made it back to the stairs and started to climb them. You hadn’t noticed the extra pair of footsteps walking the hall until you were half way up, stopping completely in your tracks and if you hadn’t met him tonight the sight before you would’ve been a terrifying one. Dio stood at the top of the stairs, his back facing the little bit of light from the hall so all you could really see was the outline of his body, his face was completely hidden in the shadows. It felt like you were looking at a ghost and not a man.

“What a coincidence, I was just on my way down to look for you, Ms. Y/N..” His voice was as smooth as ever, but you noticed there was something else there that you couldn’t quite pick up on. “What on earth are you doing up at this hour?” You were feeling a bit uneasy with how calm he sounded, and the fact that you couldn’t see his face was making it worse.

“I was just taking a bath..” You answered meekly, your throat feeling tight.

“And why would you go through the trouble of going all the way down there? You already know there’s one upstairs.”

‘ Because I didn’t want to run into like I just did now.’ You thought to yourself. You swallowed hard before answering.

“I-I didn’t want to disturb you in case you were asleep.”

“Aren’t you the thoughtful one.” He let out a chuckle. “No matter, I actually was looking for you to see if you forgot something.”

“Not that I know of..why?” You wanted for this conversation to be over already, the tension that you had just showered away crawling right back to you. Dio let out another chuckle, this one sounded a bit huskier. He didn’t say anything but lifted his hand out to the side, and your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. In his hand were your missing panties, where as he was still in the shadows they were illuminated VERY clearly in the light. You felt your embarrassment multiply as he laughed at your reaction.

“I found them on the floor up here by the stairs and figured they were yours, unless Giorno has changed his sense of fashion recently which I doubt considering he’s never liked polka dots to begin with. Then again I’m not one to judge.” You could hear the teasing tone in his voice and you couldn’t help but laugh nervously at his joke.

“This is just outright embarrassing, but thank you for trying to return them to me.” You kept mentally cursing to yourself about this whole situation, and how this happened in the first place; you should’ve just let Giorno come to your apartment to study like he wanted from the beginning. You began climbing the stairs to retrieve your underwear from the blond, but as soon as you reached the last step he took one step back just out of your reach. You furrowed your brows and stepped forward again, and once more he took another step back. “Um...what are you doing?”

“Playing your game, Ms. Y/N.” You rose a brow in confusion, you were honestly getting annoyed now.

“What game?” He let out a ‘hmph’ before turning around and walking down the hall, still dangling your underwear over his shoulder for you to see. “Hey!” You shouted and followed after him as he disappeared around the corner, once you reached it you stopped to see the door to his study was wide open. You made your way over and stood in front of the open door, on top of his desk were your panties, but Dio was nowhere in sight.

‘ I would have to be a complete idiot not to realize this is a trap.’ You stayed in place, just staring at the underwear that was mocking you. He had to be somewhere in there, but the dim lighting made it hard to see into the small shadows in the corner of the room, and the light from the hallway wasn’t helping much either. You contemplated just leaving them there, it wasn’t like you had no more underwear at home, but deep down you wanted to see what would happen and the moment that thought crossed your mind you felt a warm sensation through your body. Your fantasy was getting the better of you and before you realized it you were walking towards the desk. You reached the desk and still no sign of the man, so you reached out to grab your underwear without hesitating.

*Click*

The light from the hallway completely disappeared as the door was closed, you didn’t turn around but you could feel someone staring at you from behind. His footsteps echoed in the room, surprised that you could even hear them over the sound of your own heartbeat blaring in your ears. He stopped right behind you, his chest practically pressed against your back. A large hand reached out from behind you and took hold of the clothes that you were still clutching in your hands before tossing them to the side. Once more the hand came into your line of vision and tenderly cupped your face and turned it to the side to meet Dio’s hot gaze. His hand was cold in comparison to your hot face as he slowly traced circles on your bottom lip with his thumb. He bent his head down to your ear, pressing you against his body in the process and feeling his hardness rub against your ass. You let out a gasp, earning you a chuckle from the large man, his warm breath tickling your ear.

“I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you, that you’d be a special treat.” His voice felt like velvet as he whispered into your ear, the sound along with his breath was beginning to make your body betray you as each word he whispered sent a throbbing heat to your core. He kissed the spot right behind your ear, slowly ghosting his lips across your jaw, then your cheek before hungrily taking your own lips with his. His lips were softer than they looked as they caressed your own, earning a moan from you. Dio took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. You should’ve pushed him away, bit his tongue, elbowed him to make a run for it or something instead of just giving in. His other hand had wrapped around your waist, but was now moving up and under your tank top grabbing a hold of your right breast and massaging it. Dio finally pulled away from the kiss and aside from the lustful look on his face he seemed unaffected, unlike you who was a panting red faced mess.

“We shouldn-'' Was all you were able to breath out before he pinched your nipple hard eliciting another moan from you as he began rubbing the sensitive bud between his fingers.

“Your voice sounds so sweet when you moan for me Y/N, I want more of it.” His other hand left your face as it travelled to the waistband of your shorts before slipping through easily, running a long thick finger across your slit. Your hips on their own accord bucked at the sensation, making Dio laugh darkly. “My, my, all I did was kiss you and you’re already so wet. You’re a very filthy girl aren’t you Y/N?” You turned your face away from him and bit your lip to hold back another moan as he slipped his finger inside you and began pumping it slowly. Your knees began to buckle from underneath you, so Dio pushed you both forward effectively pinning your legs between him and the desk to stop you from falling.

“I can’t do this,” You whined to him. “Your Giorno’s father..” You squeezed your eyes shut in pain as he added two more fingers and began pumping at an obscene pace, not allowing you to stretch around them first.

“I’m well aware of who I am to that boy.” He answered gruffly.The hand that was on your breast moved and was cupping your face a bit more rough than before, his fingers now hitting your sweet spot causing your breath to stop in your throat. “I’m also aware about his feelings for you and how blissfully ignorant you are to them. Which makes this so much more sweeter for me.” He kissed you again, this time more feverishly. As he pulled away again he withdrew his fingers from your heat at the same moment, leaving you feeling empty. That feeling was short lived however as he pushed you down onto the desk, your chest was completely pressed against it making your ass push out towards him. Dio pulled your shorts down to your ankles, the cold air rushing to your wet core making you shiver. You could hear him unzipping his pants and the ruffling of clothing, before you felt the tip of his dick tease against your entrance. Slowly he inched it into you, stretching out your hole. It had not hurt as much as you thought it would but there was a dull pain nonetheless from how big he was. You’ve had partners before so you were by no means a virgin, but you’d be damned if you had anybody with his size.

“Such a nice and tight cunt you have my dear Y/N. I can’t wait to ruin it.” Without wasting another moment he gripped your hips with both hands as he began to fuck you roughly, the lewd sound of his skin slapping against yours were drowned out by your loud moans. His chest was pressed firmly against your back, his head right next to your ear and you could hear every groan and grunt that escaped his lips. “I wish you could see the look on your face right now,” He panted into your ear, not once stopping his relentless pace. “Such a dirty look for a dirty girl.” You had no response, the only thing falling from your mouth being your own incoherent screams and moans. Soon you felt a hot pressure beginning to build, each thrust bringing you closer to your edge.

“Dio please!” You couldn’t recognize your voice, it sounded so hoarse and needy. He took notice and snaked a hand down between your legs, pressing a finger onto your clit but not moving it.

“Please what, my dear Y/N?” He began to slow his pace, getting you on the verge of tears as you felt the pressure begin to fade. “I want to hear you beg for it.” You tried to bring your hips to meet his but he only pulled farther away. Finally you gave in.

“Make me cum from your cock Dio, please!” Satisfied he picked up his pace, slamming into you as he began rubbing your clit in tight circles. The pressure began building up again causing your vision to go in and out.

“I want you to scream my name when you cum. Be a good little girl for me.” His voice is what sent you over the edge as his name ripped from your throat as you orgasmed. As you came your core squeezed around him, bringing him close to his. He pulled out with a final groan as he emptied his load onto your ass. As your high began to die down, you felt the pain on your thighs from being pounded into the desk. You were going to have bruises tomorrow for sure. Slowly Dio lifted himself from on top of you, lifting you off of the desk as well. “I apologize, but it seems I may have made a bit of a mess on you.” His breathing was back to normal, but when you turned around you looked down and nearly choked. He was still as hard as a rock. “Why don’t I join you for a another shower, Ms. Y/N?” The devilish look on his face was enough to tell you that your little romp was far from over.

[sasquatchandleatherjacket]

Not long after Dean turns sixteen, dad catches wind of a case near a beach town in Jersey, a young girl gone missing from a sleepover under suspicious circumstances. Local law enforcement seems stumped, and something about the inconsistencies in the eyewitness accounts points toward the possibility of supernatural involvement. It’s the off season, so a few week rental isn’t too hard to come by and they settle into a two bedroom and get to work.

Sam and Dean are both registered for school, though Dean cuts more often than not. Dad looks for leads during the day and makes the rounds at the local bars, hustling the locals for twenties here and there to keep food on the table, at night. One unseasonably warm weeknight he asks Dean to go down to the boardwalk, chat with the locals and see if anyone lets him coax a new detail or two about the missing girl.

He gets there around 5. The parking is free this time of year, and he gets a spot less than a block from the beach. There are benches up and down the boardwalk, some facing inland toward the shops along the way, others facing out to the sea. Dean takes little notice of them at first, looking instead for shops that are open, people to speak with. There’s a man standing near a small pier jutting out over the sand, he has a guitar and an empty popcorn bucket for tips, and he’s singing some song Dean’s heard on the radio before, Soundgarden or Oasis or one of those other whiny indie bands Sam likes to listen to. The man’s voice is nice, but too light to carry in the cold air, and Dean wonders why he’s out here at all this time of year. He tosses a five into the popcorn bucket and waits for the man to finish before interrupting to ask a few questions. The man has no helpful information but as they’re talking Dean notices a glimmer of red out of the corner of his eye.

It’s garland, he sees upon investigation, with hearts, wrapped around the back slats of a bench on the little pier. Someone decorated it for Valentine’s Day, perhaps. There’s a plaque on the bench as well, commemorating “Memories at the Shore '' for some family. After reading that one, he notices the plaques on the other benches as well. All have them, some on the front, some on the back, some look brand new and others like they’d been smoothed over by decades of sand and salt blowing over them.

Most have a name, or names, etched on them. There are about thirty on the little pier alone; Dean walks slowly down the aisles between them, noting idly how much you can learn about a place in unexpected ways. What he can tell about this seaside town, and it’s people, from these little memorials. The first names are mostly old, like Mort and Gracie and Ethel and Walter; the last names, primarily Italian and Irish and Polish sounding. He can tell it’s a more popular spot for families than singles; “Summers at the shore with the DiDomenicos”, “Fond memories, the O’Halleran clan”. Even the common colloquialisms for grandparents; “Nanna and Pa”, “Mima and PopPop”. All useful information to absorb if you want to blend in, and blending in definitely makes hunting life easier.

He can almost picture them here, on these empty benches. The Ethels and Walters and their loving, devoted families. Summer weekends spent lounging at the beach house or  long afternoons on the boardwalk eating up fudge and salt-water taffy til dusk. Kids kicking sand and laughing as mom and dad smile at each other from under their umbrellas. Nanna and Pa right here holding hands, watching the sunrise or the tide or their progeny. Folks making memories so happy, so soft and pure, that they need to be memorialized, here, on these very benches, facing this very tide.

Dean closes his eyes and turns his face toward the shore. He hears little over the roar of the waves, though there are still a few locals jogging or biking up and down the boardwalk. He imagines that life clearly, dares to picture himself in it. He and Sammy as fat and suntanned children, building sandcastles with mom and dad watching over them. A Mima and PopPop to bring them lemonade and remind them to put on sunscreen. He stretches the daydream forward through time. Dean as a teenager, sneaking kisses from some blonde haired beauty under the pier, teaching Sam how to ride a bike or win the carnival games or skip waves. Dean as a dad, another beauty next to him, vague and no one in particular, just someone with kind eyes and soft hair and the light kind of laughter that rings out and carries over the waves; and their kids, a boy and a girl maybe, collecting shells. Stretching more. He’s Pa now, and his beautiful bride is Nanna. They sit, perhaps on this very bench, watching the distant ships. He holds her hand, skin as soft and thin as tissue paper, and imagines that it’s warm despite the chilly wind from the South, holds it until they both fade away, frail and content, and so very old. A bench with his name, and some cheesy saying about Making Waves or Vitamin Sea, put here by his doting, far-future grandchildren.

Is this a thing that real people have? A quiet life. A safe life. 

A peaceful death. An old death.

He tries to map this skin of a future over his own, stretches and folds it to make it fit, and for a moment it’s as real to him as the salt air in his lungs. People have this, these people did, these Gracies and Walters. So could he.

When he opens his eyes, he sees her, though he doesn’t realize what he’s looking at at first. It’s  darker than when he’d closed his eyes, the setting sun slipped behind a low cloud while his mind wandered, and in the incandescent light of the street lamps that flank the boardwalk, she shines. Just two legs, luminous and bare and bloated, jutting out from under a pier a bit further up the beach, with crimson-black sand fanned out beneath them.

She died here, in this place. A child, barely older than his little brother, he notes with a sickening twist in his gut. She died, and they have to catch the thing that killed her before it kills again. And after that? They have to catch the next thing. And the next. All of them.

Dean thinks often of the benches. Of Nanna and Pa. Of the quiet, simple life they get to live, and the quiet simple way they likely die. He feels silly, when he does think of them, for ever even imagining that possibility for himself. Such an indulgent, childish fantasy, something he should have had long-since outgrown by sixteen. He doesn’t picture another life for himself after that, doesn’t try to force a more palatable cover atop his own reality. He accepts that it will always end the same for him, the same harsh light, illuminating the same harsh realities, whenever he opens his eyes. From then on, he chooses to keep them open.

[diary-of-deadweight]

Could you please write an imagine where the reader is visiting Asgard with Thor, and that’s where she meets Loki? She is very intrigued by him or something, and starts liking him, but denies it? - requested by @netflixandchill06

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x reader

You didn’t know where you were exactly, one moment you were sitting within the library of stark tower reading catcher in the rye by the fireplace with the curtains drawn as the muffled sound of a clock ticking could be heard in the background as you were lost within the little paperbacked realm you held within your hands only to be flat on your ass upon a what looked to be a crystallised rainbow quartz bridge that appeared to correspond to physical contact by upping its brightness a tad.

Let’s not mention about the towering mass of constructed gold that sat a way aways from you, emulating an air of royalty and superiority as it shimmered and shined beneath the golden sun, casting its massive shadow over the remainder of the kingdom almost as if they were under constant observation by a corrupt king but you couldn’t overlook the beauty of it either; it was so surreal, so ethereal that you swore that if you tried to reach out, the whole fanciful mirage would fade away and you’d be back in the library once more.

“(Y/n) (l/n)?” A deep monotonous voice called upon you, yanking you out of the self made trance by casting their shadow over you so that when you finally looked up you were greeted by a striking pair of burning ember orbs that seemed to glow. “...yes...that is I...” You cringed at the sound of your voice that clearly betrayed the level-headedly calm emotion you wanted to portray only to come out as a ‘I’m about to fucking shit myself fam where am I?!’ Voice...you must sound so fucking pathetic to this hulking ember eyed person in the golden suit of armour that shimmered and shined as brightly as the place from before.

The man only raised a brow at this before turning to set his attention on the something that was apparently imerging behind you with a blank face with such intensity that would’ve made you wished the bridge swallowed you whole right here right now, you couldn’t find it within yourself to turn around as you were still scared stuff by the towering male before you along with the fact that you were in a unidentifiable area with no recollection of how you got there in the first place but thank fuck that you could understand them or else you would’ve been screwed greatly.

“I’ve been expecting your arrival Thor but I didn’t think it’d be this soon nor you bringing a comrade at that or I would’ve made preparations.” He casted you a gaze for a split second.

Thor? Thor Odinson? As in the same Thor as your avengers teammate Thor? Thor as in the Thor who eats out your pop tart stash within two days Thor? God of thunder, prince of Asgard Thor? Her took you here without your concent?!?!? AN INDECENT THING OF HIM TO DO, DOESN’T HE KNOW CONCENT IS KEY?!? Okay you were being dramatic but I think you’ve gained the permission to do so at this moment wouldn’t you say so?

“Ah apologies Heimdall, I just recalled a memory of which includes (y/n) here,” the golden locked deity slapped a hand upon your shoulder with such force that you swore the rainbow quartz bridge had cracked but then again you were relieved that you were on your else or else you would’ve been sent halfway through the bridge right now, “confessing one day that they’ve never been to Asgard before so I wanted to surprise them by giving them a grand tour of the palace to get them acquainted with foreign grounds.”

‘That was during a team game night of never have I ever...I don’t even remember half of the shit that went down that night and that is the first thing he remembers? Do asgardians have better memory then us?’ You thought to yourself as you stared up at Thor with a ‘how did you remember that’ look only to get a cheeky grin in return. Heimdall nodded in understanding, pointing a finger towards what you suspected was the end of the bridge with such a straight face the you wonder if the muscle structure within his face was removed as a child because you couldn’t hold a straight face when being accused of painting hello kitties all over caps sheild and tonys Ironman suit out of pure boredom. It was a talent for sure.

“There are, conveniently, two horses saddled and ready to escort you both to the palace whenever your ready.”

Oh fuck, your screwed.

The last time you’ve ridden an animal was when you were a child at the beach where they were giving out free donkey rides, your ass was gonna get a hammering of a lifetime so your mentally preparing to tape two bags of ice to your battered ass cheeks for when you get back to base.

Thor didn’t seem to take notice of your fearful face as he smiled brightly at Heimdall before carefully yanking you up from the ground with ease, dragging you away from Heimdall, who was already making his way back towards a golden dome without sparing a second glance back and before you knew what was happening you were stood at the end of the rainbow quartz bridge, staring at the sight of a strong stallion with a white coat and a blonde mane and a grey mare with a black braided mane staring you both down with their differentiating eyes, making you even less enthusiastic about all this.

“You ready (y/n)?” Thor asked from upon his trusty steed in the correct position and posture that indicated that this wasn’t his first rodeo with horse ridding, the reigns laxed within his hands as he watched you with slight amusement dancing in his cerulean blue eyes as you struggled to get your foot into the stirrup and tussling around to get a more comfortable position, which to your figuration was pretty much impossible upon a horses back, shooting the muscled male a less then convincing smile, internally screaming at yourself to get off before it was too late and that you could just walk the rest of the way like Jaskier from the Witcher since Geralt wasn’t the type to let anyone else who wasn’t him to ride Roach, your palms began sweating furiously as your body wracked with nerves and anxiety.

“Yeah, ready as ever pal...” but knowing the deity for a while you knew that he has troubles picking up on ques such as this and urged his horse down the dirt path in a successful gallop with relative ease while you stayed stuck for a good 5 minutes before you took down down the track in a slow trot...this was gonna be a hefty journey wasn’t it?

-timeskip-

Hours of ass hankerings and almost falls later you and Thor have made it to the towering mass of gold that you now know was the asgardian palace, Thor’s home, lucky bastard; As you pulled up to the stables, two servants came rushing out towards you and Thor, hands out ready to take the well trained horses from your hands but before you could wave them off and tell them you could take care of it, which was an absolute bullshit lie because you hated having people do mundane shit you know damn well you were fully capable of doing, Thor managed to steer you into the palace through its winding complex hallways you could easily get lost within without a guide, gaining some stares from passing maids and servants alike who must’ve thought you were his next conquest or something which made your stomach regurgitate and send an unpleasant shiver down your spine.

You only thought of Thor as a brother, a friend at best so when people assume that you were something more because you had great chemistry with each other grinds your gears and forced you to suppress the urge to vomit. Unknowing of where you were supposed to be heading exactly you piped up your enquirees in a unnerving tone, “Thor? Where are we going exactly... asking for a friend I.e me.”

Thor laughed at this before vaguely responding with, “To introduce you to a someone whom I hold in high regard of course.” His walk slows down gradually when nearing a large set of double doors with golden handknobs at the end of the hallway with a plaque that read ‘biblioteket.’ It must be a library or something since you remembered Thor telling you how since Asgard didn’t rely on electronics they would have books for entertainment or go to pubs for a laugh, which to you sounded like a fever dream considering how everyone had their noses stuck in their phones nowadays, wasting away perfectly good opportunities.

Thor opened the mahogany door by the cool golden doorknob, letting go of your shoulder as to let you inside first like a gentlemen, escourting you deeper into the ginormous room as a wave of musky old book smell hit you like a freight train as if the extensive collection of books didn’t knock you off your feet leaving you with a dropped jaw as you stared around the room in wonder as you all you could fathom in that moment was that you were in literature heaven as far as your eyes could see was bookshelves amongst bookshelves ram packed with every book imaginable not to mention ancient spell books, history books in their natural transcription only took your breath away.

If you thought Stark library was impressive upon first glance well the Asgard palace had it bested hands down, you could waste away your days here and feel accomplished, it was sad that nowadays everything was digital so books were now becoming modern day relics essentially but you enjoyed reading the old fashioned way because it felt as if you were actually holding something magical within your hands, something special that could transport you anywhere you heart desires instead of holding a electronic device that everyone alive had possession of it couldn’t beat the feeling you’d always get when opening a new book ready to start another journey, never in a million life times.

Too speechless to speak you just let your body wander between aisle after aisle of paperback to hardback books in wonder, not bothering to check if Thor was following after you as you were long gone by the spectacle of beauty that surrounded you, books from any time period possible from Shakespeare to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Tolkien, R.L Stein, Derek Landy, George R.R. Martin, J.K Rowling to modern classics.

You felt like Belle when she saw Beasts private library, awestruck, you didn’t think a thousand lifetimes could even scratch the surface of reading every last book within the facility no matter the reading difficulty but you could damn as well try, plus the library didn’t have that many occupants anyway so reading in utter silence couldn’t be anymore easier then breathing.

“Impressed by our exstensive array of books I see?” A silky smooth voice spoke up from behind you, dripping in amusement and slight cockiness that you only heard from a certain genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist back at home...you remembered a time in your life refusing to call the avengers base home, claiming it was the hill you were willing to die upon but the you you were all those years back is not the same exact person you were today; you sure have changed from that stubborn headed individual who refused to confined to shit, it was nuts really but not out of the ordinary because the you you were yesterday isn’t the same you you are today or however the saying goes, you didn’t have the best memory.

Turning around you saw a slim built of a male with a knack for the colours of green, black and gold, (and leather apprently) an ivory complexion blessed with high cheekbones, elegant jawline that’s not to sharp yet not too soft just the right middle ground, perfectly sculpted nose but the selling point was his piercing jade eyes that had specks of cerulean blue within them as the sunlight refracted from a nearby widow had shown you, his face framed by the silkiest head of onyx locks you’ve seen cascaded down to gradually rest on top his broad shoulders with grace.

You didn’t think he was real upon first glance due to his ethereal balance of masculine and feminine qualities but here he was, present before you in the flesh, sat on a royal purple plush couch, leather bound book resting upon his lap, gently caressed by long, nimble piano fingers.

“W.....who are-“

“Loki Laufeyson at your service,” Loki gave a little mock bow from his place as best as he could with a fraction of a smile, “who may you be little dove?” He asked with what others may’ve assumed was a condescending look in his mischievous eyes but in fact was a look of pure intrigue and curiousness, head slightly titled to the side made him look somewhat adorable in your eyes for some reason. Mentally ridding yourself of that thought you exaggerated a curtsy as you introduced yourself, putting on the most poshest voice you could imitate.

“I’m (y/f/n), full time avenger and part time bookworm.”

Something within your exaggerated introduction must’ve tickled the handsome mans funny bone as his tight lipped mouth curled up into a smirk of sorts as a light rumble of laughter filled the air, echoing off the walls. Even his laugh was elegant, you thought that sort of feet was near enough inhumanly possible as you either get ugly laughs or average joe laughs but he was just smashing through your expectations as if they were made out of paper machae.

“At least one of you imbeciles has a sense of humour.” He said as he finally calmed down, shooting you a small genuine smile.

“I take it you don’t dish out such kind hearted compliments much?” You sarcastically inquired the jade eyed enchanter with vague innocence, still entranced by his laugh from earlier and you could already assume that he rarely laughed as much as he did today then in his entire lifetime.

The raven haired male chuckled once more replying, “even if I did people are quick to assume I’m after something and are on immediate awareness other then that it’s usually used as a empty sarcastic retort.”

“It seems you can’t win everyone over.” “Especially if your the god of mischief and lies, then no, you can’t.”

There was a beat of silent of silence between the two of you as you found yourself engaged in a starting contest with the deity, taking the chance to admire his sun soaked features that gave you the feeling that your only witnessing what he wants you to witness, hiding another side to him that he didn’t seem all that keen on, something that is hung over his head like a constant reminder of an ugly truth he wished was fictional but sadly was the solid truth; he was hiding a side he considers unbearable, inhuman and most of all...unloveable.

For some reason within your chest, deep down, you felt an unfamiliar tightness that was neither constricting nor too loose, a feeling you’ve never really had in the presence of others really. You felt as if you were the MC of a poorly written romance novel that thought it was gonna make it big but is yet to escape the coverage of the authors mothers basment. Where

the love interest, Male/female, oh most defiantly straighter then uncooked pasta, and the main character, Male/female with the straightness of an nail, having a ‘moment’ staring deep into each other’s eyes after spending half of the plot either eye fucking each other from a distance or arguing with each other, building up sexual tension in the most cringest way possible by having them touch each other in what you suppose to suspect was ‘intimate.’ Before coming together in a sloppy ass kiss that makes you cringe and turn your head away, most preferably in the rain for some dramatic crap; but then again there were times like this that were ruined by an unnamed side character who’s somehow connected to either mc or love interest in order to keep people interested in their inevitable hook up and in this scenario that unnamed character was a naive blonde by the name of...

“Thor, what brings you here.” Loki seemingly spat out poisonously, jade eyes narrowing into slits at the very person who had to hog all the spotlight with his hulking mass, leaving no room whatsoever for his lean yet muscled little brother an ounce of warm light to soak in, to be cast away into the shadows, coddling a baby flicker of emerald fire between his hands in hopes that one day it’ll get bigger and stronger to power through the frost bitten criticism along the way.

“I came here with (y/n) to show them around Asgard and introduce them to you but it seemed that your already well acquainted with one another.” The battleborn deity looked between his beloved brother and his beloved teammate awkwardly as if he had just intruded on something sacred, something souly crafted to suit you and the god of mischief.

Unable to withstand the awkwardness, Thor bids his brother a farewell before taking you by the arm once more to lead you back out of the fanciful room of literature, leaving you no time to bid the entrancing Loki and the magnificently magical room adue but he was sure to send you a little farewell wave with his fingers as emerald magic materialised around them and his book, hoisting it back onto the bookcase before yanking a new one down as the Mahogany doors came to a close behind you.

“Sooo,” Thor drew out teasingly, nudging you with his broad shoulder a little too roughly leaving you stumbling as you strolled through the complex hallways to what you could presume was going to be your next pit stop of the grand tour, “you and Loki seemed quite...intrigued with one another so it seems.”

Your face flushed candy apple red as the sense of embarrassment encased your being, averting your eyes to the spectacularly clean flooring as to not see the smug look upon Thor’s face; oh most defiantly ready to talk his brother up for a potential suitor, all behind his brothers back no less.

“He’s...He’s just an interesting guy, nothing more nothing less.” You quickly denied, making him let out his thunderous laugh as he threw an arm around your shoulder, ruffling you hair playfully.

“Yeaaaaaahhhh....sure, you keep telling yourself that.”

[ziracona]

Also! How do you think Adiris would find the modern world? The culture shock alone would floor her, I think, let alone the technological advancements.... Ur thoughts? (sleepy here still. that was me in the previous ask too)

(Wait which ask I got like 8 😭) Hello Sleepy! Hmmm. Yeah, I mean, Adiris is an adaptable woman, but uh, that could only be hard. I think some would be exciting and fascinating. Like, imagine the wonder of even like, an automatic door opening when you walk to a grocery store, if you were an adult from several hubdred BC & like, as a kid things get explained and you’re like “Oh!” But as an adult who knows how stuff works already, that huge a leap and all the magic seeming stuff? I think a lot would be fun and exhilarating and exciting, and also super overwhelming and disorienting and scary. Its hard to imagine how overwhelming being that out of time would be. I think it would have to feel very sad and lonely. It would be kind of like being the very last human. I mean, tons of humans, and in most ways, ancient people were like, the exact same, but even so, having grown up so completely differently, and speaking a language literally no one on earth speaks anymore, and only a handful of scholars partially understand? The be deeply involved in a religion no one practices, having faith in forgotten gods? Finding pictures and tools from houses like yours in museums with question marks and plaques about ‘early man’ and ‘primitive inventions’. To be so utterly different and forgotten and alone? I think it would be a shattering kind of lonely. Especially the religious side. Can you imagine being deeply, utterly, devoutly secure in your faith, and then walking through a door into a world 2000 years in the future to find the god you worship is a forgotten slab in a museum and guesswork by old scholars, or vaguely influenced by character with European features now in a fighting video game, or a joke to people who believe something else? It would feel so abandoned and crushing and lonely. Like you were a joke too and living far too late to have a place anymore.

That said though, I think she’s adaptable and strong and still young, and I think she could get better. At least Quentin and Min out of the group are religious, and I think they’d be the type to climb out on the roof she’d found a window onto to go curl up and cry alone, and sit down and watch the stars and talk to her about how nobody really knows how the world works, and maybe it’s all true in some kind of way and maybe none of it is and maybe it’s a much better answer somewhere between those, but she’s got faith that’s real, and believing in something gives it some kind of life, so as long as Enki or Ishtar has one follower who truly believes, they’re not a dead god and she’s not a joke. She’s just very special. Because she’s here in this new awful gigantic fast world, and she still keeps them alive in her heart in spite of that, which is a kind of strong that’s pretty valuable. And it’s hard and they can’t really imagine how it feels, and she’s free to stop or change her mind, but she shouldn’t have to to feel okay. Quentin would say something about how stuff that becomes so real is valuable and precious, and the things he saw her do with her own faith, and how real not just she was about it, but it was for her. Min would say something about it not meaning anything times have changed. Sure we forgot a lot, but somehow over 2,000 years later we still read your lore and texts and look at your statues and know the names of your gods, and isn’t that something too? Philip would come up too maybe, later, once the others were gone, to talk quietly about not knowing things for sure and believing them still, and old gods and lost information meant to always be remembered, and trying to keep life in the fragments. About old gods not being dead, just like the rest of us, so long as there’s one person left who remembers their name.

And I think she would be more okay, slowly, after that. Take it to heart, and feel seen and understood, and find peace with who she is and the awful new world she’s trapped in, and would begin to find ways to be awed by the world now instead of just lost in the void of its vastness. Begin to be happy and excited and a girl in an epic on a journey again, and the same one she’s always been, still here, and proud of that and surrounded by people proud of her for it.

[redskull-fanatic]

Obsession.

“How long is this gonna take?”

Captain America scanned the outside of the Hydra base, finding possible ways to get in. This base was one out of many he has seen. It seems the Skull has an endless supply of places to hide.

At least, that's what his friends think. Steve knows better. The Skull does not hide, he waits. He sits back, sharpening his talons, waiting for the perfect opportunity to show itself. An excellent time for a surprise attack.

Steve could only imagine what the Skull looks like now: Sitting back in a leather chair, eyelids relaxed with a gentle smirk playing at his lips. Possible muttering to himself, either of possible plans or things he could do once he claimed victory.

This made Cap chuckle, knowing Skull's downtime would be ruined by him. It's part of their little game, they make jabs at each other. No matter how petty it is.

"Hello, Cap? You didn't answer my question."

Steve looked over at Hawkeye, a playful smile on his face. "Oh, don't worry. It won't take long." He turned his attention back to the base, and continued to scout.

Hawkeye wasn't too happy with that answer. He sighed, "That's what you think, but I know it won't happen."

Steve raised a brow, "What do you mean?"

"Oh please, don't act like you have no idea what I'm talking about. Steve, you'll get distracted. Somehow, Skull will find us. Then, instead of this mission taking about ten minutes, it'll quickly lead up to an hour. An hour of my time wasted, and an hour I could've spent watching the t.v. while Thor and Hulk aren't hogging it." Hawkeye's last complaint made Steve roll his eyes. Lately, those three have been fighting over that new flat screen Tony put in. The bickering has been turning the tower into a mess, and Tony has voiced his complaints more than once.

Steve turned to face Hawkeye, "Okay look, if you want to leave, fine. I'll just handle the mission by myself. Not like Skull will miss you."

Hawkeye narrowed his eyes, "Woah, what the hell does that last comment mean?" Quickly, Hawkeye shook his head. "Y'know what? Nevermind, don't answer that. I'll just- I'll stay out here, while you go in and do your kicking-Hydra's-butt thing."

Cap smirked, "So, you're just going to sit out here?"

Hawkeye sat on a rock, and pulled out a few arrows. He examined them with a smug grin, "Looking pretty while doing it."

Steve rolled his eyes, chuckling, then turned his attention back to the base. "Okay, I'll be out shortly."

"Keep telling yourself that, bud." Hawkeye murmured, aiming one of his arrows at a far away rock.

Steve decided to ignore that comment.

000

Getting in was easy. Steve found a way to sneak through the vents. He discovered an entrance to an empty hall and decided to walk down it. So far, the base was eerily quiet aside from the few Hydra agents he has seen.

He found all of this… Odd.

Captain America was used to Red Skull falling off the radar. Hell, he's been doing that ever since the War. Skull normally fell silent after an attack, normally he'd return after a few weeks. Lately, it's been months since he last saw the Skull.

This made Steve on edge, worried even. What was the Skull doing that took months of hiding? Months of being locked away? Something big, it has to be something big.

Or, he could just be messing with the Captain's head. Steve narrowed his eyes at that thought. Red Skull has been taking a lot of joy just messing with the Captain; using vague words, performing strange actions, lingering around too long.

The muttering was by far the worst.

Steve hated the muttering. Red Skull mutters to himself in his native language, German. The past few years, Steve has quickly picked up on the language to fully understand what the Skull says at all times. Now, he sort of regrets the decision.

Rogers has found out the Skull mutters very concerning things. Most seem obsessive in nature, Skull muttering something is his. He constantly says "mine" under his breath, and describes how "No one has the right to claim what's his."

Cap knows he's referring to the world, taking it over and everything. Or, at least he used to. Lately, he isn't so sure anymore.

He's been uneasy for awhile. It all started when Hawkeye pointed out something Steve wished he didn't.

"So, answer me this." Steve could feel the smirk on Hawkeye's face, even when standing behind the soldier.

“How much do you truly know the Red Skull?”

Steve froze, making a face. He turned around, "What do you mean?"

Hawkeye laughed, "Cap, I overheard Widow tell Falcon you are "The Red Skull File." Apparently, you know everything. Not even S.H.I.E.L.D has a file on him, well a good one. They all just go to you."

Steve made a face, he felt uncomfortable. Hawkeye shrugged, "Hey man, I just wanted to know how much information on Skull you got stored up there."

Rogers stood there. He tried to think, but his mind was foggy with this uncomfortable feeling.

He simply answered with, "Too much."

Though now, it felt like he didn't know enough.

Steve suddenly felt himself run down the hall, the memory made him panic. Quickly, he slowed his pace. Eventually, he came to a stop and took in his surroundings.

All he needed to do was find out what Skull was doing. Wait, what Hydra was doing. Why did it have to be the Skull specifically? Tony only was curious about Hydra. Not the Skull.

Steve stood in silence for a minute. The only thought that swept across Steve's mind was; He should be.

After a brief look around, Steve decided it was better to head to the center of the building. Normally, the more important rooms are located there. So, Cap made his way down.

000

After awhile of searching and some quiet run-ins with a couple Hydra agents, Steve found a room he never thought he would.

The Red Skull's office.

Rogers stared at the door for seemingly forever, with its golden plaque giving itself the title of: "Red Skull's Office." Steve couldn't believe it, he found the office of his mortal enemy.

Why did this surprise Steve so much? It made sense Skull had an office, he was similar to a dictator. However, Steve never thought in a million years he would actually see the Skull's office.

He kept staring at the door, with a strong desire to go in. Should He? It was a breach of privacy. Though, Skull has no qualms getting into Cap's personal space. Seemed like the fiend couldn't get enough of it. They always had to be close, by Skull's standards. It had to be personal.

"Well, if he wants personal," Steve held his shield tighter, "I'll give him personal."

And with that quip, he carefully opened the door.

000

Steve braced himself for anything; the Skull sitting at his desk with blueprints, Red Skull standing in the middle of the room with guests, even him standing directly in front of the door ready to attack the Captain.

That last option would be the worst option. Schmidt catching the Captain off guard, trapping him, then going on some monologue. Skull seems very fond of talking to his rival, telling Rogers almost anything. It's personal, and Steve knows how much Schmidt likes getting personal.

Hell, things have gotten so personal, Steve sometimes calls Skull by his last name. It's a slip up that has turned into a habit. Skull seems to be doing the same thing, calling his foe Rogers.

However, Cap feels as if things have gotten too personal.

He's noticed the way Skull looks at him. Whenever Steve is captured, and at the Skull's mercy. There's a fire in the man's eyes, a hunger. Something driven by a powerful emotion. Steve prays that emotion is hate, and nothing else. Lately, he's been feeling like he's wrong.

Once the office door opened, surprisingly no one was there. It was empty.

Steve found this confusing, where is the Skull? Why is this base so empty?

That's when it hit him, Skull must be at another base.

"Of course," Steve thought out loud, looking around the room. It made sense, Skull liked to be on the move. It's constant progression with him, moving onto the next idea, the next base, the next battle. Skull was a go-getter, Steve sort of liked that about him.

"Maybe there's some intel in here…" Steve continued to think out loud, "Tony wanted something. I won't leave until I get answers."

Captain America scouted out the room, and it was a weird feeling. An exciting feeling.

He glanced at the walls for cameras, making sure he was safe. Then began snooping about.

He noticed the walls were dark, the entire room was dark. Each wall possessed velvet red curtains, with delicate Hydra symbols stitched into them. The redness of the curtains was reflected with the fluffy carpet on the floor, the floor also painted black. Either that, or black stone. Schmidt seemed to like this black and red combo a lot.

Nothing else was of note, just a balcony covered by more curtains and a few nice chairs.

Steve immediately made his way to Schmidt's desk, a place bound to have Hydra's next move.

Cap noticed the golden plaque on the desk, titled "Red Skull." It was similar to the one on the door.

The desk contained a small vase of roses, a skull that Steve couldn't tell if it was real or fake, a mug full of different pens and pencils, and some sort of intercom. The desk was rather clean, everything was neat and tidy.

Until, he noticed a notebook sitting right on the table. Immediately, Steve snatched it to read whatever was in it.

Upon opening it, Steve noticed Skull writes in German instead of English.

"Must be to confuse people." Steve chuckled, and started reading.

He didn't find any plans, but instead found… Pages detailed the Skull's inner turmoil. It described his frustration, his desire, his need for something.

Cap wasn't too sure if he wanted to go on, but he decided to at least read the next two pages.

Both were all about Captain America. Detailing how he looks, sounds, fights, and even smells like.

Steve suddenly dropped the book, as a similar uncomfortable feeling bubbled in his belly. God, he knew Schmidt was obsessive since his friends teased Steve about it, but… This? This didn't feel right.

Quickly, he backed away from the book until he bumped into something else. Steve looked behind him to find a control panel. Above it, were various screens.

"Ah, security cameras!" Steve looked around for an on button, "This should give me some info on Hydra's latest schemes."

Yeah, once he got the information, Steve could head out and forget what he just read. He might not even remember, hopefully he wouldn't.

"Ah, there it is!" Steve pressed the red on button, and watched as all the screens lit up.

The color drained from his face.

All of the screens were displaying videos of Captain America.

The Skull has been watching him. Not only watching, but recording him. Steve noticed the halls of Skull's many bases in the videos, he remembered certain moves he did in the past. Steve had to look away once he saw a clip he assumed was only recorded recently.

His brain couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. The screens were all of him. There were so many. Was the Skull watching him? How long has he been spying on Steve?

All Steve could say was, "… God." Why did the Skull have these?

He glanced back at the notebook on the desk. Oh god, was Schmidt actually obsessed with him? Rogers knew they knew each other, he knew they had this strange chemistry. He knew Schmidt got jealous whenever Cap wasn't focusing on him, he knew Skull didn't care for his friends. Steve thought of it all as normal, it was normal. That's what Red Skull does. He never thought twice about it.

"Oh god," all the realizations hit Steve like a truck. They've been doing this for years. They have known each other for years. Cap has always chased after Skull, he knows so much about him. God, why was that so weird? Why is that so creepy? Hawkeye was right, Steve always got drawn to the Skull. It was part of their sick little game, the one they have played for centuries.

Steve slowly turned off the monitors, "I'm in so deep."

He couldn't stay here, Schmidt was recording him. Skull would know he read the journal,  saw the videos. Cap could only imagine whatever else Schmidt was hiding from him.

Whatever disturbing, obsessive things he was hiding, Steve didn't want to know.

000

As soon as he heard a noise, Steve was gone. He ran out of the room, leaving the door wide open and not making sure to cover his tracks. Some Hydra soldiers probably noticed him, but he didn't care. They most likely saw a flash of red, white, and blue.

Hawkeye was startled by Steve's sudden return. He laughed, in a surprised kind of way. "Well, well, well, the great Captain America returns. In a little over fifteen minutes, might I add. Wow Cap, guess you found something good enough to make you bolt out of there. What did you find?"

Steve looked at Hawkeye, not noticing the fear and worry that clouded his own blue eyes.

"Nothing," he said quickly, "Nothing at all."

[juniperwindsong]

Necessary Monsters (7/16)

   Summary: "For all her exceptional achievements, the people around her tend to forget she is merely 17. As does the Curse-breaker herself."

   Unable to wheedle an address from Penny, and forced to wait while she and Rowan complete the thousand and one rituals necessary to girls before they can appear in public, it’s noon before Felix finally escapes the Khanna grounds and grudgingly apparates alongside the younger Hufflepuff. Directly into a clump of large, prickly bushes. Grumbling under his breath about the apparition skills of teenagers, Felix attempts to disentangle himself from the clinging branches. A sharp tug at his sleeve yanks him deeper into the foliage.

   “Ouch! Haywood, what the-“  

   “Shhh!” Penny holds a finger to her lips and gives a vicious shush, then peeks cautiously between the leaves.

   Fortunately, Felix now has several years experience maintaining awkward positions in unpleasant undergrowth. He crouches as still as possible, peering over Penny’s shoulder to determine where they are. He can see a wrought iron grille just in front of their bush and behind it the occasional passing muggle motor car.

   Rowan shifts noisily next to him, trying to achieve a more comfortable position and dislodging a rather large, spindly-legged spider from its web in the dense leaves. And Felix is grateful once more for the years he's spent in Peru where he’s learned to suppress a particular phobia he'd prefer to keep private. Still, he's unable to prevent his body tensing in alarm as the spider scrambles up Rowan's arm just centimetres away from his face.

   “Is this really necessary?” Felix hisses.

   Without replying, Penny pokes her wand through the branches, muttering a spell under her breath, and Felix hears the noise of creaking metal.

   “C'mon,” she whispers, and pushes through the tight greenery. Rowan follows quickly, knocking the spider from its perch, and Felix has to fling himself forward to avoid it, scrambling gracelessly through the newly parted grille and into the road.

   The three of them cross the street, packed with expensive-looking parked motors, and stride as casually as possible down a walk in front of a row of stately town-homes. Penny leads the way, pulling leaves and twigs from her hair, until they reach the very end of the street the plaque declares to be Chester Square. Glancing up and down the walk, Penny taps her wand against a jet-black gate. It swings open soundlessly, and Felix pushes to the fore. He sprints up the steps, and raps hard on a door the same gleaming shade of black as the gate. It takes several more successively violent knocks before it finally swings inward.

   "Wotcher," says the pink-haired Tonks in mild surprise. She looks from Felix to the girls waiting in his shadow, then makes an exasperated movement with her shoulders like a sort of full-body eye roll. "This a kidnap, then?"

   "Where is Juniper?" demands Felix.

   In answer, Tonks nudges the door open more fully, then walks away without a word, leaving the three on the doorstep to invite themselves in. Without waiting for Penny or Rowan, Felix follows on Tonks' heels, past a wide staircase and down an elegantly decorated corridor. The Hufflepuff girl is clad in an interesting assortment of mismatched garments Felix can only assume serve as pyjamas, in spite of the hour, and in stark contrast with the understated hallway and the magnificent kitchen it leads into.

   A glittering white candelabra illuminates counter-tops of pristine white marble facing an enormous fireplace bordered by a pure white mantle. There's hardly any other colour to be found in the entire room, except Tonks' clothes reflected over and over again in the mirrored cabinets.

   "Who was it?" asks the girl seated in a high-backed white chair at the counter. Felix vaguely recognises Tulip Karasu, the renowned Ravenclaw trouble-maker.

   "The Juniper Rescue Squad," replies Tonks in amusement, throwing herself into the chair beside Tulip with a force that causes it to wobble dangerously. She pulls a plate toward her and begins tucking in.

   Tulip turns to inspect the intruders. Her eyes linger for a long moment on Penny, face inscrutable, before noticing Felix.

   "Who's the bloke?"

   Tonks answers through a mouthful of bacon. "That's Philip."

   "Felix," corrects Felix.

   "That," agrees Tonks with a nod. She covers her mouth with a hand as she speaks around her food. "You remember Juniper's old prefect? The one who sent us home from hospital?"

   Tulip inspects Felix thoroughly, eyes lingering on him in a way that makes him distinctly self-conscious. Glancing at his reflection in the mirrored cabinet opposite, Felix realises he's covered in all the dirt, sweat, and dragon-grime of the ten hour shift he completed before receiving Khanna's letter. In his rush to check on Juniper, his unkempt state had completely escaped him.

   "Chester Davies said you work with dragons now," Tulip mentions thoughtfully. "What are you doing here?"

   Felix makes a half-hearted attempt to slick back his hair, but it does little to alter his overall appearance.

   "I'm here to see Juniper," he answers, with as much dignity as he can muster, wondering if he can surreptitiously clean himself before she sees him. The reunion he's envisioned with Juniper does not include him smelling of dragon dung.

   Tulip makes a tiny noise of disgust and tilts her head to gaze around Felix.

   "Penny Haywood, do give it a rest. She's perfectly alright."

   Penny emerges from the hallway behind Felix, little spots of colour appearing on her cheeks.

   "Then she'll be perfectly alright back at Rowan's. Where she's supposed to be."

   "Where’s the fun in that?" winks Tulip.

   Tonks leans her chair back to see around her friend. "I'm sure she'll be ready to go back soon. She just needs to blow off a bit of steam, you know?" She shoves another slice of bacon into her mouth. "You can't really blame her. All she's done the last six years is work. Solving mysteries, saving the school?"

   "Battling bullies," chimes in Tulip, lifting a white tea cup to her lips.

   "Yeah, and assassins!"

   "Dueling dragons."

   "And that thing with the werewolf, whats-his-n- whoops!" Tonks' chair legs overbalance and she topples backwards giving a small yip of surprise. 

   With an exasperated gasp, Penny rushes across the room to Tonks' aid. Felix notices an odd look flicker over Tulip's small, fine features as she watches Penny takes Tonks' hand and pull her up from the floor. She turns away again and stares unreadably into her teacup.

   "Plus, she even cares about her marks now and being prefect and nonsense like that," Tulip concludes, pronouncing the word prefect with utter disdain. "She's been too pent up for years. She deserves some fun."

   "So, playing tricks on boys at parties, completely ignoring the International Statute of Secrecy; that’s your idea of fun?" asks Penny skeptically as she rights Tonks' chair.

   "Not just boys," says Tulip mildly. She locks eyes with a blushing Penny, and there's an undercurrent to their gaze Felix can't identify. It doesn't appear to have anything to do with Juniper, however, and it therefore means nothing to him. He clears his throat loudly and adopts his most imperious tone.

   "Would someone kindly tell me where Juniper actually is?"

   But the words have hardly left his mouth when he hears dull footfalls in the hallway.

    "That’s our sleeping beauty now," Tonks says cheerfully.

   Felix whirls around, and fortune seems to have a vested interest in his dignity this afternoon as it ensures the door frame is just behind him when he suddenly stumbles backward, preventing him landing in a heap on the floor. There's nothing to be done about his slack-jawed stare, however, as Juniper shuffles past him toward the counter like a zombie, eyes half closed and crusted over in sleep.

   If Felix has ever seen Juniper out of her school or Quidditch uniform, then it's only in her own personal dress code of jeans and jumper. He has certainly never seen her in skimpy sleep shorts and overlarge t-shirt that hangs off her otherwise bare shoulder. He knows there are far more important things to be concerned about, such as the heavy bags under Juniper's eyes and the shaking in her fingers as she fumbles with the high backed chair beside Tonks, or the fact that she appears to have lost a stone. But for the moment, the whole of Felix's attention is occupied by the sight of Juniper's naked legs. 

   Juniper manages to collapse heavily into the chair, then slumps across the counter, head resting on her arms.

   "Oi. You've got company,” Tonks says enthusiastically, nudging her limp arm. Juniper gives a tired grunt, not looking up.

   "See. She sleeps better after a night out," Tulip says in triumph, speaking to Penny once again as though Juniper can't hear them. But Penny is oblivious to anything but Juniper now, her face full of open concern.

   The flawless white tea pot on the counter tips itself over smoothly into an unused cup. The little teacup then trots across to Juniper's tangled heap of arms without spilling a drop and stops, waiting as patiently as a well-trained dog. Juniper lifts her head the minimal amount required to sip at the rim of the cup without lifting a hand. For a full minute, the room is silent except the quiet sounds of slurping tea.

   Penny, still standing awkwardly behind the line of chairs, casts a meaningful look at Felix, waiting for him to take the lead, but Felix is too preoccupied with the intriguing amount of skin revealed by Juniper's gaping shirt to remember exactly why they're here in the first place. From behind him, Rowan clears her throat.

   “Juniper?"

   Juniper grunts again without any clear inflection. She tilts her head very slightly in Rowan's direction, but still doesn't open her eyes.

   "Um...Felix is here. He came to see you." Rowan tries to infuse excitement into her voice, but her hands clenching and unclenching in front of her give away her nerves.

   Slowly, Juniper pushes off from the table and focuses bleary, bloodshot eyes on the doorway. Felix's heart skips a beat, but her gaze crosses him and then Rowan without any reaction, as if his presence were nothing more remarkable than a post owl.

   "How are you feeling?" asks Penny anxiously.

   Juniper coughs around another swallow of tea before mumbling, "I've massive headache."

   "Oh, right!" exclaims Tonks, straightening up and fishing around in a hidden pocket. She produces a small, clear bottle and sets it with a thud next to Juniper's teacup. "Hangover cure's a summer essential. Never be without."

   Juniper stares at the corked bottle, and Felix's blood cools enough for him to put thoughts together coherently. He moves to come to Juniper's aid, but Penny beats him to it.

   "I've got it," she says eagerly, reaching around Juniper for the bottle.

   Juniper jumps from her chair as quickly as if it were on fire. Penny flinches at the sudden movement and the rest of the room stills, all eyes now on Juniper in varying levels of concern.

   "It's fine," she mumbles, tucking her hands into her armpits. “Just need a bit of air." She takes a few stumbling steps backward before darting from the room with unexpected speed, given her listless entrance.

   Penny turns and looks helplessly at Tonks. Her lips move and it sounds like a question, but Felix can't process the words. Ignoring the low, serious murmurs passing between the girls in the room, Felix hastens past the chairs to follow Juniper out the swinging door.

-

   For a moment, Felix wonders if the door was a port-key and if he hasn't been transported somewhere else, an entirely different continent perhaps. He’s not overly familiar with Belgravia, but he feels certain its houses rarely contain sprawling, immaculately manicured Japanese tea gardens. Looking up, however, he can see the same tall buildings that surround the Karasu townhome over the tops of the delicately swaying trees. There’s no ambient city noise, just the trickle of the river, and what sounds like a distant waterfall.

   Blinking in the sudden warm sunlight, Felix lifts a hand to shade his eyes, searching for Juniper. He catches sight of her a short distance away, standing motionless on a graceful wooden bridge overlooking the quiet stream. He walks cautiously toward her across stepping stones nestled between precisely arranged flowers.

   If it weren't for Penny and Rowan's stories, and her strange behavior in the kitchen, Felix would have believed Juniper miraculously recovered. Her colour has returned to normal, and even her scars have largely faded. Preoccupied with drinking in all her newly revealed skin, Felix is a few steps behind Juniper before he notices something else.

   "You cut your hair."

   He doesn't mean to say the words aloud. They simply fall from his mouth as he stares stupidly at the back of Juniper's head. Her hair, always long and wavy even when pulled back, now just barely touches her shoulders. Felix isn’t sure how he feels about the change.

   "Fancied something different,” Juniper explains without turning around. "What are you doing here?"

   Her voice is eerie, like she's reading from a script she's only just seen. Playing the character of someone pleasant and cheerful, but unable to act the part convincingly. It sets the hairs on the back of Felix's neck on end. He shakes himself mentally and tries to remember all the comforting things he’s planned to say while waiting in the Khanna kitchen just an hour ago.

    "I...was worried about you. You stopped writing.”

   "Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. Got busy," Juniper says, stage directions reading casually upbeat. Felix’s nerves twang with each forced syllable.

   "Rowan wrote me.” He takes a step closer. “She's worried about you as well. "

   "She needn't be. I'm fine."

   Felix's eye-roll is instinctual. "That’s ridiculous. You-“

   Juniper turns to face Felix. And it isn’t her wide, false smile that scares him, it's her eyes. They look like the empty windows of an abandoned house; all light behind them gone. Juniper's eyes have always been fiery, bringing an otherwise average face to life in a compelling way, even at thirteen. Between her newly shorn hair and her strangely blank eyes, Felix might have mistaken her for a completely different person.

   "You - you're-" he stutters, but no comment he can make on her appearance sounds like a compliment. "Rowan says you’re not yourself lately.”

   It takes a moment for Felix to interpret her strange chuffing noise as a laugh.

   "What, because I wouldn't sit around on her farm the whole summer doing nothing?" 

    A gentle breeze blows across the trees. It feels good to Felix, the direct sunlight beginning to bear down on him uncomfortably, but Juniper shivers and wraps her arms around herself. 

   "Look, I just needed a change of pace, alright? Tonks and Tulip spend their summer holidays in the city, going to parties, having fun. I thought I might try that for once. I would've invited Rowan but it's not really her scene."

   "You're supposed to be resting. Recovering. Staying safe."

   Juniper's snort of laughter contains a higher than usual proportion of bitterness. "I don't see why I'm any safer out in the middle of nowhere than in the city surrounded by people."

   "Dumbledore thinks-"

   "Dumbledore thought we'd be safe at school and all. Look how that turned out. No offence, but he's not exactly my go-to for safety tips anymore."

   Her false cheer begins to dissolve under the heat of obvious anger. It isn't a usual emotion for her, but it is at least genuine, and nearer the reaction Felix has expected. Heartened, he reaches between them to gently grasp her shoulder; the one still covered by thin cloth.

   "Juniper..."

   Juniper flinches. Felix can feel muscle tensing under his hand. She doesn't pull away, but his grip on her arm feels suddenly awkward rather than comforting, and he's unsure whether or not to let go.

   "Juniper," he tries again. "That...that group could still be after you. I know it's difficult to think about right now with everything you've been through but, if they find you-"

   "Why would they still be after me? I'm hardly a threat anymore." Bitterness salivates from her words. She holds up her hands in front of her, knocking Felix's loose from her shoulder. "I can hardly hold my wand anymore, let alone cast anything. So, they've got what they wanted. My curse-breaking career is effectively over. And any other career I might have had."  

   The words themselves seem to throb with pain, causing an ache in Felix he can't fully understand.

   "Rowan thinks I'm not myself, because myself is always working: saving everyone and solving everything. But you know, when I was doing that all anyone ever said was for me to stop. And now that I want to listen to them, they're freaking out! I just want to have a bit of fun like regular girls my age do over the summer. Is that too much ask?”

   Felix would have to concede this point if it weren't for the fact that her demeanor isn't that of a person enjoying themselves, having a relaxing, stress-free summer. Still, as someone guilty of encouraging Juniper to focus on herself instead of curse-breaking, he has to scramble for a counter-argument.

   “What about school?"

   Juniper shrugs carelessly. “What's the point?"

   "The point? Juniper, you have NEWTs this year. How do you expect to be a healer if-"

   "Ugh!" For a moment, Juniper's eyes flash with angry fire. "You and Rowan and Penny! You all want to tiptoe around me and pretend to encourage me about my future, like I don't know that I can't take the NEWTs and I can't be a healer anymore. I'm not an idiot, Felix. It's obvious I won't recover well enough to make anything like the marks I need to get into St Mungo's."

   Felix is frozen in the wake of her bitter, scalding fury. It's been a very long time since he's seen Juniper this angry at him, and much like the last time, he has the feeling it has little to do with himself. Still, he can feel defensive anger raise a tired head. He's risked everything to be here for her, to help her, and she ought to appreciate that. Felix swallows around the lump in his throat, trying to keep himself calm.

   "Are you still seeing your healers regularly? Healer Early said-”

    Juniper cuts him off with an exasperated growl.

   “Look, Felix, thank you for your concern but I’ve got this covered. I’ll be just fine. I always am.”

   Turning briskly, Juniper starts off down the bridge, and Felix panics. He doesn't have the first idea what to say to fix this, to fix her, but he knows he has to say something. There's always been a good, rational reason not to speak, but he's sick of playing it safe. He's come too far to let her walk away again.

   “Juniper, stop!” Felix calls after her, and remarkably, she does. Felix closes the distance between them, until he’s close enough to count the pale scars across her forehead. Heart pounding, he cups her face in his hands, not caring what he must look like or smell like or whether the right time to do this is in Tulip Karasu's parents’ garden.

   "Please, just...listen. I understand, this is-"

   "How could you possibly understand any of this?" Juniper interrupts, spitting the words into his face. Felix winces, back tracking quickly.

   "Okay, you're right. I don't - I don't understand." He strokes her cheek with his thumb, trying to impress his feelings on her through their layers of skin. "But I want to. I want to help."

   Felix can feel Juniper’s trembling fingers encircle his, and his heart races. But she only tugs lightly, pulling his hands away from her face.

   "Then leave me alone."

   Her jaw is set, the shutters behind her eyes firmly closed. She drops his hands, and turns her back on him again. This time, Felix lets her go.

-

   The kitchen is empty when Felix steps back through the swinging door. He marches through the glaringly white room, down the hall, and almost makes it to the front door when a voice hails him from behind. He pauses only briefly, entirely indisposed to any further conversation.

   “Wait!” cries Tonks' voice. “How’d it go? Did she-” She catches sight of Felix’s frozen mask and draws an accurate conclusion. “I guess she’s not ready to go back then.”

   Felix regards her coldly. "No."

   Tonks bites her lip, her hair fading to a dirty blonde; the first sign of low-spirits Felix has seen in the brash Hufflepuff.

   "So...what do we do now?"

   Felix's eyebrow raise is particularly contemptuous, and Tonks' shuffles her feet uncomfortably.

   "Look, I'm not saying we were wrong. Juniper definitely needed to get out a bit, but...I don't know if it's really helping anymore."

   "What do you mean?" asks Felix in spite of himself.

   "I dunno, she's just..." Tonks shrugs expressively, "She gets sort of weird and jumpy when we're out now. I don't really know how to describe it." 

  Voices can be heard approaching the hall and Tonks looks around, suddenly nervous, as if their conversation were something illicit. She reaches into a pocket hidden somewhere in her strange ensemble and pulls out a scrap of paper. She thrusts it into Felix's unwilling hand.

   "That's where we'll be tonight. Come by, you'll see what I mean. She might...be a bit more reasonable later. "

   Felix shakes his head briskly. "I have quite enough on my plate at the moment without anymore teenage drama."

   Tonks furrows her eyebrows indignantly, hair becoming a fiery red, but Felix overrides her hot retort. "I will write to Professor Snape and let him know that Juniper is once again refusing to follow the Headmaster's explicit instructions for her safety, and it will be up to them to decide her fate."

   Without waiting for a reply, Felix yanks the front door open and sweeps from the townhouse, Tonks' proffered parchment still crumpled in his hand.

-

   The first order of business is Diagon Alley, and his letter to Snape; just a few brief lines containing Juniper's current location and her refusal to return to safety. Then, the Leaky Cauldron for a room and a wash. A long, hot bath is enticing, but out of the question, so Felix opts for a quick sluice. No change of clothes gives him an excuse to return to Diagon Alley where he wastes an hour wandering in and out of shops, perusing racks of robes he has no use for in Romania, examining everything minutely, pestering shopkeepers with questions; anything to keep his thoughts and feelings at bay.

   Exhaustion creeps over him, but Felix is afraid to sleep. There's a swell of misery waiting at the edges of his mind threatening to overwhelm him if he's still even for a moment. He walks the length of the street and back again twice, before his feet ache too badly to continue. Panic surfaces when he finally re-enters the Leaky Cauldron, unable to think of any further distraction. He's considering the soporific effects of a pint, when he notices the tall, black-robed figure speaking in low tones to Tom at the bar.

   "Professor Snape?"

   The Hogwarts Potions Master’s black eyes meet Felix's and he jerks his head to indicate a door off the side of the pub's main room.

   A half-hour later, sequestered in a private parlour, Felix finishes relating a more complete account of the day's events to the Slytherin Head of House, and stares down at his second cup of un-drunk tea that day. Only hours ago Felix would have been mortified to relate to anyone, let alone Snape, the lengths he's gone to ensuring Juniper's well-being, not to mention her subsequent rejection. But his pride has temporarily fled, replaced by weary, stomach-churning grief, and he finds he doesn't care what Snape thinks of him just at present.

   "You look rather the worse for wear yourself," Snape finally says after several minutes dusty silence, a jerk of his eyebrow serving to indicate Felix's work attire.

   It's more than a little galling to have his personal appearance remarked upon by Hogwarts' infamous greasy-haired professor, and Felix has to bite his tongue to prevent a snide remark escaping. The irascibility coursing through him is desperate to unleash itself on someone, but he's not so starved for sense that he considers Snape a reasonable target. Felix contents himself with merely glaring as fiercely as he dares at the professor. It has no visible effect.

   "I did come here straight off a ten hour shift. I've not slept in-"

   “Then perhaps it would be best if you took some time to rest."

    Snape takes a dry, crumbling biscuit from a plate on the table and chews, momentarily distracting Felix. He knows theoretically that Snape must eat, but the sight is still mildly unsettling.

   "I can't leave for Romania until Monday," Felix says absently. "That's the next scheduled portkey and entry into the Reserve is strictly regulated. So I've got the weekend to sleep, I guess." 

   Felix turns to his own plate. His stomach grumbles moodily, and he knows it's been at least a day since he's eaten, but nothing looks particularly appetizing. He opts for a small sip of his now lukewarm tea, and grimaces. What he wouldn't give for a strong, Peruvian coffee...

   "I meant, perhaps you ought to rest before speaking to Miss Windsong this evening."

   Felix stares at the Professor over his cup, nonplussed.

   "Why would I speak to her again? I've just told you the whole story, weren't you-" Snape's eyes flash a warning, stopping Felix's growing frustration in its tracks. "I mean - she obviously doesn't want me. My help, I mean. She was quite clear on the subject. "

   Snape’s fingers drum against the arm of the chair. He wets his lips, hesitating in a manner Felix has never seen from the imperturbable Professor.

   "Sometimes, in...trying circumstances...people may say things they do not mean. And later regret." Snape breathes in loudly through his nose as if this simple pronouncement cost him a great deal of energy. "I would encourage you to give Miss Windsong another chance."

   Felix tries to see through Snape's iron mask to what could possibly make him so uncomfortable.

   "Professor, do you think...could this just be a side effect of the curse she was under? That that's what's making her act like this now? Say...say things she doesn't really mean?"

   Snape shakes his head. "It seems more plausible that this is the side effect of a life spent in dire circumstance all catching up with Miss Windsong at once. There's a reason she has always been encouraged, not to mention expressly ordered, to focus on more age appropriate concerns. For all her exceptional achievements," Snape pronounces these words with exquisite sarcasm, "The people around her tend to forget she is merely 17. As does Miss Windsong, herself.”

   Felix isn't quite sure he understands, but he feels foolish admitting it. At a loss for what to say, he takes another sip of cold tea. Cup clenched in his hands, he closes his eyes, wondering hopelessly whether this entire day might not all be a dream. Perhaps the ridiculous alarm clock hasn't rung at all, and he's still lying on the floor of his unpacked room, sleeping through his shift. It's a mark of how god-awful this day as been that missing work seems preferable.

   "Why is Miss Windsong so important to you?"

    Felix's eyes snap open. He knows the heat rising in his face would give him away even to a less perceptive audience, but he can't stop his frantic search for a plausible cover. "I don't - that is... what do you m-"

   "You know perfectly well what I mean," snaps Snape impatiently. "You do not attend the Quidditch matches of every student you knew at school. Or any, as a matter of fact." 

   Snape leaves the statement hanging in the air between them. And Felix, exhausted and miserable, finds the words tumbling out without thought.

   "I love her. I have for years, I think. She's the first real friend I ever had." He drops his head into his hands. "I tried to tell her at that stupid match. And then afterwards, before all this...this whole mess happened. And now...now she doesn't even want me here."

   Felix can only imagine the look of abject disgust on Snape's face, as his own is still buried in his fingers. He knows he should feel embarrassed at unburdening himself on the famously unsentimental professor, but, surprisingly, it's relief that overwhelms him. His confession has lifted a weight from his chest he was unaware of. For the first time in months, Felix finds himself breathing easily.

   "If that is truly how you feel," Snape's voice sounds oddly tentative. "Then you should not give up on Miss Windsong so quickly."

   Felix lifts his head, mouth slightly open. It's as if another person, standing just behind Snape, has spoken.

    "You must tell her. In a way she cannot misunderstand. You will regret it if you do not. And I assure you there is nothing worse than to live forever with that regret."

   Felix blinks, trying to reconcile this advice with the person offering it. Before he can begin to form a response, however, Snape stands briskly.

   "I will inform the Auror Moody of Miss Windsong's whereabouts..." Snape wets his lips again. "Tomorrow. I imagine he will want to escort her back to the Khanna farm immediately, willingly or not. Which gives you the evening." The Potions Master billows from the room, leaving Felix to interpret his words as he will. 

    Absent-mindedly reaching for a biscuit, Felix decides it’s imperative he reconcile with Juniper, if only because he can’t think of a single other person who will ever believe his story of receiving romantic advice from Severus Snape. 

-

Chapter 8 |  Masterpost.

[rewordthis]

White Tiled Sorrows

the us from this moment –

1676 words SouHaru SFW

Prologue:

"If there ever was anything that could throw him off, that was probably fate — he vaguely recalls Rin to have argued about that — or maybe, just his luck."

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[Part A]

… Faded-white, cement bricks on the pavement covering each plane of the road side. Trees, willowy and tall, unlike the ones on his region. A playground a few meters ahead…

"Shit—" he cursed lowly. He's gotten lost— again.

Trying to understand when exactly he had messed up his route, he mindlessly made a beeline towards the small recreational area. The place was nice. If he had to get lost in the city this was a nice area to do so; the sun was stealing in on his face through the trees, a sweet warmth hitting his cheek, down where he sat on one open swing.

It was still a bit chilly outside, considering that it was just a couple days into March. Graduation day was merely a month away, and he had to consider a gift for Gou and go wish to Ai.

'Ai…' thinking back to it, his final year as a high school student was one very fond memory for him. He had simply hoped to see Rin again, but ended up finding a family. Ai, Momo, Uozumi, all of them— they had all accepted him as one of their own. They respected him. Not because of his status as elder, but because they considered him valuable. Him — Sousuke. They didn't try to dissuade him or look down on him when they had him found out. Quite the contrary, they took him in, they enveloped him with gentleness and comfort and made him their unrivaled, unyielding hero. They gave him their strength. And filled him with new hope.

He owed them so much. So— so much.

A brazen cheering pierced through in the background, effectively bursting his bubbling thoughts.

He turned to the side to eye a cluster of children, flowing out from a place somewhere behind him.

His mind was clear. Lucid as for the very first time after eons. No troubles. No pretense. He suddenly felt a tug at his lips. He was smiling, wasn't he?

If Sousuke could see himself at that moment, he would swore he didn't know this person.

Soft eyes— shining, tender expression, an almost smile. Something familiar and fond and very nostalgic pulling at his heart. It felt horribly out of character for something this sappy to bloom out of him. Made him feel so out of place. So empty…

<<Growl>>

'hungry?'

Without much thought to it, Sousuke got up from his swing that clang noisily from the quick flurry of his movements, and headed in the opposite direction from where the echoes of cheering still reached him. He didn't ventured too far from where he had been, and he found himself standing in front of a communal pool.

There were some kids that had yet to leave the premises, blabbing energized about this and that.

He didn't plan to, in fact he had wanted to turn around and leave once his curiosity was sated, but his feet carried him all the way to the entrance.

He found himself taking a quick glance of the time table attached to one of the door leaves, as he pushed behind the other.

[ Friday: 13:00 - 14:30 elementary students practice

           14:30 - 20:00 public hour ]

He didn't even checked his watch as he noted that -something- had held those kids back for at least half an hour after their class. It was, currently,  15:15. He knows this much because he saw the time when he exited the station at 14:30 sharp and then again at 14:45 when he sighed for the umpteenth time that evening as he had lost his way.

He trod in along the entrance hall, taking in the poster-covered walls; practice notices, open invitations to past events, warnings and rules for the public and swimmers, a plaque of the buildings’ name, the founding day and the donor that had obviously put his money in the project. It was a small golden plate with neat kanji, that Sousuke couldn't find it in him to actually bother to look at. He just moved ahead.

Pushing open the double steel doors, each with a stained glass the shape of a hemisphere and a long cylindrical handle attached from top to bottom, he had felt at ease. Now, driving through another pair of doors; wooden this time and much lighter, rectangular semi-transparent panes on each panel giving little to none of what was going on behind them, he found himself buzzing with excitement. He couldn't remember when was the last time he'd felt this way. It seemed so bizarre to have all this energy all of a sudden, 'cause — wasn't he hungry?!

Upon entering he was greeted with all too many people, ranking on all ages. Young men and women enjoying the water or moving around in a relaxed manner, the elderly sitting along the benches that lined the walls, 3-year-olds that were taking their first swimming lessons from their proud parents in the kiddy pool and some slightly older ones too. And on the far end towards — what Sousuke assumed — the locker rooms, were a deep pool not quite the size of an Olympic one but big all the same, that bustled busily with chattering and splashing. A ring of spectators was circling the pool, children cheering excitedly and younger people staring amazed from the sidelines.

Sousuke stood. In the middle of the slippery tiled floor, that looked like an artificial divide between the two clashing energies in this confined space, he stood. He examined the cheering bunch, detecting the fine sound of rhythmical sloshing through water.

Someone was swimming there — a kid maybe?

(But not quite.)

He doesn't really have the time to act of his own as a kid sprints past him — and he follows it with his eyes to where it meets with a middle-aged woman, his mother, he notes — and now is quickly running in his direction again, only, the kid is loosing his footing for a moment and Sousuke reaches out one big hand and grabs him. He looks surprised — if not stunned — as if he hadn't noticed the bulk that Sousuke's sheer size was forming in the space between.

Sousuke looks genuinely surprised himself. He actually managed to catch the kid in time. He didn't think he would…

"Kid…" he started and he felt the boy flinch in his grip. Ah— he's probably intimidating, isn't he; standing almost 10 heads above, he ought to be. So he swallows and drops his tone a notch. He tries again: "kid, it's dangerous to run in the pool—"

As he releases his hold on the boy's arm he notices the distinct forming of fingerprints around the soft flesh. He bites his lip. 'Damn—'

He's got no time to apologize properly before the kid beams up a smile at him and grab a hold of his wrist.

"It's ok! It doesn't hurt. At least I didn't fell, so thank you! Also, I'm sorry for running in the pool…” He says as he drags Sousuke along, to the big pool.

"Both my old coach and my new coach tell me not to run on the wet floor—", he makes a face —indignant?— "… mom, too." He finishes as he steals a glance back to where the woman was moments earlier…

'So that's how it is.' Sousuke notes with a nod of his head. And maybe he's smiling, because the kid is training a curious eye on him now.

This boy reminds him of himself when he was little. Black, short, spiky hair and piercing gaze. But the way he's easy with a guy like Sousuke, brings forth memories of his best friend as well.

"Say, oni-chan, do you swim?"

"Ah, yeah…?" 'How— no shit, idiot! Of course the kid would ask you that. You're in a pool for fucks sake… DUH!'

And the kid appears perplexed for a brief second before he says: "No, I mean— like professionally! You know…"

And Sousuke's brain barely registers the following words as he comes into view of what the formless barrier of moving bodies reveal before his disbelieving eyes…

"… like Haru is!"

And there is positively one Haruka Nanase, gleefully drifting over and under the water with lazy movements, much like a dolphin playing freely — not in a closed off tank, but rather — out in the vastness of the ocean. Happy. Content.

And he hears, as if from somewhere far away on his right…

"Haru swims professionally, but he swims only free!"

And there is a tear at his arm — one that hopefully didn't rip open his stitches (and, could the stitches get ripped when they are already removed by his doctor? Or what?) — and he's inches away from the edge of the pool and the kid next to him is frantically waving a hand at Haru; like a cat trying to catch its masters’ attention and show him the mouse it managed to caught. Like a gift in a show of affection or something.

The kid calls at Haru.

"Haru, this oni-chan over here is swimming too! He's really nice and I think you can become good friends!"

And Nana— Haru, is stilling in his spot, shaking the excess water from his face. His eyes drift to the kid where they trace his hand back over to Sousuke's blank face.

Sousuke can tell he's surprised as well from the imperceptible rounding of his rims in awe, sharp gaze growing lightly wondering.

"Am sure you'll like him!" The kid says as he finally releases Sousuke to dive into the pool, moving close to Haru.

The man is still looking at the stone effigy that is Sousuke. Sousuke finds his lingering gaze growing even more unbearable as he lowers himself in the water, the majority of his features hidden in the shimmering liquid, his eyes alone striking with a strange glow.

And surely enough, Sousuke can hear a familiar voice from half across the earth, laughing in mirth at him and his misery… ‘just shut up, Rin!’

Because…

'Shit—' (now he wants to swim?)

…

[End of Part A]

••••••••••••••••

A.N.: please do take the world and background/buildings descriptions with a grain of salt, as I've taken some liberties in this story.

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