#dark stained wood banister

[arielerinkaplan]

New York Traditional Deck Inspiration for a large timeless backyard deck remodel with no cover

[gunillamixtapes]

Rustic Kitchen

[littlelesbinonny]

The Devil's Den

Chapter 47: In Which Pieces Get Set For Motion

You can read this also on Ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46831621/chapters/150347506

You stood looking at the entrance to Alcina's city from the steps of the church's hall that lead to its underbelly. 

You knew the way. Sort of. You had your cell phone for a flashlight and figured there were really only so many ways you could get lost. At least until another vampire or lycan found you. Though you didn't know if that would be a good thing, either. But, it was also only 3 in the afternoon; shouldn't they all be sleeping?

"I've never been there myself," Father Sullivan said, now beside you with his hands folded neatly, "but you're welcome to stay here as long as you like if you're wary of the trek."

A soft sigh escaped your lungs and you glanced over at him, "this if my first venture by myself," you admitted, "I'm not really needed down there until tomorrow, but."

"Your nerves are getting the better of you?" He offered at your hesitance.

"Little bit."

Father Sullivan smiled and straightened his sturdy back, "Lady Dimitrescu does that for all of us here," he grinned wider, "though I don't think it's her you're so nervous about."

Your blush was muted but you felt the warmth, "no, not her... but she definitely has that immobilizing intimidation thing going for her though, huh?"

"Indeed!" He laughed, "though I am grateful for her potency. Effective should be her middle name."

"You know, I think it actually is."

"It would not surprise me in the slightest."

The two of you shared a laugh and then you took a big breath, releasing it with an even more embellished sigh.

"Good luck, miss," he nodded at you, "give the Matriarch my regards."

Welp, if you were looking for a nudge or a send off, that was good enough.

Goddamn it was dark. And eerily quiet.

It became progressively cooler as you made your way further and further down and you were glad you were wearing what you were. You could recall that it was chilly the last time you were here, but at the time you had enough adrenaline pumping through your veins it didn't bother you in the slightest. If Alcina wanted you to move down here, there'd be some serious accommodation issues to be addressed.

A hint of firelight from the torches you remember from your walk with Alcina finally leaked into the darkness, a bigger smile coming to your lips as you rounded the corner to this lit area that reminded you the entrance to the city was only 3 more turns away. 

As you stepped carefully through the tunnel mouth, placing your hand carefully on the intricately carved stone banister of the large stairwell down into the city, you took a good moment to really look at it.

It really was beautiful. In its haunting, quiet, and macabre sort of way.

Hundreds of years of hard work went into creating this. Uncountable hours making everything as beautiful and mysterious as the inhabitants therein. Humans used to make living art like this, but now everything was boxes and boring. It gave you nostalgia you'd never felt before. This place could almost feel like home.

Taking silent steps, you descended the many stairs and realized only when you set foot onto the familiar cobblestone streets that the bite of cold in the air was now very comfortable. You sighed pleasantly.

With no real rush to get to Alcina's manor, you took advantage of the empty streets and admired the many structures as you went.

Most of them seemed to be made of the same stone that made up the underground itself; dark and shiny, almost coal or obsidian like in the right light. While others were made of a lighter stone; a type of granite perhaps. And others, though very few it appeared, were made of wood that had been either stained or painted over with darker colors like forest green, ocean blue, and you spotted one or two further off that looked merlot in tone. 

Some homes, and what you assumed were gathering places like what would akin to a bar for the human world above, were 2 to 3 stories high. The architecture of many of them felt very much like the French Quarters one would find in Louisiana, others were very gothic-cathedral like, and some were as ornate and beautiful as a Victorian mansion you'd seen pictures of. 

There were only 3 buildings that stuck out apart from the rest in height; one you knew as City Hall which could be seen from every corner with its massive imposing, sharp domed peak, the Matriarch manor that was far to the left, and one in the far back that you hadn't noticed before. It stood taller and wider than everything else, had hundreds of tall glass windows, and had a most beautiful amber glow emanating from each of them. Another council hall maybe? A hotel? Your brain chuckled a little at that thought, but it really didn't seem so far fetched; while these beings were undead, they were still human, they still traveled, did most of the normal things you did, didn't they?

As your train of thought continued down the tracks, it was derailed quite loudly as you approached a very large familiar gate.

Fuck.

How exactly were you going to get in? You knew this thing was damn well locked, and you didn't have a key, nor any way to alert Alcina you were there.

Your hands carefully pressed to the thick heavy metal but all you got was defiant resistance in return.

Fuuuuuck times two.

Perhaps your wild hair to show up early could have used a little flat-ironing.

Dropping your gaze to your feet in a bit of sheepishness, the idea of sitting like a lost child in front of Alcina's gate until someone noticed felt pretty embarrassing. But, suddenly there was a disturbance in the air and a soft whoosh as you looked up to find a brilliantly smiling Cassandra right in your face on the other side of the bars.

"Hi," she grinned, "you're early."

"Uh - yeah, a bit, sorry - I hope that's -"

"You're eagerly awaited!" Cassandra smiled even wider as she opened the gate and waved you in.

Well she definitely seemed eager and you weren't sure how exactly to receive it, but you nodded shortly and stepped through, "oh, ok, well, thank you for let -"

"Of course." She cut you off, latching the gate and ushering you towards the manor, "mother hasn't returned yet, but my sisters and I are up so you can relax with us until she's back," Cassandra continued, a more devilish smile gracing her lovely face as you entered the house, "let me take your coat, and you can put your bag right here," she more or less instructed as the front door shut and she reached for your article before you'd even began removing it.

You were still registering the pace in which you got in here by the time two more bodies showed up behind you.

Bela, the blonde, was smiling much more warmly and comfortably than her brunette sister, and the redhead who was almost right in your face had the same devilish, although slightly more chaotic, grin slathered on her facade. She looked far too pleased to see you than you had anticipated and you swallowed.

"I hope you weren't waiting at the gate long," Bela chimed in trying to inch Daniela back a little, "we weren't expecting you for a while, but we're glad you're here."

You nodded through a short smile, "yeah, sorry, I guess I -"

"No need to apologize," the redhead beamed, "we can show you the rest of the manor and hang out until mother is back!" She bounced.

Cassandra snorted as she walked around the side of you to walk past her sisters with a wicked smirk, "I think I smell a little guilt in that excitement there, Dani," looking back and eying you pleasingly, "she's the one who found you and drug you to the club that night, you know."

Well that was one hell of a revelation. You'd not really considered how you'd ended up at the club for the longest time, and now you were half mortified and curious as all hell.

Daniela's entire demeanor plummeted into the ground, her face blank, eyes wide as she looked at you then shot her sight at Cassandra, "why would you tell her that?!" She blurted breathlessly, her hands now on her face in embarrassment, "I - We - I'm -"

"Jesus Christ, Cassandra," Bela stated starkly, moving in and wrapping her arm around Daniela, exasperatedly shaking her head as her sister disappeared down the hall then looking to you regretfully, "I'm sorry... and welcome to our home where that one," she motioned her head down the hall, "has no filter or any couth AT ALL, and the other three of us live in utter madness at all times when Cassandra's in a mood."

Ah. So Cassandra was ruthless. Duly noted. 

Daniela was still quite beside herself and unsure where to look and you felt so badly. Even if it was true, that was a sharp way to throw that information at everyone's feet. You'd never had siblings but you had heard plenty of stories of how brutal the relationships could be. Being undead probably allowed for a whole new level of brutality to ensue.

You reached your hand out to Daniela and touched her arm briefly but reassuringly, "it's all good," you offered with a warm smirk, "I guess by technicality I should be thanking you, really, for the new life I've got and whatnot."

Her eyes were flipped from upset to beaming hope in a split second as she stared at you, "r-really?"

You shrugged with a bigger smile, "pretty much. I'd never have met Alcina or had any of this happen if you hadn't... ya know. So, yeah. Thanks."

The haphazard hug you received from Dani was just tallying up the unexpected event points you'd had in the last 10 minutes and you just chuckled, hugged her back, and decided everything from this moment on was likely going to be just as unpredictable and giving into that would just be easier than not.

"Ok, good," Dani huffed, grabbing the sides of your arms hastily after releasing you, "if you hated me because of that I would be so upset, I mean, you have every right to be, but it wasn't intentional, I mean none of the choices are intentional for the most part so you were just more or less collateral, which sounds insensitive, but I don't mean it to be! You just -"

"Dani," Bela stopped her barrage of blurting thoughts, "maybe go find our guest a human drink, like one of those bottles of wine mother likes that doesn't have blood in it?"

The redhead looked at her sister briefly, then to you, flashed a humble smile, nodded and then dashed off in the same direction Cassandra had gone.

You, still processing, took a deep breath.

"I am so sorry," Bela offered once more, "she's not used to interacting with humans. Or any type of normal interaction, really."

You chuckled, "it's ok. But I sure do have questions, although I think I'll just save them for much later."

Bela smiled warmly and waved her hand down the hall, "that might be best... We really are happy you're here, though. But please take Cassandra with the most miniscule grain of salt. And Dani will calm down eventually, but until then, I'll play mediator as much as possible."

You had been given a glass or normal wine as the showcase of the manor began. Cassandra was mostly reserved through the adventure but added in quips as she saw fit while the tour went on. Daniela was the main storyteller and Bela was the stability you leaned on when those two got into it over whatever happened to come up at any given moment. You loved the banter and couldn't help but imagine what it was like for Alcina raising them back into the women they were today from where Mother Miranda had left them. You could see her strength, resilience, tenacity, and spunk in each of the girls, even though they were all uniquely themselves. It was warming. 

The 4 of you were now in the turret, your second favorite room in the manor, as the conversation and interactions had gotten much more smooth and comfortable.

Settling into one of the couches, Bela sat adjacent you on a plush leather sofa, Cassandra perched directly across from you on what you assumed was her chez lounge, and Daniela had hopped off to grab you another glass of wine. You really didn't need another one but she was so happy to be of service so you couldn't say no.

"So," you began tentatively, "have any of you ever been part of a grand council like what's coming up?"

Cassandra ran a hand through her long hair with a scoff, "god no," she chuckled, "and thank fuck, because to hear how mother tells it, they're fucking awful."

"They're not awful," Bela stated with a look thrown at her sister, "but taxing would be a better word. These councils are strictly for those in charge; leaders of clans; sometimes the heads of military, but never anyone else, so no, luckily we haven't. I bet you're not looking forward to it."

"I'm going into all of this completely blind, so I'm pretty hesitant and nervous."

"Ah, just zap 'em with your fae powers if they give you any shit," Cassandra grinned, "and believe me, there are several who will."

Bela rubbed her forehead, "stop trying to freak her out."

"I'm not! It's true," Cassandra rebutted, flinging her hand to her sister dramatically, "how many times has mother returned from the yearly meeting talking about how annoyingly confrontational that French bitch, oh what's her face - Margery, Margaret - "

"Marguerite?"

"That bitch!" Cassandra slapped the arm of the lounge, grinning at Bela, "she's always starting shit with mother - the biggest gossiper outside of Pablo - although Pablo is hilarious. He's the head of the coven in Spain," she went on, looking at you, "he's incredibly handsome, very vain, and so snotty, but he has comedic timing like you wouldn't believe."

Daniela had returned with your other glass of wine and handed it to you with a glimmer in her eye, "what'd I miss? Who's so funny?"

"Pablo," the other sisters answered in tandem.

"Ohhh, yeah. He's awfully self centered though." Daniela added, plopping next to you, "but god is he cute."

You couldn't help but chuckle, but as you were going to ask another question your phone dinged in your pocket. Pulling it out there was a text from Malka on the screen but you'd ignore it for now. At least, you could. There was a redhead within breath range of you as you looked over and you watched her gaze as it fixated on your phone.

Daniela's eyes snapped up to you, "oh my god, that's a nice phone," she smiled, "do you have any cool games on there?"

"Uh, yeah I've got a merging game on there I play from time to time." You replied unable to hide your amusement.

"Oooo, what's a merging game?"

You had to remind yourself they didn't have cell phones and games like you had at your fingertips everyday, so her childlike curiosity made your smile grow even wider, "want me to show you?"

"YES!" Daniela squeaked.

Cassandra rolled her head back on her headrest and groaned, "my god she's unbearable."

"It's no big deal," you said as you opened the app and leaned into Daniela's space, "here, it's called Merge Dragons."

You let her watch the load screen with awe at the colorful, cuter than necessary dragons and scenery unfold, and when the game started you just handed the phone over to her, "so, see these?" You pointed to a couple squares that had identical items, "find another one of those and place it in one of these squares - " Dani did just as you instructed and the 3 merged into a new upgraded item, "and that's basically the jist of it."

Daniela's eyes were even bigger as she pulled your phone screen closer to her face with utter glee, "THIS IS SO COOL!"

Her fingers started tapping and dragging away and you just chuckled, "well play away, I haven't been on that in weeks."

"Thank you!!" She squeaked one more time before huddling into the other side of the couch, continuing to play.

Bela smiled at you warmly, "she's obsessed with technology."

"But mother won't let us have any." Cassandra whinged.

"Yeah, so I've heard. Why is that?" You asked.

"Hell if we know; you'd think for her ancient ass she'd have kept up with times a little better, but no, apparently cell phones are the devil."

Bela rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time tonight, "mother is old fashioned, and it's not like we're hurting for it."

"She's boring."

"You just want a cell phone so you can hunt the easy way and be lazy," Daniela chimed in slyly, glancing over at you only briefly to resume the game, "dating apps, you know?"

You raised your eyebrows high at her comment but quickly regained your composure.

"Oh piss off Dani," Cassandra spat, "it's not being lazy, it is literally broadening my horizons in the vastest way possible! I have expensive tastes but sometimes I like fast food."

Cassandra winked at you and you so wanted to understand what the hell that meant but you also were pretty sure you didn't at the same time.

"ANYWAY," Bela cut off the conversation, setting her sight back to you, "the council meeting - I think you have little to worry about, really."

You took in a deep breath and nodded, "thanks, I've not heard much else from Alcina about what I need to do or who all these people are so... my overactive mind has been pretty occupied with it."

"Well, if my memory serves me, now that Miranda is dead, there's only eight clans with leaders, so... that leaves mother with ours, the Shadowed Dominion. Then there is Marguerite, from France, her division is called Les Chevaliers des Ténèbres, or the Knights of Dark. And then there's Pablo's faction; La Bella Damned. The Dutch lady, uhm, Belinda, with the Eternal Dominion. Escamillo and the Kiss of Shadows clan. Verona Giordano, whom you will love! She's from Italy, such a wild woman with a feisty personality, and her clan is called the Nightfall Legion. Then there's Ishaan, he's over the Moonlight Bearers - and lastly, Auguste with the Fallen Devil's clan... at least, I think that's all of them."

Cassandra leaned over languidly, "you got the Escamillo wrong, it's Emiliano with the Kiss of Shadows."

"Oh... yeah that sounds right; Emiliano."

"But yes, Bela is right; you'll love Verona. She's like our honorary aunt. Very loud. Very in-your-face. Love that woman."

"She sounds fun," you replied, "her I'm looking forward to."

"For real though, steer clear of that French bitch," Cassandra added, "she's a nightmare."

You'd take her advice and do just that, but likely with most of them, just for safety sake.

~

Karl stumbled into his shop with several full oversized bags slung over his shoulders, though he was met with the light already on and a figure in the shadows of the corner where his best comfy chair resided. Dropping the bags with a thud he flipped the rest of the light switches on aggressively to see who had invaded his space.

The person in question was certainly not who he'd expected.

"The fuck you doin' in my shop, murder mittens?"

Alcina dropped the book in her hands to her lap with a flump and arched her brow fiercely, "you want the truth?" She asked flatly.

"No. I love being lied to - the fuck you mean; do I want the truth - DUH."

She sighed heavily as the burly, disheveled lycan made his way over to her and uncrossed her leg, eyeing him with less scrutiny and more calculation, "this is the only place the clan leaders won't think to look for me."

Karl stopped dead in his tracks and looked blankly at Alcina. Then he started to laugh. Guffawing would be the better word.

"For god sake would you keep it down," she scolded, "this is why I hesitated to even tell you!"

He regained himself slowly, then plopped next to her on the neighboring stool and shoved his hands under his suspender straps, "oh damn Alci, you could not have hit me with a funnier mental image; big tall scary vampire hides from much smaller less fierce vampires in the lycans shop to avoid responsibility - I love it! You can hide here all you like, shnookie-ookums!"

"Oh dear Christ, Heisenberg, you're mental alright."

"Ah, c'mon, we rebels look out for each other, so don't get your titties in a twist - I got your back."

He was so crude, Alcina just rolled her eyes and closed her book, "you can leave my tits out of all of our conversations, if you please... have you had the pleasure of running into any of them yet?" She asked, referring to the leaders and changing the subject as fast as she could.

"Nah. Heard a gaggle of commotion as I passed around the back of City Hall so I assume Donna's got them all wrangled like the heard of gobbling geese they are. This week should be interesting, eh?" He nudged, "but I swear to god if they find out you're here and they start snooping 'round here all the time we're gunna have words."

Alcina blinked, "for both our sakes, I promise they won't find out." She leaned back and huffed once more, "and yes, this week, and likely many more will prove to be incredibly eventful. Dmitri, my men, and yours, are still pilfering through Miranda's labyrinth of chaos and uncovering more and more each night... I'd rather not deal with it at all, but alas, duty prevails."

Karl nodded and took off his hat, tossed it onto the nearby counter and shrugged, "I say burn the whole thing down, all of it. We already know she was psychotic, why keep any trace of it."

He had a point, but as much as she didn't want to admit it, she wanted answers just like everyone else.

"If it were up to you and I, I'd actually let you," the look of pure surprise and a cocky esteem boost made her choose her next words carefully, "however, it's not as simple as we both want, so cool your jets. But if burning it down comes to the surface, you'll be the first to know."

Karl smiled, "now that I like to hear." He reached for a beat-up metal box and opened it, plucked a cigar, lit it, and eyed the book on Alcina's lap, "whatcha readin', toots?"

"Twilight." 

His brows shot for his hairline, "don't make me have you committed."

Alcina actually snickered, "please, I'd rather gouge my eyes out with red-hot pokers," she smirked wickedly, "it's one of your machining books I found on the shelf in the back..." Peering down at the cover she sighed, "almost as eventful as Twilight - "

"Now hear hear," he grumbled, reaching for the book and grabbing it up, "them's fightin' words." He tossed it onto the counter and took a long puff, offering it in Alcina's direction, but after she softly declined he tilted his head, "hey, when's your better half coming back down here? Seems weird not having the spicy little fairy running around."

Once more Alcina's brow arched, "tomorrow night."

"Did you give her a prep talk for what's she's getting into?"

"Well, I suppose you could call it that. But I don't foresee her 'getting into' much. If someone decides to pick a fight, they will be sorely displeased at their choice..." she smiled broadly, "now that I've got blood on my hands, I'm not opposed to doing it again."

Karl just grinned, "feral you is so satisfying," he cackled, "it's always been my favorite version."

"I'm so pleased," Alcina mused, "but, I do suppose I should get home to my daughters. It's nearly nightfall and I'm sure they'll be readying to go out. Lucky shits get to roam freely while their mother is strapped to responsibility."

"Yeh, definitely not the funnest thing to be strapped to. Personally I prefer a four-poster bed with - "

"Well that's enough of this conversation!" Alcina said hastily, cutting him off none too soon, rising off the chair eying him stoutly, "good night."

He waved amusedly at her as she walked her way out and chuckled under his breath, "night, night! Get fae-bae to strap you down instead!"

Alcina's grumble was barely audible to him as she quickly made her escape but he continued to laugh as he began to go back about his business in his shop.

Getting through the city undetected was more difficult that she had anticipated, and having to act like she wasn't trying to go unnoticed by the passerby's was just as aggravating. But after her best calculated detours, she finally was far enough away from the hot spots of the city to move freely and get home.

The lights were on in the turret and she smiled warmly to herself as she slipped in through the gates quietly as possible. She was certainly tired, but knowing her girls were awake and she'd get to see them before a few hours of shut-eye gave her a much needed mood boost.

Alcina halted for a split second as she stepped through the threshold of her home; the undeniable smell and feel of you permeated her senses and she almost audibly sighed at the relief that you were here. And then a pang of anxiety thudded against her; dear god please let my daughters be behaving.

With silent swiftness and agility Alcina scaled the stairs to the turret, and with great relief found the 4 of you lounging in the middle of the room talking, laughing even. She folded her arms across her chest and leaned on the archway, admiring a scene she wasn't sure she'd ever see in all her years. You. Her daughters. Together. A whole new tidal wave of emotions she hadn't prepared for about bowled her over, but it was such a comforting sight she could barely breath, unwilling to shake the image in front of her.

Cassandra, whom she was most worried about, was doing most of the talking with you, and Bela was smiling from ear to ear, and Daniela... Daniela was... playing on a phone? Alcina narrowed her eyes at the girl and the intensity of the focus seemed to beckon her awareness.

Daniela's eyes shot up, and at the sight of her mother in the doorway unshuffled herself from the huddled ball in the nook of the couch with phone in hand and gasped; "mother!"

All eyes turned to the smiling matriarch and everyone rose to greet her.

"Well, isn't this a nice surprise," she cooed gently as her girls came to kiss her cheek, those silvery slate-colored eyes looking you over so fondly, "I hope the three of you have been nothing but hospitable to our guest?"

"Yes, mother," Cassandra drawled, "although Dani stole her phone and hasn't given it back since she got here."

"That's not true!" Daniela argued, warily handing your phone back to you, "she let me play on it, I didn't steal anything."

Alcina looked to you for confirmation, or something of that sort, and you obliged with a nod, "yeah, no it's fine. She leveled me up like 5 times, hell of a gamer that one." You smiled at Dani. She beamed.

"Mmm, I see," Alcina mused softly, "well she and I have quite a bit to discuss now that she's here... are the three of you headed out soon?"

Bela shrugged, "I'm in for the night I think."

Cassandra, in a less than obvious fashion, nudged her sister in the ribs with her elbow. Hard.

"U-Uh, uhm, actually, yes, yes I think we're all headed to the park tonight," Bela recovered, snagging Dani by the arm, "so, we'll see you two later."

Cassandra joined the link and pulled her sisters with her down the stairs, a jumble of 'byes' drowning out as the girls took off.

You were still shaking your head with a chuckle as you looked up at Alcina, feeling very out of place still, but happy and relieved to be with your vampire feeling less and less vulnerable as the seconds passed.

"You came early," she cooed as she stepped forward, grabbing the sides of your face gently, planting a tender, needful kiss to your lips.

Instinctually, your arms slipped around her waist and you sighed into her kiss, "yeah," you muttered, "was getting antsy up there above ground without you."

Alcina could feel the weight of her weariness pressing down on her now, having you here, the worries of you being away, gave her reprieve that she didn't know she was needing so badly until now. She sighed, pressing her forehead to yours, "did you have any trouble getting into the city?"

"No, it was pretty empty when I got here."

"Good. And the girls? They were nice to you?"

You giggled, "yeah, they were great. Cassandra is very feisty, Dani is adorable, and Bela is definitely the diplomat between the two."

Alcina laughed low and warmly, pulling back to smile at you, "there is rarely a dull night in this house."

"I can absolutely see why."

"Come," Alcina smiled through her sigh, reaching for your hand, "I want to change into something comfortable."

With Alcina now dressed down to a simple yet elegant white slip of a night gown, and matching robe to drape over her bare shoulders, you admired her from a far as you unpacked your bag and placed your things in the drawers next to 'your side' of the bed, as Alcina had pointedly told you. It was weird. But it was wonderful. Feeling like you had an actual spot for your own things here with hers; in her home; your heart swelled a little with how permanent this was all starting to feel.

The two of you had spoken about your afternoon with her girls, Alcina's busy day with Dmitri, Donna, and Gerard, all while successfully not interacting with any of the leaders that had made their way into her city, and how tomorrow would, hopefully, pan out.

"... everyone will be accounted for tomorrow, now when the meeting itself begins, will be another story," she explained, sipping on a glass of blood wine you'd silently escaped to grab her as she was changing, "but it will be simple; you will accompany me to City Hall, sit at the table beside me, introductions will be had, and depending on how the council converses, next steps will be had according to vote. I know the lot of them will demand to see Miranda's lair here, and likely her abode in Connecticut, which while I'm curious of myself, would rather not have to babysit these imbeciles without knowing what I'm also getting into."

Her sigh was heavy and you scooted closer to her on the lounge, running your fingers over her arm you could see how tired she was. She'd gone almost a full 20 hours without sleep and you could already tell she wasn't intaking blood wine in a manageable fashion to keep up her strength. You had a feeling you'd be babysitting her just as much as she'd be doing for them if this is how she was taking care of herself this far in.

"Well, I don't know how much real help I'll be, but whatever you need me to do, just tell me." You reassured her with a smile.

"Ah, draga mea," Alcina cooed, "you being here is the best help I could ask for already."

Taking initiative to act on your offer to help, you took her empty glass from her, placed it on the glass table in front of the chez lounge, and carefully straddled her lap, peering down into her eyes.

"You're wiped, I can tell," you said, stroking the sides of her face, "and if you've got to be at the ready here in about 6 hours, I think you should drink from me, and then we should cuddle and sleep while we can... then tackle those pesky leaders, hm?"

Alcina's hands grasped to your hips as she hummed over your suggestion, feeling her desire for you and your blood rising in her bosom, "just cuddle and sleep? I do believe I enticed you here early with my promise to ravish you in my bedchamber, dragoste... Did I not?"

Her wink made your cheeks blush, "ok, mmmaybe a little, but - " you tilted your chin up, "your wellbeing comes far higher on the importance scale than getting fucked silly... besides... I don't plan on going anywhere too soon, so... we have plenty of time."

Your smile made her absolutely weak, just as much as your admission did, "really?" Alcina asked airily, "you're not rushing above ground as soon as you get the chance?"

Shaking your head you leaned down and kissed her bare lips, plush and still as soft as ever even though they were missing their crimson paint, "my plants are watered; my crows know where I am; I'm here for a while, if you'll have me."

Alcina hummed low in her chest as her hands mapped their way further up your sides, pulling you into her as she peppered kisses along your collarbone, "I would like that very, very much."

Her lips crept further and further up your neck until your lips were pressed together again, breathy 'I love you's' exchanged as she wrapped her hands under your thighs, rising with you off the chez to drop you into the bed with her, languid, passionate, truly comfortable kissing commencing as clothes were removed and naked flesh pressed close as the two of you settled into a perfect fitting mess of tangled limbs. Not shortly after you felt the nip of her sharp teeth nibbling at your wrist, the icy prick of her bite causing your eyelids to flutter shut as she drank, the fueling sensations it bestowed both of you satiating the hungers within you. And then within the darkness, she wrapped you up in her arms and in such rhythmic perfection, the two of you fell fast asleep. The worries of what came in 6 hours shoved to the wayside.

[letstalktea]

Content: Homegrown Pet | Hector x Reader, Humanoid Hector, blood, fluff, cuddling, Hector is treated like a (spoiled) pet

Word Count: 0.7k

The basement was dark on purpose. The light bulbs had been removed and the power cut to punish anyone that dared to venture in without a sense of familiarity. The only way to navigate forward was with a flashlight, and that suddenly flare would serve as a warning. The other warning would be the inevitable reaction of whoever suddenly came face-to-face with the scene hidden by that darkness. Since this was your basement, it was the lack of reaction that was most telling.

There was blood on the banister, trailing down the stairs in haphazard puddles and stray droplets, and spreading out into the cracks between the floorboards. The wood was stained red from years of viscera and death and there was a pungent odor that only grew stronger the further down one went. 

As you approached the bottom flight of stairs, you could hear rustling somewhere in the darkness; rustling, hollow clattering, and the squelch of something thick and wet. 

“Hector?” You called through the darkness.

The noises stopped.

The flashlight in your hand flickered as you pressed the button to turn it off, allowing yourself to be swallowed up by the darkness. It was like a welcome sign of a seedy motel blinking as it slowly burnt out over your head.

You stood unmoving in the darkness, listening as the rustling that had previously stopped started again. This time, however, it was growing louder; creeping closer; slowly approaching. The wooden floorboards creaked under the massive weight moving toward you.

It stopped.

There was a wind against your face; wet, hot, and smelled of meat.

You slipped the flashlight into your back pocket before reaching into the front one, grabbing a small, hard candy wrapped in plastic. The transparent plastic crinkled loudly in the darkness as you unwrapped it until all that was left was the candy inside, which you held in front of your face between your thumb and pointer finger.

Then you waited.

You knew he was waiting too, like a good pet should.

Only once you were satisfied with his display of obedience did you say, “Now.”

The sudden warm, wet muscle that wrapped around your fingers sent a shudder through you. As you felt teeth graze gently across your skin, you wondered which of his many mouths was the one eating. Clearly it wasn’t the one on his face since your eyes – just beginning to adjust to the darkness – could see how he towered above you even as he gently took the candy from your hand.

“That one is peaches and cream. How do you like it?”

His mouth pulled away from your hand, the only proof that he was there being the saliva still left on your fingers.

“Good,” he gurgled out in fractured words. 

“I’m glad. I wasn’t sure it would be to your liking, but I suppose you like anything sweet.”

With your eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to distinguish the outlines of objects in the room, you turned from Hector and carefully made your way toward the lump in the corner. You made sure to step over the remains of his lunch – your most recent job – as you approached the plush chair that existed purely for your convenience. Rewards and treats weren’t enough to keep a pet’s affection. It was important to spend time with them, and you chose to do it in comfort.

You practically fell into the soft embrace of the chair, letting the cushions swallow you up with little resistance. Only once you were comfortable did you motion for Hector to join you by patting your lap.

He found his seat eagerly, crawling into your lap while also trying not to put his full, crushing weight on top of you.

A low rumbling grew deep in his throat, his version of a purr.

With a smile on your face, you combed your hand through his hair. You were careful to avoid the eye hiding on top of his head, but it was difficult when he kept leaning into your touch.

“Make sure you finish your meal after I leave. I don’t want you getting sick from hunger or to have to hide the bones myself this time.”

Through the same gurgling voice, he muttered a small, “Okay.”

You only continued to pet his head as he relaxed into your lap with a, “Good boy,” as his reward for following orders.

[carlsdarling]

Forlorn Hope Part II

Flashback to how Sadie experienced the outbreak of wildfire.

WARNINGS: violence, angst, gore, no Carl in this chapter

25.06.2010, Atlanta, Georgia

Sadie looked at her plate in disgust. Fish, mashed potatoes and broccoli, it really couldn't get any worse. "When are you driving me to the riding stables?

“When you've finished eating,” her mother replied distractedly. She was engrossed in a fashion magazine.

Sadie rebelliously slammed the cutlery on the table. “But I don't like it!” she moaned.

“Will you be quiet,” Debra Baron chided her younger daughter. “Laurie's asleep. She still has a fever.”

As if Laurie, in her room at the other end of the huge ranch-style house, would notice what was going on in the kitchen. Sadie wrinkled her nose. In any case, for the past few days everything had revolved around Laurie, who had been attacked last weekend in a dark alley not far from the club where she had been partying. She had arrived home around two o'clock in the morning, crying and holding her bleeding shoulder. “But what happened?” Debra Baron had asked in dismay, imagining the worst possible scenarios. Sadie had woken up from the noise and crept to the stairs to listen.

“I was waiting for my cab outside Gironimo's,” Laurie sniffed in shock. “And suddenly this... this guy came staggering out of an alley, and he grabbed me, and he just bit me,” she wailed hysterically. “Just like that! I... I think he was sick,” she continued. “He looked like that. And he stank terribly, like rotten meat.” Her mother had pushed aside the thin, black blouse fabric, and Sadie - peering through the banister - could see a nasty bite mark.

“We should go to the hospital,” muttered her father, who probably didn't know what to make of it. “It needs to be disinfected and treated, and you should get a tetanus shot too.”

Following this event, however, Laurie's condition steadily deteriorated, the margins of the wound became inflamed and a fever set in. The family's GP prescribed an antibiotic, but saw no need for further action. This morning, the area around the wound had turned gray-green, it had looked disgusting, like decay, and Laurie's fever continued. Debra thought about calling the doctor again. “Sadie, please eat up,” she ordered sharply. “I didn't do this for nothing...” A barbaric scream shattered the silence of the house, and they both flinched. Laurie. “You stay here,” Debra ordered, rising to check on Laurie; she didn't notice Sadie sneaking up behind her. She opened the door to Laurie's room and registered the foul odor; the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, an atavistic instinct telling her to immediately lock that door from the outside and flee, but Debra was a privileged twenty-first century housewife whose attention bounced back and forth between preparing healthy meals, her appearance, the pony club, the next tennis match with her friends, hatha yoga and family life; she had completely forgotten how to listen to primal instincts and gut feelings. So she entered the room and approached the bed, leaving Sadie standing on the threshold. “Honey, Laurie, what is it?” she asked softly, flipping back the covers. “Jesus, you're burning up like a chimney, I have to...” She shrieked shrilly as Laurie's teeth dug into her left hand without warning.

Sadie in the hallway also screamed in horror and watched as her mother struggled to free herself from her sister's grasp and rushed towards the door; Laurie staggered after her, her face contorted into a grimace, and somehow it wasn't really Laurie anymore, but somehow it still was. Debra wrenched the key from the lock, slammed the door shut and locked it. Laurie threw herself against the thin white wood from the inside, raging and making inhuman noises. Debra and Sadie looked at each other in fear, Debra's hand was bleeding and the blood stained the carpet in a crazy pattern. “Can she come out, Mum?” Sadie asked in a thin, frightened voice.

“No,” Debra replied, hoping she was right, the wood bulging slightly outwards under Laurie's fury. She was at a loss and couldn't make sense of the situation, perhaps Laurie was suffering from some kind of psychosis. “I'll call your father.”

The look on her mother's face during the following phone call scared the hell out of Sadie, Debra's eyes widened fearfully and she stammered more than she spoke. “A plague? What kind of plague, Tom?” Realizing that Sadie was watching her intently, she tried to put on a good face. “Pack. I... I understand,” she then said tonelessly, her mouth set in stone. “Come on, let's get our suitcases,” she then announced with feigned cheerfulness, clapping her hands so that a few drops of blood were splattered. “We're going on a trip!”

“But what about Laurie? And the school? And the pony club?” grumbled Sadie, who was completely confused. “And my birthday party is on Saturday!” She stomped her foot indignantly.

Debra ignored the protest. “Now be a good girl and get things together for two weeks,” she babbled frantically and went up to the attic to get the suitcases. “We'll celebrate your birthday when we get back,” she promised. ”The party's just on hold, okay?”

It wasn't okay. Nothing was okay, as the terrible noises coming from Laurie's room made clear. Sadie preferred to comply and mechanically began to take underwear, socks, shirts and pants out of the cupboards and pile them up. It wasn't long before her father came home and she heard her parents discussing quietly in the hallway. Her mother cried and then her father disappeared into the master bedroom. When he came out again, Sadie was standing in front of him. “What do you want with that?” she asked accusingly, pointing at the gun in Tom Baron's hand. The gun looked strangely out of place there; Tom Baron was a stockbroker, not a contract killer, and he only had the Glock to defend himself and his family against burglars in an emergency. You never knew when the state-of-the-art alarm system might fail.

“Go back to your room, Princess,” Tom's voice sounded foreign and pressed. “And close the door.” Sadie did as she was told at first, but stubborn as she was, she immediately opened the door a crack again so as not to miss anything. She saw her father enter Laurie's room, then two shots rang out in quick succession and Tom Baron came out again, pale as death. Sadie couldn't speak, she was so confused. Debra was crouched next to the bathroom, crying and holding her injured hand. “We have to clean the wound,” Tom said grimly. “We won't be able to get away tonight, the highway is closed, everyone's just leaving town... But first thing in the morning. We can already load the car.”

Sadie wasn't stupid, she was more than aware that something was wrong, completely wrong, her parents were restlessly rushing through the house, gathering stuff that ended up in suitcases and bags in disarray. The fluorescent lights in the garage flickered, her father loaded heaps of tins of canned food into the trunk of the Lexus, despite her mother's strict condemnation of any kind of convenience food. “Dad, what about Daisy and Tornado?” Sadie thought anxiously about her two ponies. “What about Squibbles?” Squibbles was her cat.

Tom Baron gave his daughter a harried look. His tailored shirt had sweat stains under the armpits. “Where's Squibbles?”

“I don't know. Outside? I'll go and find him,” Sadie offered uncertainly, but her father grabbed her arm unusually firmly. “Ouch!”

“You're not going outside,” Tom ordered her. “If the cat's outside, there's nothing we can do for him. Otherwise, put him in the carrier.” Sadie searched the whole house for Squibbles, but she couldn't find the cat anywhere, and her tears began to flow. Her father just seemed to want to leave him behind. And he hadn't said a word about the ponies. She sobbed and found herself in her parents' bathroom, rummaging around in the medicine cabinet, taking a Valium from the tube labeled with her mother's name and swallowing it with tap water. Following an impulse, she put the tube in her trouser pocket.

The pills were Sadie's top secret, not even Victoria, her best friend, knew about them. They often helped her to block out her parents' evening bickering and she liked the soft absorbent cotton cloud on which the Valium transported her. Even now, the medication was doing its job and Sadie lay dozing on her bed, headphones in her ear. At some point, however, despite the Valium fog, she was suddenly overcome by a queasy feeling and switched off the music. Absolute silence. It was strange, given the hustle and bustle her parents had been in just a few hours ago, and she straightened up and slipped into her sneakers. They were probably busy in the garage with the car. Her father had been looking for road maps earlier.

Well, Sadie would go out and look for Squibbles now, whether she was allowed to or not, and she would find him. She wouldn't let him be left behind. She could leave the house through the back door in the kitchen; her parents wouldn't even notice. Quietly, she stalked down the stairs after putting on a hoodie. She tiptoed along the downstairs hallway, turned the corner to the kitchen - and froze. Her brain couldn't grasp what her eyes were seeing, it was too gruesome, so it only fed in fragmented images, like a shaky slideshow.

The kitchen cupboards, the fridge, the floor, Squibbles' feeding place, everything was smeared with a red substance. Blood, Sadie realized. The sight of the kibbles soaked in blood and swollen with it would be etched in her memory forever.

Her father was lying on his back on the floor, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, lifeless and broken. His stomach was torn open. Next to the corpse, her mother crawled around like a nightmare, her face completely covered in blood, and she dug around in her husband's intestines, greedily stuffing them into her mouth. Sadie stood staring dumbly, frozen in place, her infantile psyche on the verge of fainting to protect her from the unspeakable things happening in front of her.

Then Debra Baron emitted an animalistic snarl and lunged towards her daughter like a predator, grabbing at Sadie with fingers clutching scraps of fabric.

The stupor broke just in time, Sadie screamed piercingly, and then she turned and ran for her life. At first she wanted to run up the stairs, but at the last moment she changed her mind - she would be trapped upstairs. Instead, she made her way to the garage, down the back hallway, past the utility room, her mother hot on her heels. Or rather, the thing that had once been her mother.

She tried to close the middle door, severing one of Debra's fingers in the process, but Debra was too strong, she banged into the door, Sadie got a shove and fell, bruising her left elbow on the car. She screamed in pain as her arm went numb for a moment, but she rolled over and got back to her feet immediately. Her mother's teeth snapped into the air above her, and she crawled under the Lexus, sobbing. It smelled of oil and gasoline, and still the fluorescent lights flickered unimpressed, as if Sadie's life hadn't suddenly turned to sheer horror.

Debra stumbled around, growling, obviously not quite understanding where Sadie had gone. She waited until she saw her mother's feet staggering around the workbench, then scrambled out the other side - where the opening mechanism for the garage door was. Sadie frantically hammered on the switch, but once again the electronics didn't work; there was a crank, but she couldn't reach it, it was too small. Her mother attacked her mercilessly, teeth bared, chin bloodied, eyes white, and at the very last moment Sadie's eyes fell on Squibbles' cat flap set into the bottom right corner of the garage door. She dropped to her hands and knees, pushed the plexiglass away and crawled through the small opening, painfully scraping both of her hips. Sadie was lucky that she was small and slender for her age, much more petite than her classmates.

The asphalt of the driveway was sun-warmed under her hands, and she almost made it when her mother's hand closed around her left ankle. Sadie could already feel Debra's breath on her skin, and something inside her knew that if she was bitten, she was just as doomed. With all her strength, she kicked out backwards, right into her mother's face, felt her grip loosen, and finally managed to free her leg.

She was quick-witted enough to push a bucket of flowers in front of the cat flap so that the cat wouldn't return to this home, which was no longer a home and would never be one again.

Tags: @princess321

[yjano]

Who I am now?

Part 20.

Pairing: Jake x Mc.

Genre: Angst, comedy, dark romance.

Warnings: Strong language, angst scenes. 18+ content can be found.

Words: 3.9k

Author's note: This story contains mature topics and is not fully related to the duskwood game. A different parallel with different personalities. Thank you everyone for following and liking this! lly.♡

•

Epilogue.

-eleven months later-

I readjusted the strap of my dirty dungarees on my shoulder, groaning slightly when it slipped right off my shoulder seconds later. Resigned, I sighed and kneeled by the many cardboard boxes stacked against the wall of my new bedroom, reaching for the box closest to me and hauling it onto my lap, my paint-spattered hands fumbled with the duct tape securing the box closed.

Within seconds, the duct tape was laid in a heap by my bare feet, the box placed haphazardly on my lap. I rummaged through the contents of the cardboard, looking for the set of paintbrushes I purchased recently to paint the walls of our new home.

I draw out what feels like the cellophane covering of my paintbrushes and glanced down at the item in my hands with a confused frown overcoming my features.

"What" I started, turning and studying the notebook in my hand with furrowed brows.

Is this mine? or Jake's? I questioned myself, lifting the front cover of the notepad with curious eyes finding inked, neat notations littering the page. Notations were addressed to Jake-notations from me.

Surprised, I blinked at the sight of my little notes created for Jake when we have separated months ago from each other.

A slight smile overcame my face when I thumbed through page after page of notes I was meant to give to Jake but never actually managed to, and rather than feel disheartened that I'd forgotten all about this notepad, I grinned to myself as I was reading words and phrases from his small entries.

Miss you so much. Medication. Dear Jake. Just go home. Felt detached. In your arms. Hospital. My heart hurts. Hate this. Not with me anymore. I miss you. this-

I was grinning. I was grinning because I'm no longer confined within a hospital ward, no longer scrutinized under apprehensive eyes. I was no longer weak, I was no longer stared at with something akin to sympathy in people's eyes, and II was no longer suffering from chronic heartbreak. I was no longer alone-no. I was free, I was free now.

Not bothering to properly read through my many notes, I closed the notepad and smiled to myself, thinking back to the heartache I've experienced maybe ten months ago. I thought back to the misery I was in, the pain I felt. I chuckled to myself, shaking my head slightly in disbelief when I compared my heartache to what I was feeling now. Happiness, joy, and love.

Jake had way too much of an effect on me. Nonetheless, I was glad.

Forgetting the paintbrushes I had acquired, I climbed to my feet, notepad in hand, and carefully weaved my way in and out of the moving boxes collecting dust in my bedroom.

Eventually near the door that I had closed after myself. I grinned at the bass-boosted music playing from Jake's speakers, the loud laughter, and the yells emanating from behind the heavy oak wood door.

Pulling the door open, I stepped out onto the landing overlooking the supposed living room space below and walked over to the banister, leaning over the barricade with my elbows resting atop the wooden railings, still holding my notepad in my left hand.

I smiled at the scene before me and cupped my cheeks with my free hand. My eyes followed the movements of my friends down below.

Jessy was sitting on Dan's shoulders, laughing at something that Dan said. She swiped a wet paintbrush against the wall, covering the expanse of wall cerulean blue. She was wearing one of my old dress shirts, not wanting to stain her clothes with blue and the cotton material submerged her whole, making her look so small and sweet.

And her boyfriend, Dan, grinned at the sound of Jessy's laughter, clearly in love with the sound. With eyes full of adoration for her. Dan settled his hands atop Jessy's jeans-clad thighs and murmured something else to the petite girl that had him smiling. Jessy glanced down and lovingly run her free hand through his brown long locks.

Smiling my gaze veered to the left, noticing the other couple painting another wall with bright blue. Sam, sit carefully on one of the ledges of a small stepladder, painting with coral coloring his features as he listened attentively to Asher who leaned against the stepladder, holding the can of paint for him and grinning up at him as he spoke.

Sam, the biggest racer admitted to having romantic feelings for Asher and could never be happier for my boyfriend's best friend. I think calm Asher suited wild Sam perfectly. Sam wasn't around often, because he was busy with racing. Asher was happy that his boyfriend found some time for him and us.

Today's moon must be a cobalt one since Sam had free time, time that he originally intended to use by taking me and Jake out for dinner and most likely grilling Jake with his usual teasing. But now he spent it sitting on a rickety stepladder Jake borrowed from someone, painting, and also wearing one of Jake's old shirts to prevent paint from spattering on his soft cashmere sweater.

I think I can safely say that Sam doesn't seem to be too dismayed that his dinner plans were canceled-no, he seemed to be pretty happy talking or let's say stumbling over his words with Asher.

This is, perhaps, the third time all of us hung out. The first time was at a get-together I orchestrated in the summer and then at Jake's surprise birthday party a few weeks ago and it was already evident that all of them liked each other quite a lot. Even Dan has grown to love Jake's friends. Judging from Dan's weekly phone calls describing what he had in common with Jake and his friends and how all of them had grown to drink with Dan whenever they got too stressed too.

I wanted them to have their backs on each other. And I was happy to see most of them being happy with each other company.

I giggled to myself now at the sight of coral deepening on Sam's cheeks when Asher offered him his hand to help him down the stepladder. I tilted my head slightly to see Asher's little dimple appear when Sam took his palm gingerly, walking down the stepladder whilst smiling a little at his boy.

Asher, from my perspective, was cute unexpectedly cute. When I first met the guy at Jake's surprise birthday party. I was more than just surprised to understand that the guy who accidentally knocked Jake's red eye car model cake over and was close to tears with how distraught he was, was the same guy who ran the largest underground drug trafficking ring.

Later, when Jake introduced us to each other, I couldn't stop laughing. I had thought Asher would be a tattooed, pierced, part drug addict, hulk of a man who'd try to kidnap me the very second we were alone but nope.

Asher was nothing but a gentleman, or let's say a little too flirty gentlemen, though I got the pierced part correct. Asher did have a nose piercing, a silver ring that glinted slightly in the artificial light.

Anyway, Asher had shaken hands with me and even complimented me on my arrangements for Jake's surprise birthday party and apologized profusely for knocking the cake over. I couldn't be possibly mad with him, not with the way he fumbled with his awkwardly big hands when he was nervous, not when he smiled and that cute lil dimple made an appearance, and certainly not when he complimented my half-assed decorating with such sincerity.

Asher had left me wondering how in the world he was a supposed drug lord. Later, when I had voiced my question to Jake, he had laughed, saying he wondered the same too.

I cast my gaze toward another pair couple, Kaden and Lex, and immediately I sighed at the sight of the two.

Ah, Lex and Kaden.

"I fucking dare you to call me shortcake again, I fucking double dare-"

"Short. Cake."

"Right. I'm gonna give you a minute to reflect on your words and if you feel like apologizing for them, then please do so-"

"And if I don't wanna apologize?"

"Apologize otherwise I'm gonna-"

"You're gonna what? Stomp on my toes with your little sneakers?"

"That's it. I'm done with you-"

"I'm done with you too."

"Oh for fucks sake- You can't be done with me when I said that I'm done with you first Kaden-"

"Maybe you should act like your age Lex because you make no sense-"

"Oh, fuck off"

"No, you fuck off. This is my best friend's and my brother's home."

"No, this is my best friend's-"

Just like the way I had planned a small, summer get-together a couple of months ago, I had high hopes that by subtly pairing Kaden and Lex back together. I hoped Lex would be able to soften up and forgive Kaden.

But if Lex managed to do anything. It only fuelled Kaden's and my expectations.

-a couple of months ago-

.

Nymos focus.

.

I narrowed my eyes at Mc and Jake who were seated a few meters away, holding hands and conversing animatedly with Jessy and Dan. They look like the epitome of joy. And of course, I am happy for my brother, I am. Don't get me wrong. I'm happy. Knowing Jake is finally living his life to the fullest, something he wasn't able to do for quite some time now.

But still, something residing in the back of me had me warily looking over at the two more times than I'd liked to within a minute. I just thought it was just my instinct to protect my baby bro. But at the same time to protect the screaming baby too. Yeah, I just wanted to know if they both were okay.

Momentarily taking note that in the corner of my eye, I noticed someone coming to stand by my side. I calmly sipped at my drink whilst someone beside me hummed along to the pop song streaming from the cafe's loudspeakers as she was sipping at her drink.

"Well, hello to you too Kaden." I heard Lex's voice and gave no reply.

"Hey, I promise you they're not gonna skin each other alive with their butter knife." She spoke up, chuckling a little, "You don't have to keep an eye on them every second of the hour."

Frowning slightly, I glanced to my left to see a petite girl standing close by my side with her arms folded over her chest and smiling sarcastically up at me. She wore white shorts and a similarly plain white tee under an oversized black plaid shirt, and boots accompanying the overall look. Lex shook her soft hair out of her eyes, waiting patiently for my response.

I simply returned my gaze to Mc with a displeased grunt escaping from my mouth.

Curious, Lex tilted her head upwards a little to peer up at me through the rounded spectacles she wore on the bridge of her nose, his warm eyes studied my side profile.

"Really. You've got nothing to be worried about. Stop treating Jake like a kid."

"What do you mean I've got nothing to be worried about? I have to look after them because who else will." I grunted, looking away from Lex.

"And while we're on the topic, listen up, shortcake. Here's a little warning for you. If any of them tries anything funny with each other that I don't like, I'm not gonna hesitate to blame it on you. Alright?"

Lex's brows furrowed slightly and she looked down at the tiled floor, processing my indirect threat before retraining her gaze on my side profile again with a frown on her face.

"I could say the same to you too." She replied slowly as if testing the waters she was about to delve into.

"They've been through a lot since they parted away. So if something happens to them. I too won't hesitate to punch you in the face, no matter how much I love your humor."

I swiveled my head around to glare at Lex.

"Excuse me? Are we talking about the same people? Mc wouldn't hurt a godamn fly and you know that. But Jake, on the other hand, hurt Mc for months purely because he couldn't fucking grow a pair of balls." I hissed towering over Lex and using my height to my full advantage. I didn't care if I took Mc's side on it. Because I know Mc. And she wouldn't hurt Jake. But Jake is complicated. He can always find a reason to hate himself for his crime and leave Mc. I as well know I was being a little mean right now but really, all I wanted was for Lex to just leave me alone because I'm not good for her.

"Hey!" Lex lifted a small hand to my broad chest, prodding me hard as she spoke.

"Jake had a lot." Prod. "Going on at that time so leave." Prod. "Him." Prod. "Alone." Prod. "He's keeping Mc happy now." Prod. "And that's all that matters, okay? He's your brother and you know how it is." Frowning, she gave one last prod to punctuate her words.

Prod.

"Will you quit with the poking?" I growled in reply, swatting her small hand away. "Because, shortcake, you've got an awful lot of force for someone as small-"

"Don't call me that." Lex scowled.

"Don't call you what?"

"Shortcake." Lex enunciated with her teeth gritting together and her small hands balling into angered little fists. My gaze fell to her hands. Mm. She's just as cute as before.

"You want me to quit calling you shortcake, shortcake?" I queried, stepping forwards nonchalantly.

"Yes." Defiantly, Lex stepped forward too.

"Hm," I pretended to contemplate, stepping forward again, now fully towering over Lex scornfully. She stumbled back, with her eyes widening momentarily at the proximity between us. Still, I didn't let up, I leaned down, murmuring against the curve of her ear.

"Yeah, no. Shortcake is fitting for you."

Anger was written all over her face when she reached forwards with her fingers grasping my shirt and tugging it harshly so my face would be level with her.

Startled, my eyes widened the slightest bit at the surprising force Lex used to pull me to her height.

"Seriously, quit it." Lex hissed, pulling me close.

"Sorry, what was that, shortcake?" I gritted out, trying to wrench my now crumpled shirt from her grasp, "Couldn't hear you from down there-"

"You piece of-"

"The fuck! Did you just seriously headbutt me?!"

-present-

We won't delve deeper into the flashback as it only pained me when I remembered trying to break the two up.

Still, I had hope for the two's relationship because is it my wishful thinking or does Lex seriously blush a little at "shortcake"? Hm.

My attention was recaptured by the two once more when Lex shrieked suddenly, loudly, furrowing my brows, I and the others too cast their gaze towards Lex and immediately stifled chuckles at the sight of bright blue connecting her brow, creating an unsightly monobrow.

Unsurprisingly, Kaden stood before Lex, looking very pleased with himself and holding a paintbrush with blue daubs on the bristles.

Oh god, this is not gonna end well. Nevertheless, I was amused when Lex grabbed her paintbrush and surged forward with a displeased growl. Understanding her movements at once, Kaden quickly sidestepped to the left, laughing when Lex stumbled forwards, missing him.

Knowing that I'll probably have to soon retain the two from each other by once again becoming the filling to their aggressive make out. I sighed about to push myself off the banister of the landing when the front door to my new home opened with a boy nudging the door open as his paint-spattered hands were too occupied with upholding boxes of pizza.

I smiled to myself at the sight of the love of my life walking into our home, already laughing at Lex's painted monobrow as he set the boxes of pizza onto a coffee table.

He looked good as he always did. But today, in my opinion, he looks extremely good. But then again, I am biased when it comes to Jake.

Nonetheless, Jake does look insanely attractive these days, with his arm now tattooed with a dragon that entwined itself around his arm, rising to his shoulder before halting there.

In addition, his jet black hair had grown, grown long enough for his hair to be tied off his forehead in a half-assed manner with an elastic band with just a single coal-colored strand slipping its way past and falling over his forehead again.

But other than the fact that he's got other tattoos and his hair had grown slightly longer, Jake was still the same, still mine, and I find myself in awe that I get to call such a handsome man as Jake as mine.

All mine. And I'm all his.

I glanced at my left hand where a silver band, similar to a wedding ring, encircled my finger, the piece of jewelry meaning so much more than being just a mere accessory.

"It's a promise ring, not a wedding ring. But you can wear it on your ring finger if you want! Shit, why am I so nervous? Basically. Sam told me that his sister's husband brought her a promise ring, promising to one day marry her, and, I thought it was pretty cute, you know promising to someone like that so. This ring is a promise that I won't let you be alone anymore, baby. Let's uh, stick together- Oh fuck, I'm being so awkward. stop laughing, Mc!"

Smiling, I looked down at the notepad and instantaneously thought of my resolution for the letters in my hand. Rather than give these to Jake to read or read them all myself. I will simply discard these letters. Yeah, why would I reminisce about the painful past when I have so much in the present and so much more in the future? There are so many positives in my life right now and I don't want to counteract us with the negatives just yet until the negative aspects do make an appearance.

I promised to make the most of the good things in my life now, and now I will start with eating pizza whilst getting surrounded by the loud laughter of my friends.

I pushed myself off the banister and walked towards the staircase, about to walk down when my mobile phone vibrated in the pocket of my dungarees. Pulling my phone out and reading the notifications appearing on my lock screen, I slowly walked down the set of stairs.

Lilly: Hi hi hi hi!

Lilly: Guess who's coming to your apartment?

Lilly: Your girl!

Lilly: We gotta celebrate! I'm bringing Hannah, Phil, Cleo, and Thomas because he didn't want to let Hannah go alone. 🤭

Lilly: let's get some fancy-ass wine and some of those lil canapés thingies I'm willing to meet you and your gang Mc :) - P.H.

Happiness for my Duskwood friends coming here surged through the entirety of my body. I was glad to know that they had finally accepted everything and were ready to meet Jake and his friends too.

Lilly: We are a few hours away from you but don't start to party without us!

Laughing at Lilly's messages, I stepped off the last step of the staircase and pocketed my phone with a grin on my face. I walked into the living room area, heading over to my friends after I had dumped my letters in the bin.

"Hey, where have you been?" Jake asked me when I came to stand by his side, subtly slipping my palm into his. Smiling, I tilted my head slightly so I could rest my head on Jake's shoulder and hummed out.

"Oh, nowhere. I was just reminiscing a little upstairs."

Curious, Jake quirked a dark eyebrow.

"And what were you reminiscing?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing much just remembered that time when you seemed to have become an angry bird overnight and hugged the fuck out of me."

"Hey! We promised not to speak of that!"

I just laughed in reply.

"Oh by the way your half-sisters are coming and others too...So we better prepare yeah?" I smiled at him and leaned in for a soft kiss.

Dear Jake...I lie beside you now and I think back to how afraid I was. I think back to how afraid I was to acknowledge the erratic beating of my heart for you. I think back to how afraid I was of losing myself in those eyes that glinted dangerous ice in the summer sunlight. I think back to how afraid I was when we kissed for the first time and how my mind was utterly contaminated with wanting to kiss you again.

You might not have felt it but I felt the jolt of red electricity coursing through my veins, traveling straight for my weak heart that had nervously cowered then behind my ribcage.

I lie beside you now and I think how happy I am now. I think how happy I am to know that if I were to place my palm upon your broad chest, I would feel your heart beat strongly for mine in a similar manner. I think how happy I am to be able to cast myself into your obsidian eyes and lose all sense of rationality within me, whilst understanding that I'm in safe hands despite that dangerous glint in your eyes. I think how happy I am to know that you too feel that hot rush of energy within your body.

I lie beside you now and smile slightly at your peacefully sleeping form, wondering how I've managed to claim you as mine and how you've managed to claim me as yours despite our one hundred differences.

I'm glad we've gotten past them and ended up where we are now, baby. Even if we are on the run. You know that I got your back lover. -love.

This is the end...

I can't explain how thankful I am to have gotten this far and have you guys by my side. I never thought this story will get attention or if it would ever get this far, but you all exceeded my expectations that one morning I woke up to lovely notifications. I love all of you silent readers because everyone who has read this story deserves all the love. You guys have surpassed all of my expectations, and I cannot even describe my love for you guys. Though this is the end of 'Who I am now?'

I hope we will continue to see each other again in my other work (yes I'm preparing something.) You all mean so much to me it's not even funny. I will forever remember all your comments, thank you, for the final time. You guys are important, wanted, and amazingly beautiful. I love you all to a whole galaxy and back. Now that the story has ended, feel free to ask questions to clear up any remaining confusion!

[caretaker-au]

CHAPTER 09

Frisk traced a familiar path back to the Dreemurr’s home. When Asgore, Toriel, and Asriel escorted them to the castle, the Dreemurrs took no precautions to hide the route and instead made conversation by pointing out landmarks along the way. Just as it had been before, the streets were nearly empty at this late hour. However, Frisk remained cautious, keeping a low profile just in case. They no longer had the protection of the royal family. As far as the Underground was concerned, they were an escaped prisoner.

Frisk pressed the button to the elevator, which seemed out of place and accessible from the street. They hid around the corner when the doors slid open, not wanting to chance bumping into someone inside. Fortunately, the elevator was empty. The child slipped inside and pressed the top button. Frisk held their breath as the room sailed upward, trying to put together a believable excuse if their elevator trip was interrupted by another passenger.

The child sighed with relief when the doors opened on the correct floor. No unexpected guests.

Frisk quietly followed the stone hallways towards the Dreemurr’s residence. As was before, the hallway was empty and free of guards. It was strange for a royal family to have no security at all, but it seemed the Dreemurrs had no enemies. Must be nice.

Rounding a corner, Frisk was met with mixed feelings of comfort and apprehension as they finally reached the Dreemurr’s home. Frisk pressed an ear against the door and—after determining no one was on the other side—curled their fingers around the door handle and pulled it down. The door popped open without resistance and Frisk used their other hand to steady it. No guards and an unlocked front door? The Dreemurrs truly had nothing to worry about with Chara on their side.

That’s right—this was Chara’s residence too. Frisk took a deep breath before slipping inside the dark house and shutting the door behind them. It was dark, but not too dark; ambient light from the windows in the adjacent room cast grey slivers of light across the floorboards. With methodical steps, Frisk reached their hands out until they felt the banister that separated the main floor from the stairwell. The child crept towards the right to the steps and descended down. The ghosts had said the barrier was in the basement. It couldn’t be much further now.

From the base of the stairs ran a huge hallway with soft light illuminating the end where it turned around the corner. Frisk continued, and the hallway opened up into a long open balcony that ran along the side of the castle. Below, city lights illuminated the dark cave ceiling, which reflected with sparkling crystals. Frisk continued forward while peering out over the glittering landscape.

The balcony ended with an elevator set into a large tower on the left and a door back into the castle on the right. Frisk made a note to return to the elevator if they couldn’t find the barrier down the other path, and headed right. Frisk pushed open the door and inside was a sight so breathtaking that it challenged the cityscape behind them. Huge arched ceilings stretched above stained glass awash with soft crystal light behind it. The stone floor was nearly reflective in the bright spots between hard shadows cast by enormous marble columns. A cathedral.

“Wow…” Frisk breathed. They ventured forward, their boots squeaking against the smooth floor. Captivated, Frisk traced their fingers across the marble columns, which were etched with an ancient language. A part of them wished they could have stayed in the Underground a bit longer—explored a bit further. If the circumstances were different, surely this adventure would have led to excitement, laughter, and friendship. But they couldn’t stop now. Chara would not rest until the Underground was made into Frisk’s grave, and Frisk was not about to give them the satisfaction. The Surface, though tainted with bad memories, was still the only home they had.

Frisk was about halfway through the room when a low rumble echoed through the chamber, upsetting the dust from the beams above. It was followed by an erratic scraping and tearing sound that grew louder and louder, causing the windows to rattle and light fixtures to swing with every concussive pound. Frisk tried to run in a direction—any direction—but the shaking earth caused them to fall onto all fours.

The door behind them exploded open, scattering debris throughout the room in a cloud of dust. Frisk covered their head as bits of stone and wood scattered over them. Frantically, they looked back at the epicenter of the blast. Uncurling from the darkness was a massive creature that seemed to fill the vast space of the church. Its large animal-like head hung at least 20 feet above them, its body the size of a two-story house. It crouched on six hulking limbs, its fur crested head sagging with the weight of six horns that wrapped around its eyes like a thorny crown.

Though the spots where the creature's eyes should have been were covered by horns, three pairs of additional bulging, bloodshot eyes ran down its jaws, each lined with bristling white lashes. The pupils swiveled and swam independent of one another before focusing on Frisk's small form.

Frisk gasped and scrambled back onto their feet.

The creature’s face split open vertically to reveal a mouth full of snarled blunted teeth—human teeth—and it screeched a repetitive warbling wail. Frisk cowered and pressed their hands to their ears. It took a moment before Frisk realized the wail was laughter.

“Hu… Hu…” The thing’s jaws gnashed and clacked together as it worked to formulate speech. “Hu… man…”

Frisk’s mind screamed run, run, run, but their legs felt rooted on the spot. Their mind stuttered and swam in its attempt to make sense of what they were seeing. Grasping at the depths of their soul, they urged the world to go back in time. To return to a safer space.

But nothing happened.

“What great fortune…” the abomination growled, its articulation improving with every syllable, “...to kill you... once more…”

The direct threat released them from their paralysis and Frisk bolted, running—stumbling—fleeing for the exit on the opposite side of the grand cathedral. The monster surged forward, twisting its body to reveal a huge tail that whipped out of the darkness. It struck Frisk in the back and the child was unceremoniously thrown forward and against the marbled floor, wind hammered out of their lungs. There was no scream and no sound save for the slam of palms against marble. Their head throbbed, momentarily dizzy, but their eyes caught the exit just ahead. They jumped to their feet and kept running, barely registering the creature’s laughter behind them.

No, not behind them anymore, it was nearly looming above them.

But the exit was just ahead, and the child shot through it.

The monster raked the doorway from top to bottom with its claws. Stone debris rained down upon the child as they threw their body forward, leaping the last few feet to try and clear the collapsing architecture. They fell flat on their stomach in the adjoining room; the rubble piled up in a mountain of stone, rebar, and wood behind them. Ahead of them stretched out a long, plain, empty hallway with a corner that turned to the right.

For a moment, it was quiet.

Frisk tried to stand but something caught on their clothes, jerking them back. Or so they thought. Frisk craned their neck to look behind them and saw their right foot was trapped under a slab of marble the size of a refrigerator. Delayed pain shot through their body. Frisk kicked against the rock with their free leg, their short, strangled breaths fogging the polished floor under them. Tears were already streaming down their face from the agony, the fear, the frustration.

Among everything else was that laughter.

Frisk closed their eyes and did their best to calm themself. They urged their soul to take them back, back, back. Where was the last safe point? The Dreemurr’s front door? The jail?

But nothing happened.

“Are you still alive, human?” the monster’s voice rumbled from behind the caved in wall. “My deepest condolences if so. After all. I am still becoming accustomed to this new form.” Its voice was coy, lilting, and familiar.

Frisk contorted their body until they could reach their trapped foot. The top half of their boot was visible, so they untied the laces and loosened it as much as they could. Each movement felt like nails being hammered into their ankle, but they kept quiet as they worked their foot free from their shoe.

Vibrations rumbled through the floor as the creature paced back and forth behind the collapsed doorway. “I suppose I should not be surprised to find you here. After all. You are always standing in my way.”

In one final swift motion, Frisk pulled their foot free. They scrambled back to their feet, nearly falling again at the horrible pain that shot through their socked foot. Their ankle was undeniably broken, but they couldn’t let that stop them now. Limping as fast as they could down the hall, Frisk chanced a look over their shoulder. The doorway was completely gone, replaced with nothing but piles of rock, mortar, and wooden beams. Had it trapped itself? Surely a monster of that size could push away the rubble. Frisk tore their eyes away and focused on progressing forward, their lungs still straining to pull in air. Whether the creature was trapped or not, they had a small lead and intended to take full advantage of it.

Turning the corner of the hallway Frisk saw two more directions to choose from. Just where was this barrier? In the left wall was another tall doorway, and up ahead, the hall turned to the right once again.

Dark laughter echoed down the chamber from behind them, standing Frisk’s hairs on end. Wincing in pain, the child barreled through the left doorway. It led to some sort of throne room: two ornate chairs were surrounded with hundreds of flowers planted in the ground, stacked in pots, and hung from trellises. Frisk ignored the multi-colored spectacle, shambling through the garden to reach a doorway behind the thrones. Past the doorway it was a dark room, and beyond that, another doorway with a brilliant white light emanating from it.

The creature’s laughter was constant but more distant now. It was saying something but Frisk couldn’t understand, not that they wanted to listen anyway. Through the brightly lit doorway was a spectacular sight. The room was vast, with intermittent white stone pillars reaching towards a distant ceiling. Most notably, the far edge of the room was consumed by an unnatural bright light. The light pulsated like a heartbeat, dizzying and all consuming, but most important was a familiar sound Frisk felt as though they hadn’t heard in years: the distant twittering of song birds just beyond it.

This had to be it: the barrier. Frisk exhaled and smiled. Stronger than the terror and pain was a glimmer of hope. If they could make it across, they’d be safe—they’d be home.

Frisk stepped forward but their destination dissolved from sight, a wave of breathless icy emptiness crashing over them as the floor melted away. Disoriented, disembodied, blind. Frisk grasped for reality and in the next moment they found it. Two feet on a solid marble floor. Tall stained glass windows reaching for a high arched ceiling.

Frisk blinked, taking in the familiar setting around them. They were back at the entrance of the cathedral, just moments after they had stepped inside. Their heart dropped and they fought a weakness in their knees that threatened to topple them. Something had sent them back in time mere moments before their escape. A sense of helplessness overwhelmed them as they realized how profoundly vulnerable they now were.

The rafters shuddered.

Swallowing their dread, Frisk did the only thing they could: they ran.

A mechanical wrenching screech filled the child’s ears. Hearing it a second time allowed Frisk to place the noise: it was the sound of the monster’s oversized body wrenching through the elevator shaft in the tower outside the cathedral. This time, the child cleared the far doorway just as the abomination crashed through the cathedral’s entrance. It was only the briefest of head starts, but they’d take what they could get.

Frisk swayed and stumbled as the floor reverberated with the heavy beats of the monster’s footfalls, but remained upright as they crossed the stretch of the stone hall. They were much faster with two intact ankles, but would it be fast enough? The sound of the creature’s six large limbs slamming against the stone grew louder and louder as it approached.

“Run all you like…” the beast’s cheery and sickening voice echoed down the hall, “You cannot escape.”

But it was wrong: escape was within reach. Frisk chanced a look back as they rounded the corner, and saw the abomination snaking through the archway. It only barely fit, and seemed to be taking better care not to destroy the architecture. Frisk didn’t have the luxury to question it. The barrier was only a few rooms away.

The child darted into the throne room, eyes locked onto the doorway in the back. Heart hammering in their chest, they sprinted through the flora and into the next room, nearly tripping over a potted plant. They charged through the dark hall and into the white soaked chamber that held the barrier. Frisk squinted against the brilliant light but kept up their speed. They crossed their arms in front of their face, braced themself, and raced headlong into the barrier.

The barrier—bright and unforgiving—absorbed the child’s forward momentum and thrust the child back with the same force. Frisk fell onto their back and groaned, shaking their head as they pulled themself back onto their feet. Hideous laughter reverberated through the room, filling the child with fresh dread. The beast’s huge head loomed in the doorway, its bisected maw opened wide. Frisk rushed to the barrier a second time with arms outstretched. They pushed against the invisible force and the barrier seemed to push back, unyielding.

“No—no! Please!” Frisk begged. A terrible crash rang out behind them. Frisk turned and saw the monster was clawing the doorway open as if it was little more than cardboard. Its hulking form knocked bricks and mortar into the spotless room as it wrenched its way through the threshold. Back pressed against the barrier, a cold sweat began to bead on Frisk’s skin. Their escape route was nothing but a dead end now.

Frisk looked to the left and the right. The tall pillars in the room only provided a few spots of cover, but they would only serve to stall the monster. Regardless, the child ran for a pillar both closest to them and away from the beast. They watched from hiding as the horror cleared the entryway and pulled itself to its full height, eyes wild and jaw dripping with saliva. Fully illuminated by the light of the barrier, Frisk saw that the front of its body was wriggling with a mass of emaciated human arms, arranged like the limbs of an isopod. Worse still was the sight of a limp human caught in the writhing hands’ grasp, drenched in blood: the caretaker of the Ruins.

“Chara!” Frisk cried, clutching their hands to their mouth.

“Oh?” The behemoth tilted its head to one side and looked down at the corpse, “This thing is Chara no longer.” The creature used one of its main claws to pluck Chara’s body from the mob of grasping limbs and held it outward, “For I have bonded with Asriel to create this superior form.”

“Asriel?” Frisk breathed, “You’re Chara and—”

Frisk was cut off as the abomination unceremoniously tossed Chara’s body at the child. Frisk shrieked and hid behind the pillar as the corpse hit the floor next to them with a sickening thud. The face of the person who had caused them so much torment was sheet white with dark lines of blood running from their mouth and nose. A familiar knife was embedded deep in their chest.

“However…” the beast continued, “Only six human souls were sacrificed for this power. One more soul will render our transformation complete.”

“S-Sacrifices?” Frisk whispered. Their horror was mocked with more of the monster’s laughter. Chara and Asriel’s laughter.

No. Asriel would never find this funny.

Pulling together their courage, Frisk stepped out from behind the column, “Asriel!” they called out, “Please stop this! This isn’t you!”

The monster bristled, “You think you can manipulate us?” It lunged forward, raking a claw through the pillar. Frisk darted to the next column. It was a terrible hiding place, but it would have to do.

The monster’s horn-crested head followed Frisk to their cover, but its body hesitated as it loomed over Chara’s corpse. The multitude of arms on its belly reached out and gathered the body up, holding it close with uncanny tenderness. “Cease this sentimentality,” the monster muttered to itself.

“Asriel! Don’t you remember me? It’s Frisk!” Frisk shouted again.

“Asriel and I are aligned in our mission!” the monster roared. It charged Frisk’s hiding spot once again, collapsing the second pillar. Frisk was already running for the next one, working their way closer to the widened entryway the beast had come through.

“You saved me from Chara, remember?” Frisk continued, “You didn’t want me to die!”

Without a word the monster lunged forward, tearing down the third pillar and sending chunks of debris flying at the fleeing child. Frisk ignored the sharp twinges of pain as marble shards struck their back. They were close to the exit now. If they escaped, maybe they could find Toriel and Asgore and get help—

But before Frisk could reach the doorway, the world dissolved around them once again, snapping them into an earlier reality. The sight of Chara’s corpse beside them startled them nearly as much as it had the first time. They were only a minute back, if that.

“Oh, how I have missed doing that...” the monster cooed. “Human... your tenacity is admirable if not profoundly irritating. So we are going to give you a choice. Would you like to be killed first or last?”

“’Last’? After what?” Frisk called from behind the pillar.

“Our preordained purpose: the salvation of monsters. We will erase humanity. We will free everyone.”

It wasn’t much of a choice. Dying before it destroyed the world came with no benefit. But if Chara ignored them now, Frisk would be able to return to the castle and seek sanctuary from Toriel and Asgore. If they were very lucky, they might be able to live a few more months, or even years. The cost, however, would be the life of every human on Earth.

Frisk felt a pang of grief remembering that those people didn't include their parents anymore. The opportunity to save the ones they loved the most had long passed. Everyone else, however, still had a chance. Their best friend from school who traded lunches with them, their neighbors with the friendly dog, the woman who owned their favorite ice cream store in town… everyone Frisk had ever seen, plus billions more they'd now never get the chance to meet.

Frisk looked back down at the lifeless body beside them. Crouching, the child wrenched the knife from Chara’s heart before leaving their cover, placing themself directly between the monster and the barrier.

“What is this?” the creature cackled, “You want to die first. How noble.”

“No, I’m not going to die.” Frisk held the knife out towards the looming abomination, “And I won’t let you kill anyone else!”

The monster’s body flinched and reared back, shrieking with a dissonant multitude of screams. As it did, flames of unnatural colors lashed and arced around the behemoth. Frisk did their best to cover their ears without dropping the blade, but they couldn’t block out the noise.

The monster’s claws dug into the stone floor as it braced itself against some internal pain, “It was an accident!” the creature stammered, “I didn’t mean to hurt him!”

“What? Asriel is that you?” Frisk asked, but the monster roared in response.

“Stop calling for him, he can’t hear you!” the creature lunged and Frisk jumped back, barely avoiding the claws that crashed into the floor in front of them. There the monster froze, its outreached hand trembling.

“Stay back!” Frisk brandished the knife and the monster shrieked again, gouging large tracks into the floor as it recoiled back. Mixed in the screams were a bizarre mixture of words and sentences clashing against each other.

“P—Please don’t kill me!" It shuddered, shoulders convulsing, “I’ll tear you apart! I… I just want to go home… You mean I’ll never see her again?”

Frisk kept the knife held out and the monster cowered from it, voices both pleading and threatening, “I don't want to die… I hate you! I’ll kill you!”

“Just stop!” Frisk shouted over the cacophony, “No one has to kill or be killed!”

The behemoth shuddered and clasped its head with two of its great hands. Its great maw opening and closing, it struggled to form words, “F… F… Frisk…”

“Asriel?”

“You… you’re wrong…” it choked, “We’ve already killed… so many...”

"Then it stops here! Change back and go home!"

"I can't… I can't…" the monster lamented, "These souls inside me… all this fear... this hate… it's overwhelming…" The beast shut its many eyes and huffed out a long breath. There was a short pause before its eyes snapped back open and it took another ragged swipe at Frisk. The attack missed and the creature pinned the hostile limb to the floor with another. "We want you dead! We want everyone dead!"

"Asriel, you have to fight them!" Frisk pleaded.

"I can't… I can't..." the monster shook its enormous head, raking at the scorched floor with its claws. “Help… please…”

"How??" Frisk asked, exasperated.

"You must… kill us."

“No!” Frisk blurted out before they could even process the request, “There has to be another—”

The beast surged forward again, reaching out with a fire engulfed claw and swatting the human to the side. Frisk slid across the smooth floor and the knife skittered out of their hand. Strangling a cry, the child frantically rolled onto their side to smother the flames that licked up their clothes. Frisk had never smelled burnt hair before, but the stench was unmistakable. They glimpsed the back of their right hand and regretted seeing the red, blistered flesh that hurt worse than it looked. Tearing their eyes away, Frisk scanned the floor for their dropped knife.

“So you finally understand, Asriel.” The beast’s voice was shaking in rage, “There are some sacrifices that have to be made.” The abomination set its eyes on the child, but Frisk had already found their dropped knife. Just as they snatched it back up, however, the monster grabbed them. Its fist clenched the child's body in one swift, upwards motion, and the ground disappeared beneath them. The pressure of its grip magnified the pain of the burns to beyond what Frisk could handle. Suffocating darkness spilled into their vision, dragging them towards unconsciousness.

No! They couldn’t give into the agony. Frisk screamed—one of the only outlets they had left—and among their cries, they pleaded, “Help me! Anyone!”

The monster hesitated. Its arm began to tremble and little pricks of light formed on the surface of its fur like glistening, ethereal drops of dew. The light criss-crossed down the creature’s arm towards the captured human, and a sensation like cool water swept over them, washing away the blistering pain. They checked the back of their hand: the burns were gone.

Arm still shaking, the abomination began to lower Frisk towards the ground. However, before it released the child, it paused.

“The souls...” the beast uttered and clenched the child tighter, pushing the air from Frisk’s lungs. “No. I am in control… you will obey me.”

The monster raised its arm over its head and Frisk along with it. The sickening realization that they were about to be thrown against the wall seized them. Frisk clawed at the creature’s fist with their right hand, and slashed with the knife in their left.

The damage caused its hand to splay open and Frisk slid free, landing on the creature’s back. They grasped at its coarse white fur with one hand and bit the blade deep into its flesh with the other. The abomination shrieked, twisting and contorting to shake Frisk off. The child wrapped both hands around the knife’s grip and raked it down its body as they fell. A streak of red followed the knife down, the gash blistering as if the blade was venomous. Howling, the beast pulled away from Frisk, its eyes wild with hatred.

“It’s not too late,” Frisk pleaded, “We can turn back.”

The monster shuddered, bracing against the swimming, intrusive, shrieking thoughts inside its being as it battled for control. The hand Frisk had slashed was raked with deep, festering cuts that stood in stark contrast on its white fur.

A low growl reverberated in the throat of the beast. “No. Our plan will not fail.” It set its eyes on the barrier once more and moved towards the shimmering barricade. Its wounds left red prints on the floor.

The relief of not being the monster’s target was short-lived as renewed panic swept through Frisk’s body. Without a second thought, the child raced to put themself between the abomination and the barrier. Planting themself firmly on the floor, Frisk threw their arms out, their figure just a small silhouette in front of the gleaming threshold.

“Stop standing in my way.” The monster growled, its tailing lashing angrily behind them. Its voice pitched with equal parts threat and mournful warning, “I will… I will kill you.”

The beast leapt forward again, its giant bisected maw stretching open. The jaws snapped closed around Frisk’s torso, and the monster reared up, lifting the child into the air. Stars flooded the child’s sight and they screamed as the fanged, crushing pressure of the beast’s teeth gripped their rib cage. But the knife was still in their white-knuckled grasp. Raising the weapon over their head, Frisk used all of their strength to sink the blade deep into the monster’s forehead. The monster howled, releasing Frisk to fall clumsily onto the floor. They heard a sickening snap as they landed—cold, searing pain jolting up through the leg that took the brunt of the fall. Frisk crumpled, grasping at their shin, but didn’t take their eyes off the monster.

The beast was shrieking, flailing, and clawing at its face, but unable to dislodge the blade from its flesh. Bright, multi-colored fires erupted from its body, corkscrewing towards the ceiling. It shook its head left and right, which splashed flames and blood in crescents across the floor. Weakness overtook the creature until it finally collapsed to the ground with a crash. The reverberations sent dust rising from the rubble strewn about the room.

The chamber fell quiet. Frisk became aware of their own rapid breathing as they coped with the stabbing pain from their broken leg. Wincing, they pushed themself into an upright sitting position and investigated their other wounds. Their sweater was marred with holes, but the bite only left a few shallow cuts and bruises. The creature—or rather—Asriel must have inhibited the attack to prevent snapping Frisk in half. Guilt swam through Frisk’s heart. He had saved them and was thanked with a killing blow.

Frisk looked back to the beast. It was still, with the exception of its chest falling and rising with each labored breath. The flames were nearly gone, only a few persistent embers hugging the floor around it. Frisk crawled towards the beast, dragging their wounded leg behind them.

Most of its multiple eyes were closed and the ones that weren’t were glassy and unfocused. The row of thin human arms that ran down its chest were limp and tangled. Among them, a few dozen fingers twitched like spider legs. The knife was embedded all the way down to the guard, and blood and saliva pooled around its head. It didn’t seem right for such a creature to be felled by such an insignificant weapon. Frisk’s pain was pushed aside by the sickening dread in their stomach.

“Asriel? Chara?” Frisk laid a hand on the behemoth’s muzzle, causing the beast to flinch. Its six claws balled into fists for a moment, then relaxed, and the monster strained to focus its eyes on the child.

“Listen! It’s still not too late!” Frisk said, “You have to go back in time, just like you did before. Save yourself and Chara!”

The creature’s eyes widened for a moment, and it took a deep, shaking breath. With great effort, it spoke. “No.”

“You have to!” Frisk urged, grasping at the monster’s head, “Please!”

“Frisk…” its voice was low and strained, “It’s the only way… to stop... this...”

“No, there’s always another way! If you go back, we can make things right!”

The beast fell silent, and Frisk shook the creature, “You can still fix this!”

“Frisk…” the monster rasped, “Take my soul… leave this place.”

“Don’t say that!”

“I’m... sorry.”

The abomination shuddered and began to crumble. Its body caved in on itself, revealing a black, husk-like anatomy that faded to an ashen white.

“No, Asriel! Chara! Please, don’t give up like this!” 

The monster’s face crumbled beneath Frisk’s hands, leaving only mounds of grey dust where the creature had fallen. Frisk shook their head, begging for the familiar cold hands of time to sweep them back. They clenched their eyes shut, hot tears falling onto the ash below. But reality stayed firmly in place.

Light cast through their closed eyelids, and Frisk opened them to see the gift Asriel had left behind. A white, shuddering light—shaped in what could only be described as an inverted heart—hovered before them. Not just Asriel’s soul, but the soul of Chara and five others, all contained in a single white light.

Trembling, Frisk reached their hand out. Together with Asriel and the other victims, they had stopped Chara’s plan, saved countless lives, and now, the escape they’d been searching for was finally within their grasp. After everything they had been through, Frisk deserved this.

But was it worth the cost?

Frisk hesitated, and looked back over their shoulder. Chara’s body was still lying where it had been thrown, partially covered by rubble. What little remained of Asriel’s mutilated form now powdered the floor in dusty patches. This was all so terribly familiar. The fact that their parents had died in one single instant—never to return—felt just as unreal. And now, two more lives had been lost in a terrible, avoidable tragedy. It wasn’t right.

Frisk withdrew their hand and pressed it to their eyes, still wet. They hunched over, trembling and clutching at their head.

They couldn’t accept it.

The child’s sobs turned into a wail. Then, a roar.

They wouldn’t accept it.

chapter 09 // end

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[one-with-the-floor]

Despite all indications to the contrary, Crowley does sometimes wake up before Aziraphale.

Crowley likes the act of sleeping: the dark, the quiet, the blessed rest of unconsciousness. Crowley indulges in sleep like he does alcohol, with great enthusiasm and an immortal lack of caution.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, has come to enjoy the routine of it. He has found he likes going through all the pre-sleep tasks, and falls asleep more because that is the final step of the routine than for the rest itself. He puts on his nightshirt, brushes his teeth, kisses Crowley goodnight, and then tucks himself up in bed with a book and two mugs of cocoa, despite Crowley’s protests that it negates the point of brushing his teeth. It’s the principle of it, Aziraphale always huffs, and Crowley rolls his eyes and climbs in next to him, where he enjoys the cocoa behind his scowl.

So when Crowley’s ungoverned sleeping habits lead him to wake up before Aziraphale’s strict eight a.m. alarm, he gets the house to himself for a while. There is weak pre-dawn sunlight filtering through the window shade, just enough to see by. Aziraphale won’t be up for a quarter of an hour yet. Crowley kisses him on the forehead, and quietly pads downstairs in search of coffee.

The third stair from the top squeaks. The fifth groans, and the eight has a stain on the carpet, a dull grey spot where Aziraphale sloshed tea on his way up only three days after they moved in. They haven’t touched it. Or talked about it. They both navigate their way around the mark without a word. They still intend to paint the kitchen, and Aziraphale’s office; maybe their bedroom, as well, if they can ever find an interesting color that will match both Crowley’s black duvet and Aziraphale’s ancient, tartan-upholstered armchair, which lives in the corner by the window. But they haven’t gotten around to any of that yet, which means that the stain on the stairs was the first mark either of them had made on the house. It seemed important, that, in the ineffable way things sometimes mattered simply because they did.

At the bottom of the stairs he runs his fingers over the potted ivy that is starting to grow up the banister. He coaxes the vines away from the wood. He’s going to need to find it another place soon, but he doesn’t want to plant it outside until the spring. As hardy as ivies are, he won’t risk the first plant Aziraphale bought him for the cottage. It can stay on the railing for now, he decides.

Once in the kitchen he goes right to the coffee maker and gets it started. It’s inhumanly fast, of course, but still takes long enough for him to go lean against the French door to the back garden. And that’s when he realizes that it’s snowing.

A fine layer of powder dusts the lawn, layered up on each twig of the apple tree and making the little holly bush in the corner look like it’s frosted in icing. The fairy lights they had struggled so much to hang up in time for a housewarming party that summer are glazed over, and Crowley curiously flips the switch that sends power to the outlet on the porch. They glow warm against the blue sunlight off the snow.

The coffee maker hisses as the last drops settle in the mug. It beeps a complaint for more water, but Crowley is mesmerized by the snow still falling. He watches one flake, loses it, catches his eye on another, sees a robin alight on the holly bush, and—oh, and there, just past the tree, where their garden fades into the woods, a doe.

“Crowley?”

“Shh, shh.” Crowley puts a finger to his lips, then points out the deer.

“Oh, how lovely,” Aziraphale sighs, approaching the glass and looking over Crowley’s shoulder. He slips his arms around his waist, and Crowley leans back with a hum. Aziraphale is wearing his  warm dressing gown this morning, the thick soft one Crowley gave him last Christmas, when they were still puttering around the drafty old bookshop.

“’S our first snow here,” Crowley points out.

“So it is. Your garden looks beautiful like this.”

“Just wait ‘til spring. I’ve got plans for all those perennials sitting in pots upstairs.”

“It’s going to be breathtaking, I’m sure.” Aziraphale leans forward against Crowley’s back, presses a good morning kiss to his cheek. The warmth fades as Aziraphale turns away to flick the kettle on and rummage in the tea cupboard.

“Do you want anything special in your coffee?” he asks. “I could melt some chocolate into it. It’s a cocoa sort of morning, I think.”

“Just milk’s fine. Thank you, angel.”

The doe noses at the holly bush. Then she hears a noise, somewhere off past the cottage, and runs into the trees with a flick of her tail. Down towards the village, the gong of a church bell begins to ring.

“We should go for a walk,” Crowley says. “See what the place looks like in the snow.”

Aziraphale makes a pleased noise. Crowley takes the re-heated coffee he is handed, and relishes its warmth against the chill from standing at the window. Aziraphale continues to putter around, moving happily through his morning routine. Then the sun comes up and hits the snow, and the cottage garden turns to gold.

[Day 10 of my Star of Wonder advent calendar, inspired by The Roches album We Three Kings.  Today’s song: “The Holly and the Ivy.”  AO3]

[fallen-angel-92]

She did not belong. She never belonged. So she sits, gives life to where there is none despite the omens she brings with her presence. However, once the paths of death and rebirth become crossed there is no going back.

 The land of Avania where the spirits of the lands roamed free. The eagles roamed far and wind with the horses beneath their wings. Where the rivers flowed into great oceans and beasts dwell deep within the water. It was a place of peace and prosperity. Within Avania lived several different clans, the most prominent and respected was the Garashia Pack. That particular pack of wolvarians were said to be born from the life giver, Avalia, while the Darvar Pack, their polar opposites, were born from Deidamia, the bringer of death and guardian of souls. From both a young she-wolf was born, though she was different from the others.

She was born with the rarest of magics, death, it was said that a wolvarian would be born with white-tipped black fur along with the ability to see death as an ill omen. Destined to bring ill to them. And so she was cast out and forced to leave the place she thought of home. Forced to fight and survive the harshness of many years to come.

“Madam Lyall?” A soft female called out into the darkened room.

Within the only source of light was from the bright moon that illuminated from the window. Upon the left side was a small light from a long small pipe light up for a brief moment before soft velvet female voice spoke up.

“What is the matter, Lillian?” the woman in the shadows asked.

“Forgive me for intruding, Madam, but we have a male customer being abusive to one of our ladies,” Lillian spoke meekly as her jade colored eyes watched as the shadowed female figure opened her eyes revealing brown and gold colored eyes.

Lyall slowly stood up, her long dark blue kimono shimmered underneath the moonlight and her golden hooped earrings stood out. Lyall lifted her pipe to her dark red stained lips, taking a small puff of it before allowing the smoke to exit through her lips. She shifted some of her longer strands of hair from her pixie cut hairstyle out of her eyes. Her eyes then narrowed as she spoke with a hint of cold true anger,

“Then I guess I better go have words with him. After all, I don't tolerate this kind of behavior in our establishment.”

With an almost inhuman grace she moved toward the door, the brunette quickly moved to the side, opening the sliding door full to allow Lyall to exit the room. Her bare feet graced the flush red carpet that held golden trimming, her long kimono dragged behind her as she approached the stairs that lead down toward the second floor. Not long after she entered the second floor landing as she continued forward she was greeted to the site of her large home. The sounds of a fight overturned any enjoyment she would normally have.

“Over there, Madam,” Lillian softly spoke as she pointed at the entrance of the building.

Lyall placed the end of her pipe into her mouth and took another deep breath before allowing the smoke to gently leave her lips as she walked closer to the banister, allowing her black painted sharpened nails to gently caress the beautiful wood.

“My. My. I allow you into my establishment. Allow you services from my ladies and here I find you daring to lay a hand upon her outside of the bedroom,” Lyall called out to the obviously drunk, but angry male patron.

Lyrall watched with a hint of dark amusement as the drunken man began to flounder as she slowly began to descend down another flight of stairs onto the main floor. As she slowly approached him, she could see that he was sweating nervously. 

“I think you need a reminder as to what happens when you break my rules that I have put into place,” She purred dangerously as she took another puff from her pipe, releasing the smoke into the man’s face before reaching over into her the sash of her kimono and quickly pulled out a small sword. 

She quickly sliced at the man’s arm, cutting through the flesh like butter thanks to the magic that was embedded into the edge. She watched with a blank look as the man’s arm slowly slid off his body and blood spewed from his body as he fell to the ground screaming in pain. Lyrall looked down at his body withering and bleeding upon the carpet as she began raised her voice to be heard by all.

“Listen all and listen well! I will not tolerate any abuse within my house. Let this be a lesson if you break the rules and boundaries that are set, I will ensure your life is forfeit!” Lyrall tilted her body slightly as she turned to one of the men that was to her right and said,” Throw him to the rats and make sure he doesn’t come back.”

The large broad man nodded his head as he reached down, picking up the still crying and weeping man and began to carry him out of the establishment. Once he was out of her sight, she took another huff from her pipe and waved over another person this time it was a slime teenage girl. Golden brown eyes met her green ones as Lyrall spoke softly,

“Get the blood cleaned up, Maribal. Go speak with Montia. She’ll assist you.”

She watched as the young woman nodded her head and quickly darted off to do as she was told. Lyrall then tilted her pipe and she knew that her special tobacco was out, just as she let out a small sigh there was a sound of an explosion that shook the foundation of her home.

“Looks like Boom Boom is at it again,” A male voice gruffed out from the left of her.

Lyrall turned her attention to the tall broad male figure beside her, and she spoke demurely,” Shall we go check on him. He seems to have gotten into dangerous material again.”

The male chuckled as he and Lyrall began to head toward the back of the building, candles were alight as they walked toward what appeared to be a normal wall. Lyrall waved a hand, causing several rune-like images to appear before the seal seemed to disappear and a door revealed itself. Lyrall opened the door allowing the two to step inside into a long corridor, with a metal door at the end of the hall. Purple flames illuminated the hallway as they walked, Lyrall then gently asked the gray haired man next to her,

“How are the grandchildren, Raymond?”

“The same. Being a handful,” Raymond grouched out as they arrived at the door.

Lyrall reached over and opened the door revealing a large cave, however the top opened up revealing the beautiful night sky. To the right ran a large river that appeared to be normal, however, it was toxic. To the side they were on was a large machine that was crafted to catch the run off from the upper city. Her attention however, was quickly drawn to a young blonde haired boy that was grinning wildly, with soot covering his face and his yellow orangeish eyes glittering with glee.

“Jamison! What have I told you about those explosives?” Lyrall called out sterly to him.

This caused the boy to jump in surprise as he turned to look at her sheepishly as she approached.

“Leave the lad alone, Lyrall! He was just fine and I had an eye on him!” A male voice called out from the machine.

“Are you sure about that Hymden? You only have one eye, old friend!” Lyrall called with a hint of amusement.

At the question, she heard a grunt and out came a short stocky man with a single green eye and an eyepatch on the other. His bright red hair was pulled back with his bushy beard showing soot marks all along it. He narrowed his eye at her as he gruffly said,

“Aye! Just because I have but one eye doesn’t mean I wasn’t watching the lad!”

“Easy now, Hymden. You know Lyrall is joking,” Raymond said with a grin.

Just as the two men began to bicker, she walked over to Jamison, crouching down in front of him. She could see his gaze was cast to the ground and she spoke in a soothing tone,

“My darling, little exploding sun burst. You know why I tell you these things?”

“So… So I don’t get hurt?” He replied back weakly, his gaze still on the ground.

Lyrall gently put a finger under his chin as she made him look at her in the eyes as she replied back,

“I am not mad, my sun burst. I just want you to be safe so I can see you grow up and make bigger explosions.”

This caused him to beam happily at her, which caused her to chuckle as she stood up and gently took his hand into hers before leading him back inside with the two men finally stopping the bickering, quickly following.

(Hope you enjoyed! I would like to thank @ink-and-dagger and @a-gal-with-taste for being inspirations of this fic!)

[ashes-and-ashes]

She catches him on the staircase.

It’s dark, the only light coming from streams of moonlight twisting through the stained glass windows, sending streaks of colour across the marble floor. The air felt heavy and cold - Draco stares up at through the wrought-iron banisters and tries to suppress his shiver.

The trunk lands on the floor with a clatter, the noise echoing around the empty house. With a curse Draco flicks his wand, heaving it back into the air. “Mother.”

He thinks Narcissa looks a bit like a ghost - her silence, nightgown and white hair, washed out and empty like the marble floor. “What are you doing?”

Draco whips his head up, something like anger blooming in his chest. “No,” he says, sharply enough that Narcissa takes a short step back, fingers trailing on the bannister. “Don’t pretend, Mother. You’re not stupid.”

Narcissa tilts her head. She descends down the stairs, stopping just above of Draco and suddenly Draco’s five again, watching her put on her diamond earrings in front of the old mirror in her bedroom. They’re stars, Mummy! he had said, and Narcissa had merely smiled.

He takes a sharp breath, fingers clenched where they pressed into the handle of his wand, the wood digging into the flesh of his palm. “I’m leaving,” he says, and Narcissa closes her eyes. “I’m leaving. You and father and everything. I’m done.”

It feels strange saying the words, unraveling into the empty space between him and his mother. He’s said them many times before, to Harry and Pansy and Blaise but never his Mother.

It felt a bit like falling, the strange bottoming in his stomach, the twisted apprehension. Draco grips his wand even tighter, heart hammering in his chest.

“Draco,” Narcissa says, and he hears the slightest tremble in her voice, the fragile edge of tears. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen his Mother cry, not even when he was curled up on the floor in the foyer, Voldemort’s laughter ringing in his ears and the taste of blood in his mouth. His mother was like stone - beautful but unbending and he didn’t expect her to bend now.

“Don’t,” he breathes. The words are less solid than he would like them to be and he has to force them out again. “Don’t. Don’t pretend that - that you care, that you care for anything more than your investment - “

Narcissa raises her gaze, eyes like steel in the darkness of the room. “You’re not a parent,” she says simply, her voice so much smaller than Draco remembers. “You don’t - “

Draco shakes his head, trying but failing to keep the bitter twist of a smile from stretching over his mouth. He’s learnt that from Harry, he thinks, the sardonic edge of humor, the laughter that only came as everything fell apart. “You’re lying. You don’t care about me. You don’t love me.”

“Draco, I - “

“If you did,” Draco starts, his voice low and cold. “If you didn’t you wouldn’t have let him mark me.”

He sees the words hit his mother, as if she had been doused in cold water. Narcissa draws herself back up, face suddenly void of emotion.

“I did it so you could survive,” she hisses, the colour slowly draining from her cheeks. “I did it so that when he wins, you would be safe because you are my son.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Draco says scornfully. It’s the closest he’s ever come to outright questioning his mother.

“The Order is not in the habit of killing children,” Narcissa says coldly. “But the Dark Lord is more than acquainted with it.”

Draco swallows. He thinks of them, Harry and Ron and Hermione, Luna and Neville and Ginny, the way they had come back from the Ministry covered in ash and blood, the wounds and the curse-marks and then tear-tracks carved onto their cheeks.

“You’re wrong,” he says. “The Order is more than willing to kill their children.”

Narcissa opens her mouth then closes it. She casts her gaze upstairs, towards the bedroom where Lucius slept, her face still impassive. Draco breathes through gritted teeth, eyes pleading even as he tried to keep his face still.

“Please,” he says. “Please. Mother. I’m going.”

Narcissa cuts her gaze to him. “And if I stop you?”

“Don’t,” he breathes. His wand feels like a rod of burning metal in his hand, searing into his soul as he swings it up, points it at his mother’s chest.

Narcissa merely cocks her head. “You wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what I would do anymore.”

Narcissa stares back at him. They’re still for a heartbeat - one, two. Draco stares at his hand and tries to imagine it; the bolt of energy, the way his mother’s body would fly backward, a splay of limbs and hair, the folds of her nightgown on the staircase. His hand shakes - he forces a deep breath, eyes still locked on his mother’s.

Finally, Narcissa looks down. “Where will you go?”

Draco swallows. His arm feels like wood as he forces it to his side, finger aching suddenly with a vengeance. “To Harry,” he says, and just saying it makes him feel better, like sunlight running through his veins. “I’ll stay with him for a bit, and then - “

Narcissa holds up a hand, fingers elegant and graceful. “No. You cannot tell me anymore.”

Draco blinks. “Mother - “

“No,” she says again. She closes her eyes and Draco suddenly understands, the sinking feeling in his stomach growing worse. “Your father is a Death Eater. Your family are Death Eaters. You should treat us as such.”

“Mother - “

Narcissa shakes her head and Draco swallows, every bone in his body going heavy. With a nod he turns away, shoulders set as he stares at the door.

“I love you,” he says, and then there’s a twist in his stomach and Draco is gone.

[rhysismydaddy]

The Bodyguard Pt. 5 (Elorcan)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

______________________________________________________________

This was bad. Really bad. They were completely surrounded, and even though Lorcan had fought off seven guys without much trouble, there were more than twice that amount now.

“What do we do?”

Lorcan walked around the place, locking windows and doors and pushing buttons on the device in his hands. “The landmines will take a lot of them out. Until they get within fifty yards, we wait. Then I’ll go take care of them.” His dark eyes met hers. “You’re staying here.”

Normally, she’d be brave and argue, demand to come along, but... there were a lot of dots out there. And she’d struggled earlier just walking through the forest. In the daylight.

“Okay,” she agreed.

“The windows are bulletproof, and when I leave I’m going to arm the house. Go upstairs to your room and lock the door.” He paused, seeming to have an internal argument with himself. “There’s a gun in the closet.”

She nodded again, turning to follow his instructions.

Lorcan grabbed her wrist, pulling her close to him. “Don’t you dare fucking shoot yourself.”

Was there... concern on his features? She smiled slightly. “Okay.” 

“I’m serious. Even if... even if the worst happens, it’s not over. I’ll find you. So if you shoot yourself, I’m going to be pissed.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, jerked his chin at the stairs, then headed to the door.

“Please be careful, Lorcan.”

He looked over his shoulder, giving her a rough wink. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

Then he was gone.

And she was very, very aware of his absence. Without him around, her situation became a lot more clear. They were outnumbered and outgunned, and they probably wouldn’t live through the night.

Well, Lorcan probably wouldn’t. Vernon hated her too much to let her die.

The irony wasn’t lost on her.

Elide ran upstairs, locked the bedroom door behind her, and went to the closet. Sure enough, there was a pistol in the back. She pulled it out, not knowing what to do other than make sure it was loaded.

She crawled next to the bed, practically throwing herself on the floor as she heard things start to explode. Good gods.

People were out there, fighting for their lives and losing, because of her.

More explosions went off, the sounds of gunshots joining the mixture. She pointed hers at the bedroom door, even though she hadn’t heard the house alarm go off.

Noticing her arm was shaking, she took a deep breath, replaying Lorcan’s earlier words. Even if the worst happened, he’d find her. He’d find her.

Unless he was dead.

She chastised herself for the thought. He wasn’t dying tonight.

If he died because of her, she’d never forgive herself. Yes, it was his job to protect her, but she’d put them both in this situation.

She’d get them out of it.

Elide made it about ten minutes before she decided she had to know what was going on. Keeping low to the floor, she crept towards the small, bulletproof window in the bathroom connected to her room.

When she looked outside, the woods barely visible even with the moonlight, it looked like the house had been picked up and transported from its peaceful spot in the woods to the middle of a war zone.

A fifteen to one war.

Lorcan had been right about the landmines and booby traps taking out a good portion of Vernon’s men. She saw at least five bodies on the ground, and she figured there were at least that many on the other side of the house. Hopefully.

Gods, what had her life come to that she was praying there were a lot of bodies outside?

And even if there were ten people dead because of the mines, that was still five trained killers. All after her.

She gripped the gun tighter, straightening her spine.

And that’s when she saw him.

Lorcan was sprinting through the woods, and she took the speed with which he was moving to mean he was unhurt. His arm extended, something glinted in the barely-there light, and then someone fell from a tree, crashing into the ground with a sickening snap.

Elide shuddered, not making a sound as she watched him keep running. He didn’t even slow down as he reached to the man on the ground and ripped his knife free.

Good gods. This was the man who’d kissed her scars? The man who’d held her while she cried?

Surprisingly, the thought that she’d had a natural, very skilled killer on top of her less than an hour ago didn’t bother her in the slightest. 

If anything, it made her feel special.

He was out there because of her, because he wanted to protect her and keep her safe.

Lorcan ran through the treeline, right below her window, and her heart stopped dead in her chest as someone stepped into view not twenty yards from him. He held a gun up, aimed at Lorcan, and pulled the trigger.

Elide made a strangled sound, pressing a hand over her mouth to keep it quiet, as she watched the bullet connected with his firm abdomen.

But he didn’t even slow down. He just reached to grab a gun from his waistband, and before she knew it, the man in front of him was on the ground, dead.

From the blood staining his shirt, she knew he’d been hit, but he seemed completely ignorant of the fact as he ran around the building out of view.

Elide, on the other hand, was not ignoring it. He’d been shot. 

Panic started to settle in, and she felt her throat start to close up.

No. 

She forced herself to calm down and remember his words from earlier, from all the times he’d promised her uncle would never touch her again.

This is Lorcan Salvaterre we’re talking about, she told herself. The devil himself couldn’t stop him from keeping his promise.

The thought brought a slight smile to her face.

It fell, though, as she heard a loud siren explode around her. The house alarm.

Someone was here.

Elide locked the bathroom door, pointing her gun at it once again. If someone came in to grab her, she wouldn’t go without a fight.

But then a voice called out, and everything changed.

“Elide. Come downstairs, please.”

Her uncle’s voice was completely calm, sounding as if he were asking her to do something easy. She stayed silent, and he made a tsk sound.

“I have your boyfriend,” he teased, and she tensed. “And unless you come with me willingly and give up this ridiculous fight, I’ll shoot him in the fucking head.”

Her body was shaking, but she knew better than to believe him. She’d just seen Lorcan outside, and besides the whole gunshot thing, he seemed fine. 

He had to be lying.

But then she heard something that sounded like a struggle, and a very familiar grunt met her ears.

Fuck.

Lorcan was really down there.

And he’d die if she didn’t go. Because of her.

Forcing her hands not to shake, she reached and unlocked the door, thinking at the last minute to tuck her gun into the waistband of her leggings. She walked through the bedroom with bravado she didn’t feel, then paused to peek around the banister downstairs.

Lorcan was standing in the foryer, and even though he was dressed in black, she could tell he was covered in blood. There was something around his mouth, gagging him and keeping him silent. Bruises and scrapes and cuts marked every inch of visible skin, and she shuddered as she looked at his torso. His shirt was stuck to it with blood from being shot, the sight making her feel sick. 

He looked like he’d been through hell.

But he was standing tall, and the look on his face was one of anger, not pain.

She saw the glint of a gun and knew Vernon was standing behind him, his slight frame hidden completely by Lorcan’s body.

Dark eyes met hers, and then ever so slightly, he shook his head.

Elide ignored him completely as she walked down the stairs.

Vernon peeked around his shoulder, wide smile forming when he saw her. “Little Elide. What trouble you’ve caused me.”

“Fuck you,” she replied sweetly.

His eyes narrowed, but Lorcan’s lit up with pride.

“Such harsh words, considering this-” he gestured around with his free hand, “is all your fault. All these people dead because of you. Lorcan at my mercy because of you.”

True.

Lorcan’s hands were behind his back, and she realized they were probably bound. Smart of Vernon.

“If I go with you, you let him live.”

Her uncle nodded, looking at her with a hungry, vicious look in his eyes that brought a cold sweat to her skin.

Lorcan glared at her, looking angrier than she’d ever seen him, and she knew exactly what he was trying to say. 

Realizing Vernon couldn’t see her all that well, she tapped her waist and made a little gun with her fingers. 

And she knew that if it weren’t for the bandanna around his mouth, Lorcan be smiling. He nodded.

Vernon made a disgusted sound, and said, “Let’s go Elide.”

She stepped toward him, keeping her eyes on Lorcan’s. All she had to do was get close enough and make sure he was out of the way. And then this would finally be over. She could do it, she knew she could.

Something in Vernon’s expression changed as he watched her come toward him, then a cruel smile filled his features. She stopped in her tracks, knowing in her gut something was about to go very, very wrong.

She heard a soft click, then a loud noise exploded into the room. Lorcan didn’t make a sound as blood exploded from his left shoulder. Right above his heart.

It sprayed onto Elide, and her head went empty as she realized what had happened.

He hit his knees, then the floor. 

She turned to look at her uncle in horror, fighting the urge to throw up.

“Did you really think I’d leave someone like him alive? You foolish girl.” Vernon pointed the gun on her and smiled. “We’re leaving now.”

A breath gasped out of Lorcan, and Elide realized right then there was no way in hell she was leaving him here alone to die. 

She didn’t think twice before reaching to pull the gun out of her pants.

But before she could pull the trigger, Vernon tackled her to the ground, knocking her gun to the side.

The floor below her was slick and wet, and she realized it was Lorcan’s blood. He was dying, and she had to do something about it. 

Elide growled, enjoying the look of shock on her uncle’s features. Then she used the oldest move in the book and slammed her knee up and in between his legs. His grunted and loosened his grip on her. Her hands were free, but she still couldn’t reach her gun.

But she could reach his.

She leaned as far away from him as possible, knowing that if she died now Lorcan would kick her ass in hell. 

Then she grabbed her uncle’s hand, the one holding the gun to her, twisting it away from her as hard as she could. And squeezed the trigger.

The gun went off with a loud bang, blood going everywhere. 

Her eyes flew open as Vernon collapsed onto her, unmoving eyes seeming to stare into her soul. A strangled noise escaped her as his blood oozed down onto her, and she shoved him off of her, trying to focus. The bullet had gone straight up through his chin into his head.

He was dead.

And even though she’d prayed for that for years, she currently didn’t care less. 

She crawled over to Lorcan, hands coming to press on his shoulder. Blood soaked her hands immediately, and she felt tears slip down her cheeks.

She had to do something, had to call for help. Her phone was upstairs, but he usually had one, right? Frantically, she searched his pockets, crying in relief when she pulled it out and called 911.

The operator picked up and somehow understood her as she told her what had happened. 

Elide looked down at Lorcan, his usually tan skin pale with blood loss. “Don’t you dare die. It’s over now. He’s dead. It’s over. Please, just stay with me.”

“People are on the way. Help is coming.” She pulled his head in her lap. “Don’t leave me.”

She pressed her hands harder to his chest, refusing to let him go. 

He was the first person in her entire life who’d made her feel like a survivor, not a victim. 

He’d taken care of her, fought for her. 

She’d be damned if she wouldn’t do the same for him. 

So she sat there, hands desperately trying to keep him from bleeding out. After a few minutes, sirens sounded in the distant, getting closer by the second. She willed them to come faster, knowing he didn’t have long.

Elide leaned down and softly pressed her lips to his. Maybe she could goad him into staying alive. “You’re not dying, you stubborn bastard. Not before you admit you like therapy.”

His eyes were closed, face expressionless, but she could’ve sworn his lips twitched in amusement.

~one week later~

Elide was sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chair, drifting off to sleep, when she heard someone mutter, “Therapy sucks.”

It was barely a whisper, and the voice was raspy and tired, but she shot awake, almost falling out of the chair. She completely ignored what he’d said because he was awake.

Lorcan’s eyes were on hers, and he seemed to be taking in every detail about her, too.

“You’re awake,” she said happily. Finally. He’d been asleep for six days--which the doctors said was from severe blood loss--and she didn’t think her ass could handle one more day in this awful chair.

“I’m in a hospital,” he growled, eyes narrowing on his surroundings. 

She nodded. “I see your powers of observation are still in tact.”

“You took me to a goddamn hospital?”

He sounded... annoyed. A scowl was on his lips, and even though it was directed at her, the familiar sight warmed her heart. If he was scowling, that meant he felt normal. 

“You were dying, Lorcan,” she rationalized calmly.

“I hate hospitals.”

She slipped her hand in his and he squeezed it. “Tough shit. I wasn’t letting you die because of me.”

His features hardened as he remembered why he was here in the first place. “What happened?”

“You were shot. Twice. The doctors said the second bullet nicked your heart and that you’re lucky to be alive.” She took a deep breath. “Vernon’s dead. I told the police everything, and they said it was self defense. Although I’m pretty sure the CIA wants to hire you, considering the number of bodies found around the cabin.”

His lips twitched.

Elide looked down at their joined hands, running a thumb over the small cuts on his skin. “Thank you, Lorcan. I know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t... if you weren’t there.”

His hand squeezed hers again.

“But then again, since you got a job offer out of it, maybe you should be thanking me,” she joked.

Lorcan smiled at that. Gods, she loved that smile. It made her feel stupidly happy, knowing she was one of the only people to see it. He studied her face for a moment, then murmured, “Come here.”  

She sat on the edge of the bed and braced herself as she leaned over to kiss him softly. His arms wrapped around her, and he seemed to not care about having two gunshot wounds as he pulled her into him.

Elide heard the heart monitor start beeping and broke the kiss before the nurses could come in and yell at them. She grinned, running a finger over his strong jaw. “Therapy does not suck.”

He rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you used that to blackmail me into staying alive. But yes, it does.”

“I have a feeling you’ll change your mind soon,” she told him confidently, sliding her thumb over his bottom lip. “Because after such a traumatic event like getting shot and almost dying, you’re going to need a lot of it.”

He caught her meaning and leaned up to kiss her again. “Better get started now, then.”

______________________________________________________________

You already knew the ending was about to be cheesy as hell lol. Thank you for reading! I’m going to work on some stuff in my box next, so feel free to send requests. And make sure to wish @maastrash a happy birthday :)

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[turnips-creates]

The Coin Thief Excerpt

(tw: blood, self harm, mentions of death and murder)

The charred remains of Cass’s childhood home shifted quietly in the brisk winter wind as she stepped across the threshold into the grand foyer of the main house. Pale ash floated in the still air, stirring only at the closing of the large heavy irochan wood doors behind her, and the faint echoes of children’s laughter and teenage shouts flitted through her senses upon scanning the large room of dark stone and singed tile. Cass squared her shoulders under her large patchwork cloak and relaxed into the calm atmosphere - the silence permeating every cranny and crevice interrupted only by her heartbeat. She pulled the scarf from over her nose and let out a slow breath, frost coating her lips and fogging the air in front of her before she walked deeper into the manor for the first time in over ten years.

Her gloved hand reached out to trace the intricate carvings embedded in the front of the carriage-sized Carsilis - a scaley, fanged creature with horns and claws and wings - seated in the center of the room where she moved it after finding the beast fallen from its original perch above the great double stairwell lining the curved walls. She gently brushed bare fingertips over its snout with a low hum of an old hymn.

“You’ve done well, old friend,” Cass murmured, tapping her forehead against the beast’s head gently. “I’ll come give you a good cleaning once I’m settled, so keep an eye on the door for me, alright, Liser?”

She pulled back and made her way around the sculpture, running a guiding touch along its flank. Her feet didn’t make a sound in her leather boots as she padded, stirring the dust and ashes up from the patterned floor and turning the dark material a light gray.

The elevated walkway missing pieces of its banisters and decorated in dark scorch marks passed high over her head. The house opened into a large hall with soaring arches and tall, cracked, and broken windows lining the top of the walls. Moonlight streamed through in pillars and illuminated glass lanterns hanging from the ceiling embellished in smoke-smudged, branch-like metal filigree and dark vines twisted and drooping almost as low as the lanterns. The worn wooden floor beneath her feet smelled faintly of warm incense and the small, monochrome ferns and trees sprouting around the walls, and her weight caused certain places to creak.

At the very end stood a large fire pit of black stone. Cass made her way up the few stone steps, around the pit, to the altar carved behind it, removing her canvas satchel from across her body to set it at the base.

She looked up to the giant stained glass masterpiece standing behind it. The woman depicted stood tall in her light armor and flowing cape, her hands resting on the pommel of a great sword stabbed into the ground before her. This was House Carlisle’s pride - the blood of Arendti, Goddess of War, Protection, and Loyalty supposedly running through their veins - yet as Cass stared up at the shining warrior without ash or scorch mark, she couldn’t help but taste the bitterness her possible ancestor left in her mouth.

With a scowl, Cass pulled the knitted gloves from her palms and shirked her cloak to place them to the side. Her scarf came loose with a couple tugs, and she rolled her ratty tunic sleeves up to her elbows, revealing intricate, swirling tattoos around her neck and wrists, the dark ink standing stark against the pale icy blue of her skin.

She ran her fingertips over the markings on one wrist, shivering at how cold they were. Cass bent over to pull several logs from beneath the altar as well as a small vial of liquid flame. The dark wood slid to the center easily, stopping only when making contact with the leftovers at the bottom, before Cass tossed the vial on top.

The glass shattered, and flames encompassed the logs faster than it took for the vial to reach the wood. The smell of old incense burned Cass’s nose as soft gold light flickered across her face.

She turned back to the altar, stripping as she went, until all that was left were the metal beads woven into her hair and the piercings in her ears. Her clothes sat folded on her cloak, far enough they hopefully wouldn’t get burned.

Taking the knife left on the rock, Cass turned to the pit, flexing her fingers with crackling joints. She pulled the blade from its wooden home and examined the intricate bronze-plated engraving of her family’s crest for any rust, but the metal was completely clear and shone like it was polished that morning. Her last memory of this knife was of her mother the night before she died - before they all died. Before her quest began. It seemed smaller than when she was a child, the blade itself only as long as her hand from wrist to fingertip and as wide as two fingers.

Pressing the outer curve of the metal to her palm, Cass wrapped her hand around the blade in a tight grip before yanking it through. Dark - almost purple - blood pooled in her palm quickly, but she did nothing to stop it. Instead, Cass grabbed her other wrist and painted the ink in the thick liquid, and, once she thoroughly coated the skin, she then did the same to her neck with barely a wince at the pain of an open wound in her palm. Cass placed the knife on the small stone slab raised next to the top of the stairs leading down, so she could use her fingers to run blood around that wrist as well.

Raising her arms out in front of her, Cass turned her hands palms up and began to hum.

The liquid on her skin began to smolder a deep red, getting brighter with each line. Her tattoos appeared to absorb the blood coating them and cracked to shine reds and oranges as if molten rock flowed beneath. When smoke started to seep from the ink on her wrists and neck, Cass took her first step down the worn carved staircase.

By the fourth step down, the cracks spread to follow the vessels beneath the pale blue-tinted skin, warming it until the flesh was more a rosy ash-gray closer to the shade of the leftover flakes within the manor.

The chill of Cass’s seal melted as the heat of her true magic seared her veins and licked the frost from her skin. The stairs beneath her feet no longer speared needles into her soles but made a calming contrast of cool obsidian to the raging inferno burning in her blood.

Upon reaching the floor of the stone basin, Cass sighed a soft breath of smoke from her lips to join the that of the bonfire in the frigid air of the banquet hall. Tears formed on her long dark lashes as she stepped into the flames. They gravitated to her, shifting around and welcoming her into the fire’s embrace as if she were a long-lost loved one, and for the first time since the massacre - since she’d received these powers in exchange - Cass relaxed into her surroundings.

As the last of the ice seal melted from her body, the wealth of power Cass gathered beneath it over the years burst forth to integrate with her flesh and blood and bone and stoked the flames to a frenzied tower of heat almost touching the ceiling.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

What Came From the Impossible Corridor

As the sun shone brightly over the city, rain-drenched rooftops glittered and glowed in blinding rays of light. Thin plumes of smoke rose from the chimneys of houses and factories alike, blending in with the curtain of clouds as they parted to reveal a crystal-blue sky.

In the absence of mist and gloom, now silence suffocated the streets. Devoid of people despite the broad daylight of noon. The bustle of crowds stayed absent. A beautiful day in the sprawling harbor city, yet only one person wandered through its streets. All alone. Stranded in an otherwise empty world.

A little, confused boy swiveled, and pivoted, and stumbled his way forth, heading nowhere. Looking for others but finding nobody. Empty shops. Dead markets. Shining puddles splashed underfoot, metal hinges creaked when he pushed past ajar doors to peer inside of homes that looked like their inhabitants had all just deserted them.

Tables set with steaming food, served in plates and bowls, but nobody to eat. Shoes and jackets left by the doors even though a wintry chill still gripped the city. Fires still crackled in hearths and ovens, offering nobody warmth and with pots and pans still frying or boiling in abandonment.

The wee lad cried for his mother. Then for his older siblings. His friends and neighbors. Even for his father. He did not want to return home, but believed that having ran away from it was what had wrought this strange and empty world. He knew not where else to turn to. Even if it meant confronting the dread of facing father.

He arrived at the house of his family. The Von Brandt mansion. Vines strangled all the walls and gates that warded off the cobblestone roads from its overgrown garden. Time and weather had worn down the wood and brass of his family’s crest beyond recognition. A husk of prestige long gone, faded and forgotten and disgraced.

Silhouettes loomed in the windows, staring at the boy through sightless eyes. Barely as visible as the ghostly curtains that concealed them, swaying in the wind. They glared with contempt.

Shadows. Ghosts of the past.

High time to face them.

The boy—Johnn—approached the entrance to the old home he had spent half his life growing up in. His little arm trembled as it reached up to clutch the handle. And pushed inside. The door’s wood groaned as it gave way but yielded without resistance.

And across the threshold, inside stepped Johnn, the young man, fully grown and in his prime. No longer trembling. No longer afraid. Curious he was, more than anything. Eager to meet those shadows and bury them in the past where they belonged.

Stepping inside the center of the gaping entry hall, where a wide staircase spiraled around the room and rose to the lofty heights of the home’s upper stories, crowned by a wide-open hole in the ceiling. Water dripped from the frayed edges lining the gap where roof used to fully cover the edifice. A sheen of wet and cold had coated all the banisters and soaked all the decaying old carpets.

Ghosts bounced around and danced past him. Echoes of giggles and laughter, memories of better days. Days before things had soured between his father and himself. Days before his family fled the country, when the crown convicted the Von Brandt name of brigandry, courtesy of their youngest son.

As his thoughts turned to such places, so darkened the adjoining hallways and doorways to rooms throughout the mansion. The shadows crept from them, phantoms that converged on the entry hall, surrounding Johnn.

Nothing about this unsettled him. Everything made perfect sense.

A shadowy hand rested on the banister, gliding down its length without ever making contact. Light shone through its incorporeal form. More such phantoms joined this presence, as they slowly descended. Walking, pacing, prancing; they flocked closer and closer towards him.

His eyes fluttered open. Awake. What a strange dream. It haunted him. He wondered what had become of his family. Surely, they had found a way to eke out an existence in the new world, far from the crown’s clutches.

Then reality set in again.

He wiped his brow where hair clung to his forehead, sticky and wet with sweat. Cold and clammy, just like the caves they had hidden in.

Nora. He sat up and watched her motionless face for a long time. Studied every detail, every scar. The gentle breeze sweeping through these underground chambers swallowed her shallow breathing.

She slept so peacefully.

Wrapped in so many bandages that she almost looked like a mummy, stolen away from a tomb, from the lost desert kingdoms—were it not for the dark spots that had soaked those bandages with the lifeblood that had escaped her body from countless injuries.

With care, he unraveled the yields of first aid he had provided her with, cautiously lifting an arm to tenderly unwrap the old bandages and apply new ones. Then a leg. Even her head. She slept through it all.

No matter how tough she always acted, now she made no peep when he moved her limbs to gingerly clean and dress those wounds anew, finally wrapping them in fresh bandages. She remained unconscious despite how long it all took. Once done, he began to worry if she would ever wake up again.

To assuage his own fears thereof more than he hoped it would have any effect, like it did in the fairy tales, he planted a tender kiss on her chapped lips, then brought a tin cup to them, administering cool and refreshing water which he had collected from the underground stream.

She had slept for almost a day and a night and Johnn vividly remembered one of the former Merry Lot, an old companion of his who never woke again after suffering similarly grievous injuries.

Such grim thoughts flirted with the lingering, haunting sensations of the dream he had awoken from. He tried to ignore them and restlessly wandered. The ruminations drove him to the edge of the hidden docks where saltwater sloshed against a pier made of rotting wood. Moments passed, melting into minutes of him gazing into the bank of fog that obscured the horizon, creeping around the crags that concealed this secret pirate bay. Almost as powerful as the strong scent of the salty sea, the smell of winter and snow poured in from that cavernous entrance.

A little bit of light, piercing the fringe of these unhallowed caves, casting long shadows from the stalactites and stalagmites and the empty crates and chests that lined the walls surrounding the pier.

On his way back to her, he paused by the pile of ashes. Every time the breeze whistled by, it lifted off flurries of soot and scorched remains. What little was left over from the huge fire he had made. The embers crackling and rising from it sprung from something resembling a distant memory, even though their heat and glow had enveloped him just the day before.

He had watched that fire burn at its brightest and returned to watch it dim after consuming the shattered wooden throne of the slaver pirate, Shark-Eyes; and his collection of books, each one unholier than the other; and the remains of the alchemist who had terrorized the city in a string of grisly murders, the one dubbed the Outer Wall Reaper by the papers; and every last admixing reagent and metal syringe he had found among the monster’s belongings.

All gone. All molten slag and ashes, now taken by the wind, swept to sea, bit by bit.

Johnn left them behind and returned to the chambers where old bunks used to serve as a haven of rest for the pirate gang. Where Nora still slept, tucked away in his blanket and cloak, with his bag serving as a cushion underneath her head.

He smiled wistfully but not of joy. A short-lived relief, the feeble semblance of cheer soon faded from his mien.

Johnn turned and wandered again, exploring the now-familiar tunnels and cavernous chambers, hewn roughly by pickaxes. Space carved into the stone by the outlaws, shaped not for aesthetics but pragmatic practicality. Perhaps he might find other vile things to destroy. Anything else he could do to erase the memory of the monsters who had once inhabited this cove.

Perhaps he could drag those awful iron cages and sink them in the edge of the ocean. To remove every reminder of just how much all those men and women and children must have suffered in captivity before Shark-Eyes sold them off to distant shores.

He wandered past the private quarters of the evil captain. Metal scraping over stone and the chopping of damp wood still rang in his ears, a residual haunting of his fit of rage in which Johnn demolished fancy furniture that Shark-Eyes and his men must have stolen from elsewhere. The debris still lay there, scattered out and awaiting its own funeral pyre.

Johnn knew what chamber came next. He somehow tasted something metallic again—just like back then. Explored the roof of his mouth with the tip of his tongue, the ridge where he once bit himself. A scarred reminder of how he had survived the warlock’s paralyzing gaze and then slain him.

And a reminder of far greater loss.

He steeled himself and kept his gaze fixed upon the ground as he paced past the spot where blood had stained the stone, never washed away, even after what have must have been a year since shedding.

Broad daylight shone in through a natural opening to his left, and a table in the center, split by that same rusty axe in his hands the day before.

No anger welled up in his gut this time. Only sorrow and grief. He recalled how his friend’s body had laid there, contorted, and mangled, and with only half a face left to recognize. Slaughtered by that terrible wolf-beast.

Terry had looked so small. His empty eyes so serene.

More splotches of discoloration remained in lieu of the absent body, long-dried bloodstains now hauntingly illuminated by the light shining in through the narrow rift in the wall. Preventing any chance at forgetting the past.

Johnn’s stomach knotted. His neck hair bristled, and his hand instinctively came to rest where he could quickly sling out his knife. An instinctive and ingrained motion, a visceral response to something utterly wrong.

A new passageway had appeared. Out of nowhere. It had been there all this time, right?

A yawning, dark corridor, leading out of this room, opposite from where he had entered. Misty tendrils crept out of it. As the breeze swept through these hidden caves, whistling through its winding halls, incomprehensible whispers spilled from that twisted hallway.

It had not been here one year prior. It had certainly not been here the day before.

The mists clawed at a shape as it emerged from that impossible corridor, a shadow approaching with slow steps. It stopped right before any sunlight could lend it definition. A wavering apparition, somehow not real. Yet there.

Johnn squinted and he gripped the handle of his knife.

The shadow took one step. Then another. Always one step closer. Then stopped. Just close enough to the light to reveal a face.

Still impossible to fully fathom, the hollow and pallid countenance of Terry stared back at him. Eyes that once shone a beautiful golden in the sunlight, now empty and milky-white. A haggard figure, a shadow of his former self. The ghost’s body displayed the horrific injuries that had killed him.

It could not be. In the impossible corridor stood an impossible thing. Johnn, however, knew better. Knew ghosts were real. Phantoms could dwell in old, cold places. Wraiths and revenants could return to torment the living.

Without breaking eye contact, under watch by the ghost’s curious eyes, Johnn’s hand crept to his other dagger. The one forged in iron for such entities specifically.

Terry sighed, “How many?”

A chorus of whispers followed from the impossible corridor behind him.

Although Johnn refused to acknowledge the question, he understood its meaning.

Like the little boy’s arm, reaching out to the handle of his home’s door, trembling, so did his voice now, as Johnn asked in response, ever so softly, “How many? How many perished in our quest?”

“How many?” asked Terry again. And others. Johnn could not distinguish the other voices, but they rang familiar, and Terry spoke not as one, but as many.

The darkness emanated from him like misty tentacles, lurching, inch by inch, crawling through cracks and over jagged stone where daylight cast shadows. Creeping ever closer towards Johnn, meandering, threatening. Like a carpet of snakes fanning out.

The trembling in his voice ceased. Made way to a sterner tone. Just like in the dream, where the boy crossed the threshold into the old mansion, and inside stood the young man.

To Terry and the other ghosts, he resolutely said, “We all knew what we were getting into. We all know what we did. I will never forget that. I will honor your memory. Keep it alive.”

A symphony of gasps billowed out from the corridor behind Terry. The mist around him shuddered as if a gust of wind affected it.

“No need to hold on forever,” whispered the ghosts in unison. Almost soothingly. “You can be with us again.”

The tendrils had almost reached Johnn. Part of him had no intention of fighting back.

Hissed the wind, “Forever.”

A violent gust caught Johnn’s hair, and he slung out the iron blade. The face of Terry blended into others, different visages of suffering and death. Screaming faces, silenced long ago. Tortured grimaces frozen in time. Those he held dear, enemies he had ended, people he had never seen in his life, all together now. Souls trapped between worlds, ready to lash out at whatever doomed ones lingered in this damnable place.

The dull sheen of the dagger flashed in the slivers of light as Johnn swiped at thin air. Tendrils of shadows dispersed where the knife cut, but there were so many. They had almost overwhelmed his senses. Shrieking all around him, whipping him back and forth. Almost lulling him into surrender.

Clamping his eyes shut and fighting back blindly, before his mind’s eye, the image of Nora’s face outshone all. That serene, comatose calm of her sleeping peacefully in these caves, all alone, with nobody else to look after her as she recovered from her countless injuries. The thought of her face grounded Johnn, even as he continued to swing and thrash and fight for his life. The memory of them holding hands in a lonesome hut, fingers interlocked. Another swing, another refusal against the pull of dark powers.

The final reason he fought. Now doing his damnedest to keep the wraiths from himself. He spiraled and spun around. Pirouettes of deadly swings and jabs that would have cut flesh deeply and struck vital spots. Connecting to nothing, only dispelling singular shadows as the rest converged on him.

The wraiths formed a cloud. More and more kept pouring out from that hellmouth of the impossible corridor, the hallway that had not existed until now. The corridor that should not have existed in the first place. Where more whispers continued to spill from, underlining the enraged shrieks.

Terry’s pallid, sunken face grew as he lunged at the friend who had led him to his death. Then the faces of others. Friends and foes alike, they all attacked now in unison. Ghosts who had lost every sense of who or what they once were. Hell-bent on destroying the one person who reminded them of the horrid ways their lives all ended, bereft of any understanding as to why. Or what had followed.

Johnn’s movements slowed until he tripped, stumbled. Slipping from icy grasping hands that were no hands, staggering past shadows that existed somewhere between the real and the imagined. They would wear him down soon and drain his hope. Take his life.

Never had he encountered so many angry ghosts in one place.

He gritted his teeth and fought with every fiber of his being. Thought of Nora. Refused to give up. But the dance of the pales overwhelmed him.

The chorus of gasps repeated, swelling with excitement and subdued rage. Against the laws of nature, something that was nothing grabbed hold of Johnn’s limbs. Wrapped around them, like living shadow. Wind, colder than winter, cut over exposed skin as it swept through the corridors with each ghostly gasp. As if the caves breathed, teeming with evil. The tips of Johnn’s boots scraped against stone as the spirits lifted him off the ground.

Then the chorus exploded into pained shrieking and frenzied screams. Phantasms recoiled, gripped their nonexistent heads. Cried to heavens that they refused to enter. Agony and fear, mirroring the many ways they had all lost their lives before falling into this tortured damnation they lingered in.

Dropping him, Johnn fell to his knees, clutching his throat where invisible hands had started strangling the life from him. As he coughed and choked and retched, strands of dark mist billowed out from his mouth.

Furious, the cloud of wraiths scattered in every direction. Like a swarm of insects and vermin, the last of them, including Terry, retreated towards the shadows and cracks between the stone. Where the angry ghosts disengaged, the beams of light that sliced through the chamber intensified—or returned to their natural brightness. The cloud of living darkness withdrew farther and farther, no longer suffocating the man, nor the chamber. The cloud receded farther yet, back into the impossible corridor from whence it came.

Soft footsteps echoed through the other, opposite, original corridor.

Someone approached.

Someone tangible. Someone far more real than unreal. A tall and slender silhouette. Johnn’s vision blurred, and he first confused that figure for Nora approaching. A short-lived confusion, dispelled by how freakishly tall that figure truly stood.

Engulfed by the light shining in through the crack in the wall, not his beloved had arrived. In her stead stood an unnaturally tall man, garbed in flowing robes of garish colors, and wreathed in jewelry made of glittering gold. His features just human enough to be upsetting, but not human enough to betray their otherworldly nature.

Slung around a slender neck, a bizarre scarf framed a narrowly pointed jaw and chin, underlining a sinister smile. A leaf-riddled crown rested atop a sculpted brow. Eyes, pitch-black like those of a doe, glistening and beautiful and intelligent and malevolent all at once. A face far too long to be human and too symmetrical to be real.

Yet here he stood.

Fair folk.

Johnn choked again, catching his breath, and his eyes locked onto the dropped iron dagger before he dove for it.

Too late. The fair prince flicked his wrist with a dismissive gesture and that dagger scurried away from Johnn’s grasp, flung by an invisible force, hurtling towards the crack in the wall, and plummeting into the crashing ocean waves outside.

The fair prince stopped and stood still, hugging himself in an eerily graceful fashion. Those doe-like eyes wandered, scanning Johnn up and down, studying every detail of his countenance.

Johnn smirked and averted his gaze. He would not even bother getting up from where he knelt. Not give this being the satisfaction. He slammed the bottom of his fists into the rough stony ground. And again.

He laughed and coughed once more. The pain of being strangled by ghostly hands still lingered. The irony of escaping one death by unnatural things just to find an end with another both annoyed and amused him.

“What do you want now?” Johnn asked, through more choked laughter. “Payback for killing your fair queen?”

Without even glimpsing it, he could sense the smile growing wider across the fairy’s face.

“Why—yes. Yes, indeed. I have come to pay you back.”

Expecting to stare at the business end of a spear made of roots and thorns, instead a long, slender hand stretched out in front of him. So thin and lithe, with long, sharp nails, black as wet dirt, but with the palm facing heavenwards, offering, and inviting. Even as the eerily tall figure loomed above him, several heads taller than a man should stand, the fair prince exuded a strange air of vulnerability. So slender that he almost looked fragile.

“Please, let me help you up onto your feet again,” the prince said. His voice ran silkier than his robes. Dangerously alluring. “‘Tis the least I can do for thee. Why, I do not believe you have yet fathomed just how much I stood to gain from Queen Magnificent’s demise.”

The corners of his lips twitched with glee. Evil and beauty alike glinted in his eyes.

Johnn bit his tongue. Literally. Not as hard as he had when he had broken a warlock’s spell, but just enough to ground him. To center his thoughts. Pain, weaponized to focus his senses. He also bit his tongue in another sense, and refrained from informing this fair folk emissary that, technically, it had not been him who had killed the fair queen.

He even refrained from thinking her name. Just in case the creature could read his mind.

The bandit rolled his jaw and then set it. Grabbed that slender hand with a trembling that stemmed not from fear anymore, but restrained anger. The prince’s fingers softly wrapped around Johnn’s hand, almost lovingly. Smooth skin against the human bandit’s hand, so velvety that it could make silk blush.

With a strength that reflected his height, he effortlessly and gently pulled Johnn up until the man stood before him. Back on his feet, Johnn arched a brow on purpose, trying to project an air of superiority despite the incredible danger he still found himself in.

Even at full height—and Johnn was by no means short—the fair prince stood three heads taller than him, like a living and willowy tree.

The fairy stepped away from him and his robes fluttered, reminiscent of the living shadows, the ghosts that had just assaulted Johnn. Gemstones and gilded edges upon the unusual attire gleamed as they traveled through rays of light.

Another step away, with such long legs that the distance quickly grew, the fair prince hugged himself again. Still smiling, he bowed deeply, prompting Johnn to blink in confusion.

“I am Thalomirian,” said the fair prince. “But you, Johnn Von Brandt, you may call me Prince Charming if that rolls easier off that poor mistreated tongue of yours.”

Johnn nodded over to the impossible corridor which should not exist. The shadows beckoned there. Though the wraiths had withdrawn even deeper into its darkness, shying away from the fairy, their presence lingered.

“Why bother saving me from that? Don’t your kind revel in watching our kind suffer?”

As he turned to lock eyes with Prince Charming again, the fair prince had vanished. Warm breath brushed over the back of Johnn’s neck—pleasantly. Thalomirian stood behind him, had somehow crossed the distance without sound or motion.

“Not all of us are the same, my sweet,” Prince Charming cooed in his ear.

His arms wrapped around Johnn in what could easily be confused with a loving embrace. Warm. Breathing. Conflicting emotions wracked Johnn. His hair stood on edge and he feared the sheer might that radiated from this being. But whether or not any magick sourced such strange emotions, he also felt safe—and oddly excited.

“You see, never before have I wandered your world, as I see no good coming from any relations between our realms. If things went by me, and not by the late queen and her silly little son, then I would have severed all ties long ago.”

“What do you want,” Johnn said. Less like a question. More like a gasp.

“Like I said, I come to extend a courtesy. My gratitude. Please, understand how much it means that I traveled here, exposed to the rot of your world. I can feel myself dying with each breath, while in my world, my tale lives eternal.”

Johnn swallowed. Wanted to hear him out as much as Thalomirian seemed to enjoy hearing himself speak. But even as he melted into Prince Charming’s warm embrace, Johnn’s biting wit and defiance finally surfaced.

“Alright, job well done. Gratitude accepted and appreciated. Move along now?”

Lips like a brook’s cool water brushed over Johnn’s cheek as the prince kept him close.

“I believe I can see what Magnificent saw in you.”

Johnn swallowed the thick lump of nothing in his throat and said, “I, uh, accept your thanks. I mean, truly, thank you. Uh, I much rather live another day than die to whatever—well, whatever darkness has reached out to drag me to hell on this fine day.”

He bit his lip and the prince’s embrace loosened. Hands glided from his sides as Prince Charming let him free, sliding away as fancifully as the otherworldly robes billowed through the breeze, fluttering as the fair prince paced away from him, towards the light.

Casting a shadow upon Johnn as he stopped there, gazing out into the ocean, with his back to the bandit-turned-unlikely-hero.

“Magnificent’s court had a bad habit of mingling with your kind too much. I believe those days are long gone. It is time for us to move on to other worlds before the stink of yours seeps too deep into ours,” said the prince. “And our interim leader sees things the same way, I believe.”

Johnn wrestled with his senses. The odd attraction to Thalomirian’s vicinity, mixing with his revulsion of such unnatural creatures—well-knowing how many of his men and even his foes had fallen to the whims of gruesome goblyns and barghests and other awful fair folk that haunted the Blackwood. Johnn sorted through these clashing emotions, cutting through them with an imaginary dagger until he found the questions he truly needed to ask.

“Are you—am I understanding this right? You are saying your kind is just going to—up and leave? For good?”

The whispers from the impossible corridor had fallen dormant. The white noise of ocean waves lapping at the cliffs outside the cave filled the thoughtless silence that followed.

Then the prince broke that silence, “For good, my sweet.”

“Good, then. We won’t have to put up with you threatening our world anymore? One less headache to contend with, I suppose. A little victory, I guess,” Johnn mused, then bit his tongue again—realizing that now might not have been the best time to taunt an immortal.

Thalomirian did not turn fully, only reared his beautiful head. Shot Johnn a sidelong glance. Where the bandit expected a glowering glare, only something serene glittered in the prince’s eye. And pity.

“All of us should have withdrawn already. I came here despite Mother Frost forbidding us passage through the rings. But I had heard from Cimari of you and the little sparrow. Still alive, despite the tales of so many things out there conspiring to kill you, including our own. I came here for the first and last time, despite how much I despise your world. Just because I wanted to thank you personally. And it is rather fun to defy Mother Frost, but I digress,” said the prince.

Stunned, Johnn offered no response. Prince Charming smirked.

“In this doomed world of yours, our blood once ran deeper than the roots of your trees. Our essence saturated the veins of the earth far deeper than your kind could ever mine, even with all your greed. No, my sweet. This is not doing you any favor, as much as I am loathe to be here. As much as it amuses me to defy Mother Frost. No, my sweet. Our kind’s absence will leave a deep, dark hole. And what, do you think, will fill that void?”

Prince Charming slowly and gingerly stretched out an arm. One of those slender fingers unfurled, a sharp talon left to point at the impossible corridor—the place that should not exist.

Johnn swallowed another nonexistent lump.

He knew not the precise nature of the answer, but knew the answer, nevertheless. The prince filled in for him.

“Dark things are drawn to dark places. We are not the only kind that visits your world. There are others. Not just lost souls and misguided spirits mistaken for gods, but things. Unspeakable things you should fear more than your kind ever feared us. Things you cannot appease by giving them fanciful names or revering us in adoring tales. Things not placated by the devoted rituals of your dying tribes.”

The shadow cast upon Johnn lifted. Thalomirian had vanished once more. Johnn sensed the fair prince to be standing behind him again. Always that alluring shadow. Some part of him wanted to turn and face the embrace he expected to follow.

But none came.

Whispering behind him, Prince Charming said, “Things that do not leave behind adequate replacements for all they take. Things that covet. Things that fester.”

The fair prince’s voice swelled. Dropped to a raspy baritone, more menacing than ever before.

“Things that corrupt.”

Johnn swiveled, stone and wooden debris crunching underneath his boot’s heel. Prince Charming was nowhere in sight. A bodiless voice that filled the awful chamber.

The impossible corridor caught Johnn’s eye again. The dark mist there still clawed at him, reaching outward, held back only by the sun’s light and the fairy’s fading presence combined.

“In time, you will see how your lands twist and turn and transform. What our kind wrought—our many gifts to you—shall all be undone.”

“The nights that grow longer every year?” Johnn asked with a growl, with his defiance rising anew. The fear of the ghosts in that impossible corridor fueled a wrath that eclipsed whatever charm the fairy exuded over him. Or perhaps Thalomirian’s distance afforded him such agency. “The suffocating fog that grows thicker and more abundant with each cycle of the moon? Well, all the better if—”

“We never authored such change,” Prince Charming said resolutely and honestly, yet growing distant. “The things that I spoke of. The corrupting things. They have done that, and they will continue to do so. Wonder not if your little demesnes and houses and castles come alive with those dark things. If they twist and transform and turn against you. Walls that never let you go. Rooms that refuse to forget any transgressions—real or imagined.”

The prince’s voice shrank with each word, betraying the creeping range as it increased, leaving Johnn and this world behind.

Johnn spat, “And corridors that appear out of nowhere? Filled with droves of angry fucking ghosts?”

Not bothering any longer to spot the fair prince, he kept his eyes trained on the impossible corridor. Wary of its apparitions emerging from there again.

No answer.

A sweet and melodious laugh echoed through these unhallowed halls instead.

Then, almost like a whisper, Prince Charming said, “My sweet. My patience and my courtesy extending to you have overstayed their welcome, I reckon. I advise you make haste to leave this filthy little hole. The only thing that can hold them off was that little iron toothpick of yours that I tossed into the ocean.”

He needed not be warned twice.

Johnn fled.

His imagination ran wild with imagery of the shadows pouring out from the impossible corridor, like running from an undead tidal wave. Giving chase. He struggled to keep his emotions in check—would not feed their hunger, not slake their thirst for his fear, not offer them any energy or power by granting them as much as a glance.

Nowhere on his way did he encounter Thalomirian. Prince Charming would never show himself to the bandit ever again.

Running through the natural corridors, the rapping of Johnn’s boots against stone echoed far and wide, drowning out any ghostly whispers. His own labored breathing and the rushing of blood in his ears did the rest. He sprinted back towards the side of his beloved charge.

Almost skidding past the passageway that led inside the sleeping quarters of the long-gone pirate gang, he braced himself against the wall and stumbled inside, pushing by the rotten bunk beds, and coming to a halt where Nora’s sleeping body lay, still wrapped in blanket and cloak.

Johnn dropped down beside her. Clutched her shoulders.

Shook.

Gently at first. Then fervently. Panic gripped him harder than he held her.

“You need to wake up. Now,” he said. Voice trembling, like the boy’s little arm, reaching out to the handle of the door. Only he did not cross the threshold yet. “Please, wake up!”

Like a miracle, her eyes fluttered open.

“I know this is a lot, but we need to get out of here,” he said. The boy dared to cross the threshold and the trembling made way to certainty. They had made it this far, and the man he was now would always refuse to surrender. “Now. Something unstoppable comes and we are not safe here.”

She blinked in confusion. Understandably so.

He leaned in and pecked her on the lips with a cheeky kiss. Earned himself a slap on his cheek that stung long after the clap of her palm had finished echoing through the caves.

But like the heat of its sting, it invigorated him. He grinned. She sighed and shook her head. Grinned as well.

No second too soon had he helped her up, she stumbled onto her feet. Her legs buckled like a newborn foal, nearly giving out. He braced her before falling, then she found her footing. Nora’s fingers uncomfortably dug into his arm, painfully squeezing it.

He tugged. She snatched their bags and followed.

Unlike Johnn, Nora visibly struggled to make sense of what was happening. He ushered her down the next hall, drawing closer to the rotten pier, where they could climb back out up the cliffs, and return to the Blackwood.

Unlike him, she looked over her shoulder, past her beloved. Her eyes grew wide with fear.

He made the mistake of following suit. Curiosity did always get the best of him.

Something followed them. Something invisible and intangible, yet painfully present. And woefully furious. One by one, this force snuffed out each torch, each gaslit lantern lined up behind them.

On wings of terror, the couple ran even faster.

What came from the impossible corridor gave relentless chase.

—Submitted by Wratts

[queenbirbs]

the open door | Ethan x MC

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC

Warnings: swearing, some brief mentions of corpses and body horror, spooks and possible spectres 

Word count: 7.7k

Premise: Bryce invites Sloane, Sienna, and Aurora on a tour of a haunted estate on the night before Halloween. What could go wrong?  

Notes: I’m super bummed that we didn’t get a Halloween-themed chapter for this book, especially since it’s my favorite holiday. Takes place post chapter 11, though I’ve played with the timeline a bit to include Halloween. Re-post because it fell out of the tag, as posts seem to want to do as of late. 

Taglist: @maurine07 @caseyvalentineramsey

 ------

“You are aware there’s no such thing as witches, right?” 

“Well, yeah,” Bryce scoffs. “Maybe. Besides, I said she was rumored to be a witch. That’s a whole different thing.”

“Oh, right, of course it is.” In the backseat, Aurora rolls her eyes. “Just tell that to all the people killed during the Salem witch trials due to mass hysteria.”

“Hey, now -- it’s not like she was killed for being a witch.”

“Right. She pulled a classic Rose for Emily,” Sloane mutters while Sienna makes a gagging noise.

“What?” Bryce asks. 

“It’s a short story by Faulkner.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief pause. Sloane wonders if he even knows who that is. Then: “Is he the dude that had a hard-on for the Civil War?”

“Yeah,” Aurora snorts. “Basically.” 

“Yeah, never read any of his stuff. I think I used SparkNotes for one of his books in undergrad.”

“Same,” Sloane admits, to which Bryce shoots her a look of faux-surprise. “Yeah, yeah, we all had to skate by sometimes.” 

“Well, well, well,” he crows. “Looks like the ‘next generation of medicine’ isn’t so high and mighty after all, huh?” 

“Wait, how did you--”

“Ramsey was four drinks deep at Donahue’s the other day, and one of the interns came up and bothered him about a possible spot on the team. Which meant we all overheard the twenty-minute spiel about what a great doctor you are.” He snickers as she puts a hand over her face and groans. “Yeah, it was real sweet. Real obvious, but sweet.”

She’s saved by the GPS on her phone, cutting through the music playing over the car speakers; Bryce takes the next exit as instructed. The off-ramp spits them out onto a two-lane county road.  Posted across from the solitary stop sign, the blue services sign offers nothing but blank, white squares. 

“There’s a bathroom, right?” Sienna asks. “Because I’m not seeing a gas station.”

“It’s a house, you guys,” Bryce scoffs, “not a cave.” 

“A haunted house,” she clarifies. 

“Well, I mean, I don’t think the toilets are haunted.”

For several miles, there’s nothing but sweeping woodlands and the occasional passing car. Long squiggles of tar decorate the asphalt, snaking across the empty, leaf-strewn road. The setting sun casts a golden hue over everything, spears of light cutting through the tree trunks. It would be a nice, evening drive if it weren’t for where they were headed. 

Forty minutes north of Boston lies the small, nondescript town of Angler. Even under the cover of dusk, Sloane can tell that it’s one of those towns. Pretty Tudors line the main street, their porches decorated with smiling scarecrows sitting on bales of hay; banners along the telephone poles advertise the annual apple festival. The bank and the post office and the dry cleaners are all tucked together in the refurbished general store. It’s the stereotypical, pleasant, all-American town. Which means that it’s the perfect place to hide a dark stain of history. 

Why Bryce signed up for such a thing and how he won the tickets is beyond her. When he asked them all to join him for a haunted house, Sloane expected the typical theme: some dingy warehouse refurbished enough to meet modern building codes, full of tight mazes and masked actors with chainsaws.

“Nah, guys, this is the real deal,” he gloated over lunch the previous afternoon. “Back in the 1800s, this woman -- uhh Margaret, or Maggie, I think, yeah Maggie Angler -- she was one of the Boston Brahmins, owned this estate out in the country, blah blah blah. No one knows a whole lot about her because she was a little weird and she kept to herself. At some point, this dude woos her and they get married. But then, a few years later, he dies. Neighbors drop by to offer casseroles or whatever, but she won’t answer the door, so they give up and leave her alone. A few months go by, and suddenly this dude from town goes missing. Then a year, and another goes missing. This continues for several years and--” 

“So, what, she’s some kind of black widow?” Elijah asked. 

“No, this isn’t one of those Marvel--” Bryce’s brow furrowed and then lifted, realization striking his handsome face. “--oh, heh, yeah, sorry. But yeah, sort of. It wasn’t until word got around that the latest dude was seen talking to Maggie at the store that people got suspicious of her. So, they gather up some people and storm the house, where they find a Satanic Bible and other spooky shit. But that’s not the only thing they find.”

They all glance around at each other, waiting to see who will encourage Bryce to break his silence and finish the damn story. “They also find... the missing dudes.”

“What, buried in the backyard?” Sloane asked, and frowned when Bryce shook his head. 

“No, not buried. She killed them and then kept them in the house. Supposedly, they were posed at the table or sitting on the couch, rotting away.”

 Sienna made a show of pushing her plate away. “That’s disgusting.”

“I know there’s a group of people in Indonesia that keep their dead relatives at home,” Aurora said, “but they’re preserved and cared for. This doesn’t sound like that.”

“Nope.” Elijah shook his head. “Definitely not the same thing.”

“What happened to the woman?” Sloane asked.

“No idea -- get this: they never found her.” Bryce lifted his eyebrows for dramatic effect. “But the story goes that she still haunts the place, searching for her lost lovers, and maybe… trying to get some new ones.”  

Jackie, who had been busy scrolling away on her phone through the tale, snorted into her salad. 

“And you want us to come with you to some evil witch’s house on the night before Halloween to go ghost hunting? I may not believe in any of this shit, but no fucking way.” 

“Yeah,” Elijah sighed, cringing at the crestfallen look on Bryce’s face. “Sorry dude, but I’ll pass. My idea of fun is a John Carpenter movie marathon, not a tour around Jane the Ripper’s house.” 

“Okay, understood.” With that, Bryce looked to the remaining three and turned on the charm, draping his arm across Sloane’s shoulders. “C’mon, ladies, whaddaya say? Hard to pass up the prospect of touring a bona fide haunted mansion with one of the most handsome men you know -- second only to Elijah here.”  

Tapping at her chin, Sienna nodded and grinned. “Sounds fun. I like scary things.” 

Aurora, on the other hand, shot him a skeptical look. “Are you going to shout at the air and act like you’re possessed, like I’ve seen that one ghost hunter do on TV? The one with the spiky hair?” she demanded to know. 

“Uhhh no to all of those things, but especially to the spiky hair.”  

“Okay, then,” she shrugged, “I’ll go.” 

Every eye at the table turned to Sloane; Bryce squeezed her shoulder in encouragement. 

“Alright,” she agreed. “It’d be fun to get spooked, I guess. I’m down.”

Which is how she comes to be in the passenger seat of Bryce’s car, leaning forward onto the dashboard as they take the final turn onto a hidden lane. A thick tunnel of trees swallows them up as they drive deeper into the woods. After several miles, there’s a break in the pines, and then: sprawled atop a hill, looming above them, is the house. Even if she hadn’t heard the backstory, Sloane feels like the place would still give her the creeps. With its filmy lace curtains and its tall windows glowing yellow in the approaching darkness, the house looks like it’s been pulled from an Edward Hopper painting. Worn pavers lead from the semi-circular driveway and up to the front porch. Framing either side of the steps, thin, brittle blades of tufted hairgrass shift in the wind. Two people turn from the front door and raise a hand in greeting.

Bryce kills the engine and twists around in his seat to grin at his compatriots. 

“You guys ready to get scaaaared?”

Sienna wraps her hands around Sloane’s seat and leans forward, her eyes wide as she stares out the windshield. 

“Why does it look like The Amityville Horror house?” 

“Is this a bad time to mention that the Blair Witch Project’s producers used this place as inspiration?”

“Yeah,” she hisses, “definitely a bad time.”

Shouldering open her door, Sloane lets in the cool October air in an attempt to corral their attention. It works; the rest of them pile out of the car with her and approach the couple. 

As the current owners of the property, Jack and Nancy Bell guide them through the main floor of the house, pointing out spots of reported activity. The interior is lovely -- one of those Sloane would see in a Pictagram post of a wedding venue, with all those carved banisters and original wainscoting. Her brother, a successful carpenter in the Twin Cities, would have a field day in here. Most of the furniture is original to the house, as well, and in surprisingly good condition.  

The only aspect setting the house apart from any other on the historical registry are the props. In the front hall, a bulletin board hosts an array of newspaper clippings. The earlier articles blame a serial killer, dubbed the ‘Butcher of Angler,’ for the mens’ disappearances. Then, starting on October 28th, 1892, the headlines change to the ‘Wicked Witch of Winthrope County.’ In the drawing room sits an Ouija board, surrounded by melted candles. A cauldron and a Satanic Bible share space on the kitchen counter; corked bottles of what look like cooking spices and herbs clutter the open cabinets. Mannequins lounge at the dining table or on the sofa, dressed in dusty clothes, their jaws slack, their painted eyes still and dull. Beside them, framed in cheap plastic, are the grainy photographs of the corpses as they were found. To Sloane, it all feels hokey, like a regular haunted house with the strobe lights turned off. 

There’s something else, though, something underneath the fine layer of dust and the creaking floorboards and the shrouded furniture. It skitters across her neck and down her back, making her shiver, which she discounts as a wayward draft in the old house. 

It’s the distinct feeling of being watched.  

“Aside from the big house, there’s a carriage house to the left there. We rent it out in the summer and fall for overnight stays.” Jack gestures to the east as they step out onto the back veranda, where, just beyond the slope of lawn, a smaller house sits with a solitary porch light glowing. “And back down the path there will lead you to the lake. When we bought the place, the deed stated that there was a cabin out near the state park line, but we’ve never been able to find evidence of it.”

“Maggie’s been seen down by the lake, too,” Nancy chimes in. “People say they see her there, inside the boathouse, or walking along the shore with her head down, as if she’s searching for something.” 

“We’ve got lanterns here if you want to use them as you go about the grounds, though you’re welcome to use your flashlights.” Jack nudges a neat row of antique lanterns with his sneaker. “For the optimal experience, though, we recommend turning off all the inside lights and using secondary light sources instead.” He chuckles when Sienna makes a throaty noise of dissent. 

The couple leads them back through the house and into the front hall to finish the tour. While Jack goes over the various rules, Nancy motions for Sloane to follow her out onto the front porch. 

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of your friends,” she starts off in a whisper, “but I wanted to talk to you about our son, Ben.”

For a fleeting moment, Sloane thinks that she’s going to get questioned about his bowel movements or a mysterious rash, that Bryce must have told them he was bringing along his doctor friends. “When he was seven, he nearly--” Nancy cuts herself off, pressing a hand to her heart, “--he drowned when we were at the beach in Florida. I did CPR until the EMTs got there, and they were able to resuscitate him, thank God.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloane murmurs, “that must’ve been awful.”

“It was. But I’m -- the reason I’m telling you all this is because, after that, Ben seems to be more… open. More open than the rest of us.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloane says again, though this time out of confusion, “but I don’t--”

With a huff, Nancy shakes her head and waves her hands. “No, no, I apologize. I must sound crazy. I just wanted to warn you that, due to what happened to you, you might see things or experience things that your friends can’t. That’s all, dear.” 

Sloane opens her mouth to question her further, but they’re interrupted by the rest of the gang filing out beside them. “We’ll be back at one a.m. to lock up behind you,” Nancy says as she follows her husband down to their car. 

With a cheery honk, the little Subaru rumbles down the winding driveway and disappears. The sun having set during the tour, the landscape before them is now draped with the heavy blanket of night. The moon peeks at them from just above the treetops, as if still deciding on whether or not to come out. The only lights are far-off, unmoving: porch lights of the houses back in town; cell towers with their red stars blinking lazily against the dark. A cold wind moves through the trees, rustling the leaves and scattering them across the front walk, the dried edges hissing along the brick. 

“Can you believe he said no alcohol?” Bryce breaks the silence with a whine. “I read about this fun séance thing you do with tequila shots and--” 

“No séances!” Sienna declares. “And definitely no tequila!” 

“Can we argue about this where it’s warmer?” Aurora suggests and steps back into the house. 

As she and Sienna wander off into the drawing room, Sloane wraps a hand around Bryce’s arm and pulls him back. 

“Did you tell her about me?”

His nose scrunches up to meet his furrowed brows. “Tell who about what?” 

“The-- Nancy, did you tell her about what happened to me? With… with the senator, and…” it’s embarrassing how much of a struggle it is to get the words out, even now, even after three weeks and two therapy appointments. 

His face falls from confusion to concern. Bryce reaches up and lays his hand over her own. 

“Slo, I didn’t tell them, I swear. I would never,” he promises. “Did she say something to you?”      

She loosens her hold, frustrated at herself that she even considered he would do such a thing. He’s one of her best friends, the man who handed over the reins to a cutting-edge surgery just to be by her side. 

“Yeah, no, listen: it’s fine,” she stumbles through a paltry reassurance. “She was probably trying to scare me, that’s all.” 

He gives her a quick once-over, lips twisting into a frown as he debates on whether or not to push. She bites back a breath of relief when he relents, his hand releasing hers.

“Okay,” he says, and nudges her into the house ahead of him. “C’mon. Between the two of us, I think we can convince them to turn off the lights.”

------

Although he puts up a good fight, Bryce loses on the no-lights front. 

Which is just as well, because by the time they reach the second floor, Sloane is glad for the light from the antique lamps. To be fair, nothing actually happens: no spooks, no spectres, and no signs from the former resident. Nothing she can point to with any amount of certainty. Whatever it is hovers out of reach, just on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t seem to give it a name. Maybe it lies -- like any good, scary movie -- in the setting. For as grand as the house is, time and dereliction have taken its fine features hostage. Thick, gray dust coats the wooden spindles and curled handrails of the antique staircase. The corridors are tight, the shadows gathering in the space where the lights can’t seem to reach. Small curls of peeling wallpaper look like fingers reaching out from the wall, backlit by the sconces. The cloying scent of wood rot and mold fills the air, like a pile of papers left to curl and yellow with age. The rooms are small, cluttered with furniture and trinkets and artwork. 

Sloane stares at such a portrait in the master bedroom, where a couple stares down at her from above the fireplace. The man sits in a chair, the woman standing beside him with her hand on his shoulder. It would be any other family portrait, if it weren’t for the unsettling glaze over the man’s sunken eyes. 

“Bryce, please don’t-- aaaand he’s sitting on the bed.” 

“You do know that’s where they found her husband, right?” Sienna points out. “That’s why there’s a mannequin on it. And a picture of his dead body on the nightstand.”

“Maybe Maggie will see what a catch I am if I’m laid out for her. I’ve never met a woman over the age of sixty who could resist my charms.” Bryce waggles his eyebrows as he bounces once, then twice on the mattress before stretching out. “What’s up, bro?” he asks the mannequin beside him before doing a double-take. “Hey, it’s Annie!”

He snatches off the ugly wig and fake beard, and lo and behold, an old CPR dummy gapes up at them all. Sloane snorts and shakes her head. 

“Looks like the years haven’t been kind to her.”   

“Probably saddled with student loans just like the rest of us,” Aurora mutters as she wanders over to inspect the photograph. “Had to get a second job here.”

“Hey, that was a joke!” Bryce commends. “And a pretty good one at that.”

“I do jokes.”

“You so do not.” 

A muffled bang from somewhere in the house stops their banter. Everyone glances at each other, verifying that everyone in their group is indeed in the room. 

“What was that?” Sienna whispers. 

“Probably the pipes,” Aurora says. “It is an old house.” 

As if on cue, the lights flicker once, then switch off, sinking them into complete darkness. There’s a flurry of noise as everyone digs out their phones; the bedroom seems even creepier, now, under the white glow of their flashlights.  

“What do we do?” Sienna hisses, scurrying from the window to latch onto Aurora.  

“We could always search for the breaker,” she suggests. 

“Which would be where?”

“In the basement, most likely.”

“Um, no,” Sienna balks. “Hell no.”  

“Are you guys serious right now?” Bryce hops down from the bed and pokes his head out the open doorway. “This is so cool! Who wants to go downstairs with me and grab the Ouija board?”

“If you bring that thing near me, I will break it in half.”

He grimaces at Sienna’s threat. 

“You’re not really supposed to do that with them. It’ll keep the door open for the spirits to come in.”

“It’s a toy made by Hasbro,” Aurora scoffs. “It’s not going to ‘let in’ anything. And the planchette doesn’t actually move on its own. That’s due to the ideomotor effect.”

Moving over to the window, Sloane presses her temple against the pane’s edge and squints. Just past the eastern wing, she spots a faint halo of yellow light on the lawn. 

“Hey,” she raises her voice over their bickering. “It looks like the carriage house still has power.” 

“Great!” Sienna squeaks and pulls Aurora with her towards the door. “Let’s check it out. I… love carriage houses.” 

They push past Bryce and start back down the hall. Turning from the doorway, a coy smile spreads across his face, a single eyebrow lifting at his wordless request. 

“Oh, no.” Sloane shakes her head as she crosses the room. “I’m not staying up here so you can play Twenty Questions with a ghost.”

She ignores his good-natured grumbling and leads him to the staircase, where Aurora and Sienna are waiting on the landing. Aimed at the ground, their flashlights slice at the hand-carved walls; dustmotes dance in the twin beams, kicked up by their feet. The air feels heavier, mustier here, too, like breathing through wet wool. They tromp down the stairs and across the first floor to the kitchen. Being at the back of the group, Sloane can’t help but glance back now and again at the shadowed recesses, searching for the source of her uneasiness. That she finds nothing amiss doesn’t seem to curb her anxiety. 

The sensation wanes when she closes the door behind them, sealing up the house once more. 

“How is it warmer outside than in there?” Sienna asks as they start cutting across the lawn for the carriage house.  

Bryce zips up his coat and shrugs. “I’ve heard that ghosts tend to suck the energy out of a room, creating cold spots when they mani--”

“Please stop talking,” she begs. “At least until we’re somewhere with electricity that actually works.” 

“Aw, come on, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’ve seen enough scary movies in your life to know that we’re safe if we travel together. Besides, everyone knows the funny guy goes first.”  

“I think that honor belongs to people of color, now, sorry.” Aurora chuckles when he spins around to wince at her. 

“Yeah, fair point.” 

Coated in fallen leaves, the ground crunches loud underneath their shoes, blocking out the night sounds as the four of them approach the smaller house. “But for real, I don’t think we have much to worry about from Maggie here. I mean, almost all ghost stories are about little white girls from Victorian times named Sally or Sarah or Kate.”

“That’s because of the spiritualism boom in the late nineteenth century,” Aurora answers.

Bryce sighs and quickly changes the subject, uninterested in a history lesson. 

Converted into a proper guest house sometime after the turn of the twentieth century, the carriage house lacks the severe decay of the main house. Though not as grand, the wallpaper here is intact, the dust not as heavy. It might just be the comforts of amenities such as central heating and electricity, but the inside of the house feels much more benign. As they complete a loop around the building, though, Sloane realizes that the feeling of being watched still remains, growing stronger when she passes or glances out one of the windows. With the glare of the lights, though, it’s hard to see much of anything past the panes. None of the others seem to be frightened -- or if they do, they keep quiet. The same can’t be said when Sienna flips the light on in the parlor.  

Toddler-size dolls lean against the walls, their porcelain hands cupped around their faces. Each wears a pretty, pastel dress trimmed in white lace, their hair falling down their backs in long, springy ringlets of dark brown, cherry red, and honey gold. Bryce makes a noise of disgust when he spins one around, its face blank: no eyes, no nose, no mouth. Time-out dolls, Sloane tells them, remembering her grandmother’s friend who owned several back in the early nineties -- though hers were all dressed as clowns. 

“People actually rent this place out? They pay money to stay here?” Sienna shudders. “I’d rather sleep in the other house, even with all the cobwebs and mannequins.”

“And the ghosts,” Bryce adds. 

“Ghosts don’t exist,” Aurora says. 

“Okay, Scully, that’s enough out of you.”

------

As the clock ticks closer to ten, Bryce votes to go check out the lake. Aurora and Sienna, however, vote to stay in the warm, well-lit kitchen. The plan is decided to split up and then meet back at the main house in time for midnight. 

“You know,” Bryce explains as he and Sloane make their way across the lawn, “because it’s the witching hour.”

“I thought it was three a.m.” 

“It is if you’re taking into account REM cycles and all that, but I’m not. All the legends I’ve read say…” he trails off, frowning as he jogs up the main house’s back steps. “Hey, you shut the door when we left, right?”

Her phone’s flashlight sweeps up the French doors; one of them is ajar, standing open several inches. She reaches for the handle and shuts it, listening for the snick of the latch.  

“I guess I didn’t pull it closed enough.”   

“Or,” he taunts as he grabs two of the lanterns from the porch, “something else opened it.” Ignoring her scoff, he pockets his phone and hands one of the lanterns to her. “These are nice. Do you think they’re original?”

“Bryce, they bought these from a Cracker Barrel. And besides, they’re battery-powered.” 

“Oh.” 

The back of the estate has been left to run wild. Overgrown swath rolls along the ground like dunes, snagging dead leaves between the dry blades. Thickets of barren shrubs creep out from the distant tree line. The path to the lake is marked by an old fence post, tied with a tattered ribbon. They make their way across the wide expanse of lawn, the trees ahead towering higher and higher the closer they get to the forest. Sloane can’t help but check over her shoulder. The house is just as they left it, though the moonlight is too weak to see if the door is still closed. 

Gravel crunches under their feet as they step onto the trail. The quiet night is broken by a ding from her phone. 

How goes the ghost hunting? 

She hooks the lantern in the crook of her arm and taps out her reply: Fun so far, lights went off by themselves. Very spooky 10/10

Ethan: What do fractions have to do with what you’re doing?

Sloane: Nvm 

Ethan: This isn’t 2002. You do have a full keyboard under your fingertips. 

Sloane: so?

Ethan: So there’s no excuse for using T9 acronyms.       

Sloane: Never thought I’d see the day you reprimand me for texting 

Ethan: I’ll spare you the lecture and let you get back to your witch hunt. Text me when you get home, please, so I know you returned safely. 

She hits send on the next message. Several seconds later, a red bubble appears beside her will do!, informing her that it refused to send. A quick glance at the top of the screen shows the one measly bar of service her phone is clinging onto. With a sigh, she tucks it away.   

“How’s Dr. Ramsey?” Bryce asks.

“Preparing a TEDtalk on prehistoric cell phone etiquette.” 

His nose scrunches up. “What?”

“Nothing,” she chuckles, exhaling through her mouth just to see her foggy breath. 

The light from the lanterns casts an eerie, yellow glow across the tree trunks and underbrush. Creaks and knocks echo up out of the dark -- branches smacking against each other as a cold wind sweeps through the area. The last vestiges of October skitter along the ground; the leaves almost sound like footsteps, dragging across the dirt behind them. The trail tightens as it winds down a small embankment and into a hollow. Their pace seems to pick up, though neither of them mention it. Sloane burrows into her scarf at the sudden dip in temperature.   

“How’s Keiki?” she asks, more so out of need to make conversation than actual curiosity.  

“Probably eating her way into a food coma with the pizza money I left for her, and beating all my high scores on Need for Speed.” He’s grinning as he says it, though, which Sloane finds encouraging. “I invited her to go with us, but she said no.” 

She doesn’t miss the crestfallen expression that crosses his face for a moment. 

“Trust me when I say this, because I speak from the experience of having a younger sibling, but she didn’t say no because she doesn’t like you or anything. It’s because she thinks you and your friends are dorks.” 

He sputters at the insult. “I’m not a dork!”

“You so totally are.”  

“Am not.” 

“Are too!” she argues. “Ethan thinks I’m bad, but you -- you come in on your days off and you like it.”

“That’s called dedication to the craft.” 

“That’s called being a dork.” 

What little she can see of the path ahead is more winding turns, more endless seas of bark and brushwood. But just when she thinks that they’ll never reach the end, that they’ll wind up stumbling upon Elly Kedward’s house -- there’s a small dot of light and then a break in the trees, where the path spits them out onto a rocky shore. The lake glints under their lanterns, the pearlescent gleam of the moon dancing on its surface. 

“Oh, hey, that was nice of them.”

Sloane’s gaze tracks along the shore and over to where he’s gestured. A solitary lantern sits in front of an old boathouse, illuminating the weathered cedar shake.  

“Too bad they can’t install lights along the path,” she mutters as they make their way to the structure. 

“What part of ‘bona fide haunted mansion’ did you not understand? This is the thrill of it!” 

Bryce shoulders open the door to a dim room with a half-sunken rowboat in the center. 

“Thrilling,” she drones, side-stepping his attempt to whack her arm. “Right.” 

They poke through the dirty raincoats and rusted tackle boxes. The wooden planks under their feet jostle and flex. Everything smells of wet and mold, the walls slick with grime. “I can think of several better places to haunt.” 

Bryce hums his agreement as he prods at a stack of old hunting magazines, the pages sealed together. Sloane steps over to look down at the boat, where minnows dart underneath the oars to escape her light. 

“Watch where you step,” she tells him as she crosses to the starboard side. “Some of these boards are really falling apa--”

The rest is lost to her shriek as the floor underneath her snaps. Her foot goes through the wood. She drops the lantern and scrambles to stay upright. The soggy planks slip from her grasp as she falls backwards, and then: water, the icy rush of it closing over her head. 

She fights back a gasp at the sudden cold. With her knee trapped in the joists, she can’t get her feet under her to kick to the surface. Her hands sweep out, flailing desperately. Something hard slams against her neck. She twists at the waist; the sunken lantern illuminates the long shadow of the boat. She digs her fingers into the wood. The cold saps at what strength she has, her muscles refusing to work as she tries to push herself out of the water. Her lungs ache; her heartbeat thuds inside her skull. Down in the murky depths below, a long shadow reaches towards her. Fingers, then hands seize her waist; her skin hits the cold air. Sloane blinks away the muddy haze that coats her eyes and sucks in a lungful of blessed oxygen. 

“Sloane!” Bryce shouts, as if he was expecting to pull out someone else. He ropes an arm around her back and helps her up out of the water. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of--” the rest of his words are lost to an undignified oof as Sloane wraps her arms around his neck. 

“Thanks.”

His hands come up to rest along her back, gently rubbing there to warm her frozen skin.

“I would say don’t mention it, but please do. The notoriety of me saving your life needs to make its way back to the hospital, so Rahul will finally go on a date with me.” 

She fights the urge to roll her eyes. 

“You would be concerned about getting a leg over while mine is still stuck.”

“Oh, whoops. Sorry, here, I’ll...” Sitting back on his heels, he steadies her against him and helps her shimmy out of the hole she’s made. Despite how saturated the planks are, her jeans are torn along her knee, where blood wells across several scratches. “Ouch,” he hisses. 

“Nothing a few bandages and a tetanus shot won’t fix,” she assures. Wobbling as she stands, Sloane limps over to the storage chest in the corner. The blanket she finds is tattered and smells of mold, but it’s better than braving the night’s chill in just her soaked sweater. “Alright, I want out of this place like yesterday.”

Bryce picks up his lantern and nods, following her out onto the shore and back onto the path. 

------

“And, I don’t know, he’s also distant with me sometimes, ya know? He’s hot, then he’s cold. He’ll flirt with me and agree to a date, but then he bails at the last second.”

“I get you.”

“That’s why I’m coming to you, oh wise one,” Bryce says with a grin. “Teach me your ways of dealing with difficult guys.”

Sloane laughs, the sound echoing through the quiet forest. Tucking the blanket tighter around her shoulders, she shakes her head. 

“Trust me, if I knew how to, I wouldn’t have such problems with my own.”

The cell phone in her pocket burns at the reminder of Ethan -- not that she could contact him if she wanted, given that the freezing water had zapped the last of its battery. 

“Yeah, but you could at least give me some pointers on how to wear him down.”

“Oh, my god, Bryce--”

“Okay, okay, not… ‘wear him down’... more, like, encouraging than that, I guess....” he trails off with a shrug. 

Humming as she thinks over her plan of attack, Sloane slows her pace to drop behind Bryce to skirt around a fallen tree -- until she can see it no more. “Fuck!” Bryce curses from in front of her, rattling the lantern as if abuse will bring it back to life. “Batteries must be dead. Let me…” There’s a rustling of clothes, a brief, hopeful inhale, then: “Fuck. Phone’s dead too. Must be the cold or something.” 

Sloane closes her eyes and opens them again, hoping that they will have miraculously adjusted to the dark -- but no such luck. With what little moonlight seeps through the canopy and the dusting of fog that’s rolled in, it’s hard to see farther than a few feet ahead. It will make this slow-going trek of theirs even slower. She scans the woods surrounding them and stops when she sees a pinprick of light back down the trail.

“I have an idea,” she says, “but you’re not going to like it.”

He does not, in fact, like her idea. But even he can’t argue against it. Besides, they’d only made it about a half-mile up the path, and the boathouse wasn’t that far back. 

Which is how Sloane comes to be sitting on the log, trying her best to ignore the darkness pressing in on her from all sides. If Aurora were here, she would be explaining that being afraid of the dark is just a concept carried over from early hominid days. Then again, if Aurora were here, she wouldn’t have had to send Bryce back for the other lantern, and they’d be back at the house by now. Sloane knows she should keep moving to stay warm, but she’s cold and wet and her knee is throbbing something awful. 

She’s uncertain of how much time passes before that silly bundle of nerves in her stomach morphs into the proper weight of worry. Bryce should be back by now. She knows he made it to the boathouse because the light through the trees is gone now. Her eyes have since adjusted to the night, which means it’s been at least thirty minutes. Maybe that lantern died, too, she reasons. Sloane listens for his familiar cursing, or his footsteps on the path -- but there’s nothing. The nighttime noises of the forest are gone: no animals, no birds, no wind. The stillness is nothing short of eerie, especially when she feels that now-familiar sensation of being watched.   

“Bryce?” she chances. 

From out of the black, she can hear someone walking down the path.  

“Bryce!” she shouts, struggling to her feet. “Sienna? Aurora? Is that you?” 

Whoever it is doesn’t respond. She starts down the trail towards them, cursing when she nearly trips over a rock. “Seriously, guys, I’m not in the mood--”

An awful sound echoes out of the dark, like a high-pitched whistle played over radio static. 

She freezes, pebbles and twigs skidding across the dirt at her sudden halt. Every hair on her body stands on-end, her muscles locked as adrenaline races through her. Sloane swallows and clenches her blanket tighter.  

The high-low tone of the whistle sounds again. Whatever’s out there is just beyond the reach of her vision. Sloane wheels around, her gaze darting across the shadows, as if she’ll be able to even see-- a light. It’s several hundred feet out in the forest, back in the direction of the house. It’s too far away to make out who’s holding it. It has to be Bryce, though -- playing a prank on her, as if she’d find this sort of thing funny in the state she’s in. 

She bites back a curse and hurries after him as best she can, keeping low to the ground in an effort to hide from whatever animal is out here with them. The trail becomes rougher, more overgrown as she trudges through the leaves and shoves away sticker bushes. Forced to waste precious time watching where she’s going, she glances up only to keep track of the light that grows closer every second. 

The whistle comes again -- louder, closer now. Whatever it is, it’s still following her. Sloane pushes through a thicket and stumbles into a clearing. Tucked between a small grove of pines in the center is a cabin. With the caved-in roof, sagging porch, and front steps that form nothing more than a woodpile, it’s obvious the place has long stood abandoned. Sitting on the porch and casting a glow into the open doorway is a lantern -- the same make as the others. Approaching the steps, she slowly leans up and snatches the lantern from the porch.  

“No fucking way,” she mutters to herself. “I don’t care if it is a bobcat out here, I’m not hiding in the Evil-Dead-looking-ass cabin.” 

The dark silhouettes of the trees rustle under the cold wind that blows through the glade. Carried with it is a different sound: voices, all slurred together, but forming one syllable. She steps away from the cabin and back towards the forest, straining to make it out. Her name, she realizes with relief. They’re calling her name.        

She sucks in a breath to yell back when movement catches her eye. Something dark curls away from the tree line, only to dart into the tall grass when she swings the lantern in its direction. Sloane squints at the underbrush it disappeared into, waiting for it to appear again. For a few, blessed moments, she thinks it’s run off, that it’s finally given up.   

Until a black shadow crawls out of the underbrush towards her, shrieking, braying like an animal in pain. It’s an ear-splitting cry, echoing across the clearing. Sloane tightens her grip on the lantern and bolts. Ducking back into the trees, she heads in a single direction, knowing that she’ll either hit the lake or the house -- of, if she runs far enough, the town. 

Shoving through low-hanging branches, she glances over her shoulder to see the shadow chasing her, peeling itself out of the shadows as it moves between the trees, somehow darker than the black surrounding them. Her foot hits a patch of wet leaves and she slips, skidding down the hillside and tumbling out onto a stretch of asphalt. She grits her teeth against the pain in her leg and crawls forward into the middle of the road. With no time for hesitating, she pushes to her feet and runs, hoping she’s picked the right direction. 

It wails again, in the trees to her left, scurrying across the hillside after her.   

“Fuck off!” she screams.

Another noise comes roaring out of the dark, drowning out her cry. Lights -- searing, blinding -- swing around the curve. Brakes squeal as the car swerves, narrowly missing her; glass shatters as Sloane staggers to the roadside, her lantern cracking as it hits the pavement and rolls off into the grass. The guard rail is like ice beneath her palm where she clutches it, using it to stay upright as her heart threatens to vacate her body through her throat. The hillside is drenched in red from the car’s tail lights. 

“Sloane!” 

Ethan -- it’s him, his car, he’s here, but he should be in Boston, shouldn’t he? He was when he texted her and that was only an hour ago so why is he here and how did he-- all of her panicked thoughts cease when he folds her into his arms and hugs her tight. The night around them is still, save for the purr of the engine and the soft dinging of the door ajar warning. 

“What the hell were you thinking, standing in the middle of the road like that?” he hisses, pulling her back to pin her down with his glare. “You could’ve-- I could’ve killed you.”

“You’re here,” she whispers. 

Her lips are numb from the cold and shock. She reaches up for the blanket, then realizes that she must’ve lost it somewhere along the way.

“Of course I’m here. You really need to stop scaring the hell out of me, you know that.” His brow furrows as he frowns, taking in the state of her. He slips off his own coat and bundles it around her. “Honey, you’re freezing. Let me--”

“We have to go,” she urges, remembering what’s waiting for her, out in the forest. Grabbing hold of his hand, she starts tugging him towards the car. “There’s -- in the woods, there was -- I don’t know, this thing, and it kept screaming, it was horrible--”

Ethan shushes her rambling and guides her into the car, buckling her seatbelt when her hands won’t stop shaking. She tucks her nose into the collar of his coat, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he backs the car up and turns back towards the estate. With one hand on the wheel, the other finds hers and holds tight. 

“Your friends called me when they couldn’t find you, wanted to know if I’d heard from you, in case you’d made it to somewhere with a working phone. I called you-- well, more than I’d care to admit, though it was obvious your phone was dead.” 

“How did you get here so fast?” she wonders aloud. 

“I got here around twelve-thirty, did a sweep of the woods. Around one I started driving around, hoping that I’d come across you in case you made it to the road.” He gives her a worried glance before returning to the road. “The others have been out with the sheriff’s office and the owners, searching the woods.” 

“But I… that doesn’t make any sense,” she tells him with a shake of her head. “It wasn’t even midnight when me and Bryce started back, and he was gone for twenty, maybe thirty minutes. And then I saw him-- well, not him, but at the time I thought it was him being an asshole-- and then that… thing chased after me and I got turned around, sure. But it couldn’t have been more than an hour.”

“Sloane, it’s nearly three in the morning.”

Her immediate reaction is to protest, but the concern in his tone and the clock on his dash render her mute. Which is for the best, she realizes later after pulling up to the house and seeing the driveway choked with cars: Bryce’s, the Bell’s, and several police cruisers. Modern floodlights tucked below the eaves turn the dark house into a bright beacon. Blue and red lights of the cruisers swirl across the lawn. As soon as they pull up, her friends race over to the car and wrap her into a hug. One of the cops takes her statement, ignoring Ethan’s insistence about getting her home and taking it over the phone instead. 

“Must’ve been a coyote,” the cop tells her after she’s finished. “We get a lot of reports of them out here, being so close to the state park.”

“A coyote,” Sloane repeats. 

“Well, sure,” he says with a shrug. “Unless you think it was something else?” 

She doesn’t have an answer for that. Having dealt with her fair share of wildlife coming down from the mountains and into her backyard growing up, she can’t remember ever hearing anything similar. Even her grandfather’s tales about the Wampus cat, her favorite spooky story as a kid, didn’t hold a candle to… to whatever was out there. 

After the cops leave and the Bells lock up, her friends pile into Bryce’s car for the ride home. Though not before Bryce shares with her his own experience with the mysterious shadow. However, he’d gotten a good look with the lantern. 

“It wasn’t an animal,” he whispers to her. “It was her. It was Maggie, I swear it.” 

Sloane didn’t know what to say to that. So she hadn’t said anything, just squeezed his hand and hugged him goodbye. Returning to Ethan’s car, she settled into the passenger seat, thankful for the change of clothes he had in the trunk -- and the first aid kit, of course.  

With the classical music floating out of the speakers and the warmth of his hand in hers again, it would’ve been easy for Sloane to close her eyes. She can’t help it, though, when they back out of the drive. She looks up to the long row of windows. It could be a trick of the headlights, but something watches them from around the lace curtains. As they start to pull away, it slinks back into the shadows of the house. 

------   

Author’s notes and what-have-yous: 

The inspiration for the Angler Estate is the abandoned Uplands Mansion in Baltimore, MD. If you like urbex stuff, I highly recommend looking up some videos of it on YouTube. It’s a gorgeous place, despite all the vandalism. The owners’ surname being Bell is a fun nod to the Bell Witch Cave, my state’s claim to supernatural fame. The mention of The Evil Dead cabin is another poke, since the 1981 original was filmed an hour away from where I live. 

The “watch where you step” line is pulled directly from Uncharted: Drake’s Fortune. 

[stones-x-bones]

All You Left Behind || Solo

CONTENT: Head trauma (coma), Domestic abuse mentions, Parental Death mention

Bex runs some errands..

Georgie was still in a coma. She had brain activity, and sometimes she even mumbled in her sleep, in her unconscious state, but there was little sign of her waking soon. The doctors said they didn’t even know if there was a sign that could signal that. Comas were complicated. Magic ones even more so, Bex supposed.

Bex had laid the bouquet she’d bought down on the table at the end of the bed, but she hadn’t been able to stay long. She’d left with a promise that she’d fix her, she would. She just needed to...figure out how. But she needed to leave before anyone else showed up, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to look them in the eyes and pretend like she hadn’t done that to Georgie. It had been written off as a freak earthquake, but Bex was the earthquake. Her magic had done this to Georgie, and she’d fix it. She would, she would.

The second bouquet was being carried up a hill in a cemetery. She pulled the hood of her jacket up to conceal her face-- being caught here would be worse than being caught at Georgie’s bedside. August snow crunched under boots as Bex crested the hill and made it up to the plot of land that had been reserved almost as long as her own family’s plot of land in Harmony Hill.

Frank Goldman’s grave still looked fresh somehow. She half expected him to burst from the ground and reach to pull her in with him. She’d let him. She’d deserve it. 

Frank still lived in her nightmares, in the shadow of her mother, and in the whispers of trees that made dark forests. 

She saw his face, sometimes, in a crowd. A passing glance over her shoulder, or out of the corner of her eye. At the edge of the trees, where town gave way to forest and people gave way to creatures. 

Her heart stuttered every time. Her heart stuttered so much these days. Sometimes it hurt and ached in a painful way, as if it could not pump enough blood through itself to keep the tide of exhaustion away. On those days, Bex stayed in the house, but never in her bed, all day. She pretended to do chores, instead, or to preoccupy herself with some hobby or another. Making bone art with Morgan, or drawing lazy edges of maps on canvas in her room. Nothing ever saw the light of day, but the bones hung on shed walls and the maps stayed rolled up in drawers next to her desk. 

Frank Goldman’s grave came back into view as her thoughts came back to her and Bexley looked at it with shame. Carefully, she set the bouquet in front of it and watched the small breeze lift ready to wilt petals from the stems. “I’m sorry.”

Footsteps behind her dragged her gaze away from the stone, only to meet two eyes she thought had disappeared with Frank’s that fateful day. 

“You.” 

It was the same voice Bex had heard as she watched red pool over her hands in an attempt to quell the blood. It had not worked. She had sworn the boy had died right under her palms.

But here he was, glaring at her, eyes sunken, skin pale. He shook, but not with anger, with an ache. An uncontrollable tremor that Bex had once experienced, after she’d used up all her magic to destroy the warden who had hurt Mina. She recognized the magic, she could feel it drifting off of him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

With a startle, Bex realized she hadn’t said anything yet. “I-- I just wanted to--”

The broken warden’s eyes drifted to the flowers placed on his friend’s grave. “You’ve gotta be shitting me. How dare you! This is your fault!” The bouquet he had was thrown to the ground as hands swung up and clamped down around Bex’s neck. He shook her and she did not fight. His grip choked her, but it was weak, this was all he could manage. She deserved this. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance. Then he wouldn’t be-- then he--” Tears in his eyes. He had loved Frank, Bex could recognize the look in his eyes. It was the same way she looked at Mina when she’d seen her bleeding out on a forest floor. 

Bex felt her own cheeks burn, hot tears streaking down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she managed to choke out, “I never wanted-- I didn’t want this.” 

The other warden’s arms were growing weary, Bex could tell, but he kept his pressure on. He tried to step forward but stumbled, concentration all on Bex, and the two tumbled to the grass next to Frank’s grave. Bex put her arms up to catch the warden atop her as his grip finally released from her neck, no worse for wear, but ready to freckle with bruising later, when she would look in the mirror and wonder why she hadn’t fought back. 

A limp fist came down on her chest. “Fuck you!” The warden boy shouted. He was crying and angry and upset. He was grieving. Bex would let him. “Fuck you! I hate you!” And it went on and on. The same few lines, the same limp fists pounding at her chest, her face, her arms. More bruises, for later. They’d go away, bruises always went away. Until then, she’d tell Mina she fell while walking in the woods. She didn’t know how to explain the ring around her neck yet, and she wouldn’t find one before going home. 

When the warden grew weary, she sat with him, even as he protested. She learned his name was Lucas, and that he’d only moved to White Crest a year ago. She learned that over that time, Frank had become his best friend. And she learned that over time, Lucas had loved him like a brother. They went on hunts together, they compared techniques, they told each other the things they couldn’t tell their hunter parents-- Frank had tried his best to be there for him, until Bex came into the picture. 

When she left, Bex told him she hoped things got better, that she was glad he wasn’t dead. He had just scowled and told her to never come back here, told her that he would finish the job next time (code be damned, it wasn’t like he was a hunter anymore, wasn’t like he could ever be one again, not really) if she did. He would be stronger, then. He would be healed, then. 

The next stop didn’t require a bouquet of flowers, but a map. Bex traced the line of the river, remembering well all that it had tried to take from her. Daylight trickled through the trees, warm sunbeams trying to stave off the cold of the mysterious weather phenomena. Bex had never really minded the snow, but she missed the warmth of summer. She wanted to feel the moonlight in her veins again. 

She walked past the spot where their boat had capsized, but there wasn’t a single trace of it left. It was as if it had never happened, and Bex would have believed it hadn’t had her mind not tried to constantly remind her of those days. Sometimes she woke up and in the dark of her room, it wasn’t Mina sleeping beside her, but her bloodied corpse. She’d always rub the illusion out of her eyes in haste, but never soon enough to stop her heart from pounding. Bex found herself checking Mina’s pulse too often, in the dark of her room at night, when the other girl lay asleep next to her. It was always steady.

Finally, the lake came into view, and Bex was thrown back to the moment where the sky had roiled with thunder and lightning, and she’d desperately gripped Mina in her arms, wading into the water as fast as she could. Holding her under, and for a moment-- just a single moment-- feeling peaceful as their eyes met. Bex had wanted to crash into the water with her, where it was silent and nothing was heavy.

She walked around the edge towards the dock, where the boathouse sat, still weary with old age, but refusing to give in. She didn’t stop in it this time, just shouldered her bag as she made it up to the front porch. The door was still open. She stepped inside and found the place untouched except by nature. Preserved. It was a moment of the past long gone but still haunting the present. Old bandages on the table, a pot by the cinders of a long put out fire, pink stains of dirty bath water-- deep red stains on the cotton sheets. She knew Mina thought about it a lot, too. The memories that stained the cabin floor, and the tub, and the raggedy couch were not good ones. They tore at Bex’s chest like the claws of a wolf and made it ache and she let herself ache. She hadn’t been able to for so long. But she could now. She could now.

She resolved to come back later. She needed more supplies. For all its painful memories, Bex did not hate the cabin. In fact, she owed it her life, and more importantly, Mina’s. This place had not been a cage, trapping them inside-- it had been a haven, in a terrible storm that consisted of rain and thunder and a boy who had lost his way.

She hurried back to town, marking the trail to remember easier next time. She nearly missed the ferry, pushing through the turnstile as she waved her ticket at the guard. He was more than happy to help a gracious young woman like herself, and Bex put on a tight-lipped smile as she sidled past and onto the ferry. She supposed even in death, her name meant something. 

The third bouquet was set at the foot of the manor stairs. She didn’t dare go inside, there was still police tape up around the front doors, anyway. Instead, she looked up at the ornate doors that had once been her prison bars, and the columns of the old building, the arching entryway, and the inlaid windows, carefully carved and crafted out of the finest brick and marble. She wondered if it would burn. 

There was nothing left to say to the building-- it was just as dead as her mother.

While she waited for the ferry to come back, Bex stared over the edge of the banister into the lapping waves. She’d visited three places that day that had been left scarred and ruined by her magic. No-- by her choices. If people caused pain, then her magic was a gun. That was the saying, right? Guns don’t kill people, people do. She pulled the trigger, each time. Frank may have died by Mina’s hand, but the inevitability of it was only set in motion because of her. She dropped a rock into the water and watched the waves swallow it, the ripples it tried to cause, as if the rock had never existed. She wondered if it might be a metaphor of the people she’d hurt.

But people weren’t rocks and the world wasn’t an ocean. Georgie had family and friends, always sitting by her side, reading her stories and telling her about their days and waiting for her to wake up. And Frank had had friends, and family, and even if they were used to burying their children, Bex knew his mother had wept. And even Odell’s absence was felt, in the hollow of Bex’s chest, and in the empty office that she’d walked into one fateful night and finally, finally found the key to her freedom. 

The ferry horn whistled and Bex stood from her spot, rubbing at the soreness on her neck. She sat in a corner by herself and watched the island that she’d grown up on shrink in the distance. Her entire life had been about pain and suffering, but now she had a chance at something new. She’d caused so much pain, just to pull herself out of the hole she’d been buried in. She didn’t want to do that anymore. 

Her magic had hurt too many people. The first step to getting through something was to admit the problem existed. Her magic wasn’t the problem, though. No, it was her lack of control. Her problem had always been a lack of control, and now she had a freedom she’d seldom dreamt about. Sometimes it felt almost wrong. Sometimes it felt overwhelming. But, mostly, it felt relieving. She had room to figure herself out now, to stretch her feet, and her arms, and stop folding herself into a tiny box. She could exist. 

She wondered on her place in this world. She didn’t have an answer, but as she continued to watch the island grow into a speck on the horizon, she wondered if, maybe, that didn’t matter. Maybe she didn’t need an answer yet. Maybe that’s what life was, like a dig-- searching for an answer and finding more questions along the way. 

All Bexley knew was that she wasn’t going to let her magic hurt anyone anymore. All she wanted to do was help, and to protect those she loved, and she knew if she could just control her magic, she could. She could. And so it was time she took control of it. 

It was time to put the pot back together. 

[lemonietrinket]

Love ||| Wayv x Reader

Summary: Everyone needs to be taken care of sometimes, no matter how strong they are. And so when you come home from an awful day in the outside world, you are blessed to have several people come and pick you up again, setting you back on your feet. Though, not everything is as a clear cut as you perhaps once thought.

Genre: Angst, but then lots of Fluff to make up for it!! and Humour too bc i think im funny

Warning(s): Detailed description of big crying, no mention of reasons why, just left as a very bad day; single sentence description of a mild bruise; a bit of arguing but it’s mild and there as so to highlight something

Word Count: 20,314 jesus christ

Theme Song: The Flower (feat. Maximilian Hecker) - Leo; Heart Flutter - W24; Only Love Can Hurt Like This - Paloma Faith 

AN: original was a request from @idont-knowapil. I hope yall enjoy the rewrite. It’s pretty different in some places, but now there’s actually a lot of foundations for what is to come. Fem!Reader 

 ~~~

It had taken all of your strength to not cry on the way home on the bus. There were too many people around for you to let the tears fall, but you’d bitten your lip so hard it bled and had held your breath until you were heaving, for it to all prove to be little use.

You tried your best, turning your head into the glass and staring into the darkness outside, praying that no one turned to look back at you or your reflection.

As soon as you got off at your stop, unable to utter a ‘thank you’ to the driver which made you feel even worse (if that were even possible) your defences began to break down. 

Tears streamed down your face in the frozen evening air, merging with the rain and slipping between your trembling lips, the salt tingling on the tip of your tongue. Your nose ran viciously because of the wind, which also mussed up your hair causing you even more frustration as you tried to hold it out of your face, only for it to cover eyes uncomfortably again.

Your voice seeped into your breath as you tried to remain silent, strained whines at the effort it took to not openly weep as you needed to, whilst you prayed endlessly that no one would pass you by on the street and see the mess you were in.

Fumbling with your keys, just inches from being inside and away from the world, almost sent you over the edge. The key had got caught in one of the keyrings and with your shivering fingers and blurry vision, it seemed the world was kicking you while you were down. 

A cry rose in your throat, and you forced it down as best you could, until finally you crashed into the house, bags toppled by the oven across the room. You were home at last. Slamming the backdoor behind you with a strength you didn’t realise you had left, you took merely a single step inside before you tripped over an abandoned pair of shoes and fell to the floor with a thud and a sob so hard no noise came from your body. 

Today was not your day.

Your chest constricted upon itself, ribs very nearly bruising your lungs and heart, until you finally caught some air and howled.

You were ashamed of how you must have looked, sprawled on the kitchen floor, weeping hysterically, no doubt with a muddied coat and a bruised knee and hands pressed into wet footprints upon the linoleum floor. 

If you’d been told to write the worst day you could have, today took that itinerary and then dragged it through hell. 

You didn’t have the energy to stand, even if the puddles from outside that your shoes had dragged inside were being soaked up by your socks, unrolled at your heels and stained from their pristine white. Lethargically, you began to lift yourself out of the doorway as best you could, and to your feet. Your success was tainted however as you accidentally knocked your elbow against the counter ledge, and fresh tears immediately sprung to your eyes. It was the final straw for you, as you leant over the countertop and wept. Your fingers gripped the wood roughly, your forehead coming to rest against the cupboard as ‘what if’s swirled around your head. What if you’d been more polite to her. What if you’d done your printing the day before. What if you’d taken your lunch break elsewhere.

You knew rationally that nothing was your fault, but the rational part of your brain was far surpassed by raw emotion of emptiness that the uncaring world had showed you that day. 

Your ears just about caught the footsteps outside before the door opened. When it did, you flicked your head towards the man out of reflex, your muscles tensed and breath shallowed.

“Y/N?”

The door closed, and the man came to a stop a few feet from you. The light flickered on suddenly—you hadn’t noticed his hand reach to the corner and turn on the switch—and the two of you suddenly reached a realisation as quickly as you were bathed in light.

It was Kun, a sight that you unfortunately greeted with creased features and tear-stricken face.

He responded to yours with a sharp inhale. His voice was hushed and filled with concern however, as he shrugged off his bag and immediately made the rest of the way to you, “Y/N…”

The man’s palms hovered beside you, unsure of what the situation was and what to do about it.

You opened your mouth to speak, but a broken cry was the only sound you could make.

“Y/N, are you ok?” he exclaimed, lightly brushing the hair from your face to try and understand what was wrong. “What’s wrong love? P-please, I don’t…” 

At the first touch of his fingertips against your damp cheeks, you shook your head, instead slumping into his chest. You clung to him, fear gone as you cried openly into his jumper, speckled with rain. Kun was very nearly speechless, his hands eventually settling upon your back. Though of course you were still in your coat and the weather had left it sodden.

“Oh, love, oh…” he trailed off, unable to find the words. Seeing you like this hurt him beyond explanation, and he had no idea how he could even convey what he needed to do. Slipping off his shoes as quickly as he could and discarding them by the door, he reached his arms between you. “Come on, love, let’s get you out of this coat. You’ll catch a cold.”

A pang of hurt struck your heart briefly as he somewhat unceremoniously pushed you off him, but before you could begin to wallow again he’d slipped the coat off your shoulders and hooked it by the door, speaking once again, “You can get your shoes, right?”

You nodded sullenly, reaching down to undo your laces, meanwhile Kun rested his hand upon your back to hold you steady. His touch was surprisingly warm for someone who had only just come inside from the cold, however the chill of the room was creeping into your bones as your shirt provided you little warmth in the barely-heated house.

One shoe was off without a problem, however as you lifted your leg to take off the other, a twinge of pain ricocheted through your knee. You had clearly fallen harder than you had first imagined.

“Love? Did you hurt yourself?” he enquired, as his mind finally connected the dots as to what had happened, roughly. 

“I…” you began, swallowing thickly, before you realised you didn’t exactly have enough energy to finish what you had started. 

“It’s alright, I’ve got it.” And without hesitation, Kun crouched down to remove the shoe for you. 

You felt pathetic to say the least. Like a child who had thrown a tantrum but had a parent who spoiled her nonetheless. You’d only hurt your knee, too. How could you possibly need someone else to remove your own shoe?

Truth be told, Kun felt like he wasn’t doing anywhere near enough, and had leapt at the chance to help you in absolutely any way possible. 

Besides, before you could really do anything about it he’d placed your shoes neatly on the rack and returned to your side. “Alright, you’re good to walk?”

You nodded after a moment of hesitation, making his concern worsen. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Your voice was shaky, but possessed enough certainty to convince him at least.

“Ok, that’s good. Where does it hurt?” 

“Just… my knee…”

“Cut? Bruise?” His eyes dropped down instinctively to check, to only find a few muddy splotches upon your trousers.

You sighed, trying to work up the effort to explain. “I o-only tripped… hit it on the… the floor—stupid shoes.”

He was mildly startled by the sudden venom in your voice, glancing back to try and see whose shoes it had been. A wave of panic rushed to his chest as he spotted his overturned shoes in the middle of the doorway.

“Love… I’m so sorry, they’re mine. They must have fallen, I’m sorry—” 

Your heart crashed to the pit of your stomach as you heard his words, and suddenly you felt terrible for even speaking. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’m ok, it’s ok, I’m not mad, it—it…” Your teeth sank into your lip as you desperately tried to quell the overwhelming urge to cry again.

“Hey, it’s alright! I…” Kun’s eyes flew wide open as he attempted to ease the situation. He quickly changed tact. “Love, why don’t you go get changed? You’ll get cold otherwise. I’ll get an ice pack for your knee, and everything will be alright… yeah?”

You swallowed, mouthing a ‘thank you’ that you had intended to give a voice to, but it did not come. Deciding he had the right idea as you shivered, you edged your way out of the kitchen and up the stairs to your room, clutching to the banister as you went. 

.

.

.

Stumbling into your bedroom, you set yourself down on your bed with a sigh, disgruntledly throwing some the clothes you’d discarded on the covers that morning out of the way onto the floor beside the end of your bed. 

You haphazardly removed your clothes, your elbow crying out in pain now too as you stretched a bit too far, leading you to whimper. Even after changing into a warmer set of pyjamas, you remained cold.

As you began to shift your legs to attempt to remove your dirty socks, Kun knocked on the door.

You really wanted to reply with a ‘come in’, but all that really came out was an awkward hum.

He got the message however, slipping his body through a tiny crack in the door as if he didn’t want to disturb the room. He’d put himself into a more comfortable hoodie to keep himself warm before he’d come to you, a pack of cold peas in his hand.

“Honestly, you’d think we’d have specific ice packs in this household but, no,” he chuckled sheepishly, “all we have is cold peas. For some reason. Who here even likes peas?”

Had you been bright as you normally were you would have pressed the charge, accusing him of being the pea lover, since he was the dad of the house, obviously. You lamented the fact that you weren’t able to really muster even the melancholic humour it at the very least required.

In the period of time you’d been zoned out, the man was by your side, eyes searching your face. “Are you sure you’re doing fine?” He handed you the peas as you nodded slowly, accepting them with an empty face.

While you grimaced, feeling the ice cut deep into your bones, Kun found himself unable to watch, turning his attention elsewhere. He couldn’t help but note that whenever the slightest bit of pain touched you, whether it was physical or emotional, he couldn’t stand it. It was as if his entire chest contorted into a cage, the bones of his ribs becoming iron bars and just… crushing.

He found himself scooping up your dishevelled clothes from the floor and folding them neatly, before stacking them on your desk chair. Except the dirty ones, he’d looped those over his arm. 

“Hey, I’ll just go put these in the wash real quick, ok?” His eyes carefully moved to look over to you again. He found your own gazing at the trousers upon his arm, glistening.

Before he could mention any comfort, they’d slipped to the pitiful state of your socks, as you choked an apology. It seemed so irrational to you to get so upset about socks, but they had been so clean and you’d just messed them up and you couldn’t help but blame yourself. 

Kun however wasn’t letting you descend again.

He came to your side, shushing you gently. His fingers reached your head, stroking your hair with a gentle care you’d never felt from him before. “Love, sweetheart, it’s ok! It’s ok, it’s not your fault.”

He cursed himself in his head. If it was anyone’s fault in this scenario, it was his. He didn’t want to upset you further by mentioning that though, and so managed to keep it to himself. 

“Let's just get you out of these, so they can be washed and all clean again, yeah?” He gave you a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder. “Do you need any help?”

You really didn’t want to accept that you did. To try and prove that, you slipped your left sock off with an issue, to which Kun took off your hands swiftly and added to his looped pile. However, even with the added angles from your bed, the makeshift ice pack prevented you from really removing the second one without pain.

Kun wordlessly took to his knees so he could help. 

His kindness was tugging at your heart, smashing it to pieces in your vulnerable state, only to pull it all back together again. You didn’t feel worthy of his care, but on the other hand all you wanted was him to stay and never leave you.

In seconds the sock was gone and your foot cool. You expected him to stand again, but he remained on the carpet.

You peered down at him. “K-Kun?”

He was looking at the peas. “Love, can I see your knee?” He glanced upwards, soft eyes meeting your own for a brief moment before slipping away. “I just want to make sure it’s not too bad.”

Lifting the ice pack away from your knee cautiously, you helped him ease the cloth of your pyjamas up over your knee. 

He hissed at the sight of the bruise you found there, as if the pain were his own. “Oh, love that looks painful.”

“D-does it?” The sight of the pinkish circle only startled you in the sense that it didn’t look that bad. 

“It must hurt a lot,” he reiterated, “be careful around it. Don’t want you getting hurt more.”

“Oh… ok…” 

The rough pads of his fingers left your skin, as you shifted the cloth back over your leg, all while goosebumps began to speckle across your arms.

Kun noticed immediately, eyes darting around the room as he got to his feet. Eventually he settled on the blanket balled up somewhat at the foot of your bed. Unravelling it, he brandished it around you like a cape, before wrapping you up in it.

“There.” He seemed pretty proud of his work, a smile finally adorning his handsome features. “Feel a little more comfortable?” 

You pulled your eyes up to meet his gaze, and attempted to give a smile. It didn’t work. You settled on another nod.

“Well, that’s a success.” He laughed softly. You always liked the sound of his happiness, he always sounded so warm. “I’m going to head back downstairs, you want to come or stay up here?”

“I’ll…” you took a deep breath, “I’ll come.”

“Yeah? Great!” Your answer made his face light up even further, eyes actually turning into beautiful crescents. His sudden excitement reflected in his actions too, as he outstretched his hand to you, to help you up.

You took it as quickly as you could manage for how tired you still were, and the thought of how nice it felt to be holding his hand crossed your mind without a single hindrance. In fact it worried you, for reasons you were too exhausted to try and determine. And so you decided to drop it, fast. 

It was surely nothing after all. 

.

.

.

After leading you downstairs in a comfortable silence, you were eventually on the centre of the sofa, all the remotes beside you, with Kun by the entrance to the kitchen.

 “I’ll make you some food? Ramyun will be good right?” he hesitated, feeling the corners of his lips twitch at the sight of you, encompassed by the blanket like a burrito. It wasn’t fair how adorable you were.  “Or grab you some more blankets, anything you need.”

You hummed sadly, trying to draw your lips together to speak.

“Yes, love?”

He was so patient.

“I…” you swallowed, hands tiredly lifting away from your body and towards him, as outstretched as you could manage, “can I have… have a… hug? Please…?”

His features softened even further, if that were even possible, his eyes regarding you carefully as his lips curled into a smile.

Before he could answer—and make no joke, his answer would have been to take a seat beside you and instantly take you into his arms—there was a clatter, as the back door opened. Several voices swarmed over one another, littered with giggles and whoops as they bickered in the falling darkness.

Kun’s head turned to the kitchen, and he nodded as he saw what you presumed was the face of one of the members through the doorway. “I think you can get a really big one, now,” he remarked, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

Not quite understanding the situation, you merely pouted, feeling the burn in your heart. 

Kun was extremely aware of how your face fell so drastically “I can’t leave them in charge of cooking can I?” Kun explained with a chuckle, worry tinging his voice. “Please don’t be sad, love. I-I’ll hug you later I promise.”

“Promise?” you asserted.

“With my whole heart.”

His words threw your own through a loop. 

Kun meanwhile called out to the others, “Welcome home! You’re late, but I’ll let it slide if you come here and help me.”

There were a couple of confused ‘eh’s until a few familiar faces came into the room, shrugging off their coats. 

You almost broke into fresh tears as you saw Xuxi’s bright, sunny smile drop from his face when he laid eyes on you.

“Y/N?!” he exclaimed, glancing at Kun for an explanation.

At the sound of his deep-set shout, Sicheng leant out from behind the giant puppy’s shoulders to see what Xuxi was so upset about.

He too went from quietly happy to extremely concerned at the sight of your reddened cheeks.

You quickly became very embarrassed. You hadn’t been cute crying, exactly, and you figured you still looked like a dazed, tear-stained mess. 

That was when Ten slipped past the two of them abruptly, running over to you before you could even cry in surprise. 

“No no, no…!” he cooed, perching very carefully on the edge of the sofa, his body turned completely towards you as he extended his hands to your face. He dabbed at your mottled cheeks rather frantically, the coolness of his fingers making you shiver, as they were chilled the winter, whilst your skin had been made hot by tension and stress.

“No, baby, are you ok? What’s wrong? What happened?” He glanced back at Kun who was heading through into the kitchen. “Kun, is it just my hands or is she running a fever?” Before you could answer he continued, eyes shining, “Are you hurt? Sick? Did someone hurt you?”

“They better not have hurt you!” Xuxi interjected, leaning over the back of the sofa. “If they did then you tell me their names, Y/N,” he said diligently, “I’ll make sure they never even look at you again I swear—!”

Sicheng rolled his eyes, a light scoff drifting from his lips as he patted Xuxi's shoulder, before heading round to the chair opposite you. “It’s ok guys, she’s not dying.”

He’d said it with a joking lilt and a gentle tone, but Ten’s mouth hung open as he shot him a look. “I know she’s not, but she’s upset and I’m not having that!”

“Neither will I!” 

“Xuxi, you couldn’t hurt anyone even if you tried,” Ten returned, turning his full attention back to you. “Now, if my girl is not sick, and not physically hurt, then I know exactly what she needs, don’t I?”

As soon as he grinned at you, you couldn’t help but let the corners of your own lips lift. And, much like a chain reaction, as soon as he saw you brighten, even if only slightly, his smile grew into a beam.

“My girl wants hugs, doesn’t she?” he murmured, giddily tapping his finger against the tip of your nose.

You couldn’t avoid emitting a squeak at the contact—his fingers were too cold—but rationale had also left you in some parts, perhaps, as you nodded eagerly, dragging your arms up and throwing them out to welcome him in.

Ten slipped back on the sofa, pulling you into his chest protectively. He was careful to place his hands where they wouldn’t touch your skin, but also where you would know he was there, and so he nestled one into your waist and the other upon the back of your head. 

Adjusting your position only slightly to lessen the pressure off the bridge of your nose, you settled your face in the nook of his neck, fingers laced in his shirt, as you took in the scent of his cologne. He must have several varieties but this one was easily your favourite—whatever it was. It was light, but deep and welcoming, with the openness of a spring day but the independence of a lucid dream, which was kind of how you felt held so close to his heart. You could feel it beating against your arm, seeping through your sleeves and sinking into your skin, through to your own heart, which skipped as soon as the thought of it all struck your conscious mind. You very nearly forgot about the others around you, though as soon as you’d been dipped into the waters of serenity, you’d been pulled out by your own awareness.

Ten was stroking your hair gently, though his touch was shallow to avoid both knots and making you shiver.

Kun was instructing someone about something, words just out of reach for you to piece together, but no sooner than he’d finished, a loud voice that could only be recognised as Xuxi’s, yelled, “group hug!” and a figure then bounded around the sofa.

You couldn’t see Sicheng, so had no idea what he was doing, but you heard a chuckle that sounded like his. 

And a second after you’d questioned the reasoning behind his amusement, you felt a weight crash behind you on the couch.

Ten snapped up out of surprise, indicating he perhaps hadn’t seen in coming either, and with his hand leaving your head, you pressed yourself up slightly to try and get a better look at what happened.

“Hm—?”

It was no use however, because you were knocked back against Ten with a yelp from both of you, as the newcomer practically slammed his weight against your back.

Ten hauled you up as best he could so you weren’t stuck in a folded position but what you had ended up in nonetheless was still not overly comfortable. As you glanced at him you could see his lips wavering, formulating a sentence to most likely scold whoever had pushed the sudden attack with.

But there was no need, as you felt a pair of much longer arms encircle you and pull you more upright, a chin coming to rest surprisingly neatly on your shoulder.

“Hi, Y/N!” Xuxi sang, tapering off into a giggle as he gave you a tiny squeeze.

You laughed bemusedly, relieved to be alive, but also welcoming the warmth from the other side. Xuxi was in fact much warmer, to the point he could be described as an actual radiator, and with him smushed against your back you felt as if you were truly at home.

After a few seconds of his eyes evaluating the sight that he could see and you could not, it seemed that Ten appeared to accept it eventually too. Even with you practically stolen from his arms, he laughed it off, identifying that he could be perfectly comfortable laying into you rather the other way round.

With roles reversed, he slipped a hand up to your collarbone, resting his head just above the other, and seeking the opportunity to wrap one of his legs over yours, which was jutting out over the side of the sofa. Now you could see the room more clearly, and, with a tired laugh, you waved at Sicheng who was watching the borderline catastrophe with a confused but delighted grin on his features. There was a shade to his eyes though, something that you couldn’t quite place. 

Peering over Ten’s head, you could see Kun leaning against the doorway, smiling proudly, as if the whole thing had been his doing.

Though thinking back to Xuxi’s sudden, but most likely inevitable, surprise attack, it maybe had been.

“Hi…!” You waved at him too, leading him to chuckle.

“Hello,” he replied, “you look better already.”

And with a brief scrunch of his nose, he was pushing himself off the wall’s edge and heading into the kitchen. 

You pressed your chin into the crown of Ten’s hair, smiling tightly as quiet settled over the room.

You loved all of them, you honestly did, and you would never do without their bickering and yelling and screeching laughter. But it was relieving to hear peace every once in a while, with the only sound being the sound of steadied breaths—two pairs of which had become more-or-less synonymous with your own. 

“You sure you don’t want to join us, Chengie?”

It was Xuxi that spoke.

You could have bet a million with certainty that it would be him that broke the silence. Man could never stay quiet for long, which was often one of the most endearing parts about him, as it often led him to some extraordinary lengths to find something, anything to say, crafting absolutely wonderful results. A lot of what Xuxi had to say ended up being enshrined as legendary tales that got passed down the long line of units until everyone had heard some form of what he’d said, and if not, they were plastered all over social media at the very least. At least half of them were your doing as well, in the sense that you were the prime messenger, relaying it to Johnny when you next video called him just to hear him one-up your story with one that originated from Mark, or Jungwoo whenever he visited.

The thought of how long he’d been missing for washed over you like sinking into a silent lake. He was back now, and you had been elated when you’d heard the news, waking up to a call from a no doubt bleary-eyed Jungwoo. But the pain of the near radio-silence at some points or his hiatus had been particularly tough to bear. And you hadn’t been the only one suffering.

You glanced back as best you could to the man who had spoken, his words on this occasion unfortunately not sparking much interest, as you waited for a response.

“No.” Sicheng shook his head once, voice neither amused nor melancholic, continuing, “But thank you.”

“Oh, ok! More space for us!” Xuxi’s responses were always bright and cheerful. You felt your heart lurch at the memory of the few times when they hadn’t been.  

Meanwhile the man in question punctuated his words with another, tighter squeeze, which made you cry out in mildly strained laughter as you were brought back to the real world.

“Hey!”

“Dear lord…” Ten sighed, rolling his body-weight to allow his voice to carry into the kitchen. “Kun?!”

There were a few moments of silence, besides the sound of a knife meeting a chopping board from the kitchen. As you knocked your head back, Xuxi fingers digging into your sides, Ten proceeded, desperately trying to avoid your jolting legs, “When are the kids—ow!—when are the kids getting back?! Xu—xi!—is getting boisterous again!”

You freed one of your arms to poke your assailant’s side, making him jump and momentarily loosen his grip with a yelp—an opportunity you took without halt, shifting yourself out of his arms so you could tackle him head on. 

“Ten, play nice!” you asserted gently, catching Xuxi’s hands and pushing against them as hard as you could with a laugh. You knew that if he was genuinely trying he would own you in an instant but you appreciated his instincts telling him to go easy on you. At least for now.

“I could say the same about you, actually!” Ten huffed, curled up on the furthest corner of the sofa and feeling rather discarded. 

He watched the two of you wrestle, giggling through puffs of worn-out breaths, and couldn’t quite stop the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. He did find it endearing how you cared for the others, and how bouncy you could really get. 

Though it was clear to say you were quickly tiring, and couldn’t keep up the chase as much as was perhaps needed. And so, he came to the rescue.

“Y/N! I’m cooooold…!” Ten whined.

Just because he was second oldest didn’t mean he was above whinging to get what he wanted.

Regretting how you’d unceremoniously shoved Ten off you, and accidentally somewhat kicked him, and then forgotten about the poor guy, you just about managed to slink your hands out of Xuxi’s with a quick exhale, swiftly backing off and sweeping your hands out of his reach as he tried to catch them again.

“Xuxi, no,” you murmured very softly, as if you were talking to a puppy, which  to be honest it could be argued that you were, “Ten’s sad I gotta go.”

“Awh…”

“I’m also tired…”

“But what if I’m sad?”

Behold. There it was. The legendary Xuxi pout. Irresistible to those without prior training.

You shook your head, laying back to recline in Ten’s open arms. He immediately curled into you, cheek nuzzling your hair as he smiled victoriously.

Meanwhile Xuxi’s eyes widened further, glistening like clear gemstones in the evening light. 

You held out your own hands, inviting him to come to you, however. “You can come and cuddle again though.”

He accepted that point, albeit a little sulkily, as he leant down, placing his head in your lap and a hand in yours as he arranged his unimaginably large frame into a ball to fit on the sofa, with room to spare.

It always confused you how someone so big could be so small.

Both their grips were a little firmer once they’d reestablished them; Ten’s now warmer hand had found its place upon the bare skin below the hem of your shirt, shielding it from the chill of the room while simultaneously making your heart beat just that little bit quicker, and Xuxi’s rested neatly around your thigh.

You were comfortable though, at last.

.

.

.

The kids, as they had been dubbed, arrived not long after, just as the delicious scent of Kun’s famous cooking began to fill the whole room to the brim. They stepped into a delightfully warm house, the tips of their noses and clouds of their cheeks blushed pink from the cold outside, and immediately they were stripping themselves free of their coats, as the temperature difference made them feel too hot to cope.

You’d rested in peace upon the sofa, kept warm but not too much so between the combined body heat of Ten and Xuxi. Sicheng meanwhile had taken out his phone a while ago, occasionally showing you funny memes and pictures he found. You didn’t really understand some of them, and he had to explain them, but you enjoyed it nonetheless, even if that same shadow tinted his eyes again as he did it. 

As he entered the living room, Xiaojun regarded the sight of the three of you piled on the couch with curiosity to say the least, brows furrowing as he let the two behind him pass.

Yangyang barely scraped a glance at you, until he came back and saw it properly, smirking. “What is this?” 

“Y/N was feeling sad, so we had to come and cheer her up!” Xuxi jumped in, shifting his weight upwards so his head was resting upon your stomach and where he could just about see the new arrivals.

“By… piling on the sofa?” 

“What’s wrong Yangyang?” Ten snickered, before cooing, “Do you feel left out that I’m not babying you too?”

The youngest narrowed his eyes defiantly at the elder, who merely stuck his tongue out.

“Hey, you can join us if you want,” you interrupted cleanly, the wobble in your voice long gone. 

“Can I?!” Hendery called from behind the two stood in the walkway, slipping through to poke his head around Xiaojun where you could see him. His lips were curved into a tiny little smile, eyes wide and clear and glimmering in hope for a ‘yes’.

“Of course!” you replied, hand leaving Ten’s arm and beckoning both of them over. 

“I don’t think there’s any room,” Xiaojun remarked, exhaling amusedly as he hung up his bag round the banister, “you might have to take it in turns.”

At this, you felt both pairs of hands’ grips tighten, as if in reflex. 

“But...!” Xuxi stuttered in his defence. “But I’m—!”

Ten meanwhile snorted in disapproval. “No, I’m comfy. You’ll have to drag me off yourself.”

“Not sure that’s a wise idea,” Sicheng said, barely looking up from his phone, “you’re the lightest one here, you know.”

As the two chaotic forces glanced at one another, grins affirming their idea before snapping back to begin stepping over to the smallest link in the chain, Kun’s voice rose above them all. 

“Dinner’s ready! Come get it! The later you are, the less dumplings you get!” 

It was as if it was a survival zone, as everyone barrelled to the kitchen. 

Xuxi, no matter how loyal he could be, was always swayed by food, and so you had anticipated his sudden departure. However you could never have claimed to have expected the brief placement of his lips to the skin of your temple.

It was so quick and sudden and barely there that you couldn’t even begin to rationalise it. In fact, you only ended up conceiving that it hadn’t been a kiss at all. Perhaps it had never even been. You could have so easily imagined it, his lips grazing the air that surrounded you, muttering something instead. He could have so easily done, as you hadn’t really been listening. 

Either way he slipped out of your hands, leaving you wrapped in Ten’s arms.

He—not that you could see due to the angle you were resting at—sent a glare to the retreating man as he made his way to the kitchen. He couldn’t help but do it, and he stopped as soon as he realised his features had become twisted in such a way. 

He remained pressed against your back, unwilling to leave as he was not affected as severely by the thought of dinner, his hands remaining in their places in proof. 

“Can’t we stay here and eat dinner?” he mumbled against your ear.

“I don’t think Kun would ever allow that.” You giggled. “Not after last time.”

“You never know until you try…” Without much warning, Ten tilted his head towards where Hendery had just exited from and shouted, “Kun?! Can Y/N eat her food on the sofa?!”

The man’s response was immediate. “No! Definitely not—! Not after last time!”

“See,” you snorted, patting his knee in consolation, “told you.”

The man rolled his eyes, sitting up reluctantly with you following suit, as he stretched his arms and back. “Fine. Come on, let’s eat.”

.

.

Dinner was a ruckus, as usual.

You cram eight people around a table and it will always be noisy, but if you then make half of those people crackheads and the other half happy to allow them to be crackheads, then you’ve got yourself a table of absolute chaos.

With the conversation flitting every few seconds, words bouncing from one side of the room to the other to a rhythm of laughter, many would probably have arranged to sit in their rooms to eat but you would never dream of doing such a thing. 

Hearing the banter, weekly in-jokes and teasing was necessary, as it always lifted your spirits—as long as you weren’t upset at the time they picked on you. Luckily the previous cuddling had worked, and you were back to feeling ok, your problems not seeming so impossible anymore. 

However, ‘ok’ was not good enough for these guys, and you knew they wouldn’t leave you at just that. They’d already given you some of their own dumplings (except Xuxi who had kept his to himself with a muffled apology) to you. And besides, you had a promise to keep to the two youngest.

As soon as you spotted the natural lull in conversation, you piped up, “Hey, do you guys want to watch a film tonight?”

Your suggestion was met with a flourish of agreement, only that two faces also fell.

One tried to hide it somewhat valiantly, no doubt to protect you from feeling bad. The other didn’t possess the finesse for this as such, and more-or-less openly sulked at the dining table.

You looked at the two of them. “Ten? Xuxi?”

“SuperM,” Ten remarked, voice monotonous, “meeting on tour dates.”

You let out a small ‘ah’ in understanding. You attempted to look on the brighter side. “There’s always next week…!”

Xuxi nodded sadly, while Ten huffed, earning him a side-eye from Kun. 

“In my defence,” he began, holding up a finger to the eldest in a request for him to wait,  “they’ve worked out all the dates that don’t clash for us. It’s 127 they’re having trouble with, and the managers there can’t seem to do basic maths, because they’ve confirmed two lots of dates that don’t actually work. It must be driving Taeyong mad over in Korea.”

“Why do you need to be there, then?” Yangyang asked.

“We don’t,” Xuxi emphasised.

Ten sighed. “No, I think we do. Even if we’ve outlined our schedules a hundred times, we still need to be in the room while they set the dates, for legal reasons. It’s just irritating that we have to sit there for hours on end, barely able to do anything to help, and if we do have any suggestions, that a—jerk of a—what is he? A producer? Executive? I don’t even know—he won’t let us speak half the time, because of his strange superiority complex that basically means he won’t allow us to ever speak, the absolute f—”

“Ten.” Kun’s voice was hard as stone, his eyes carved into a warning stare. 

He sighed, standing and offering to take the others’ empty bowls and plates. “The point is, this shouldn’t be going on for any longer than it already has, and so tonight won’t be very peaceful, but it’ll be worse if we don’t leave soon.” As he leant over the table to collect your bowl, he whispered, “I’ll be here pretty much all tomorrow though. You?”

You nodded, eyes fallen at the sound of the mess he’d been drawn into. Everyone was so tired, him and Xuxi especially with their extra schedules, and so being dragged through that was only going to stress them out even more. They needed the movie night more than perhaps the others did. 

Noticing the downturn in the energy of the room, as well as how crestfallen you appeared to be at his plight, Ten offered you a wink in response. It took a lot of energy to try to slow the tempo of your heart after that.

Xuxi collected the remaining utensils in one hand, giving everyone a big wave with the other. “We will return!” he announced.

“What are you going to do?” Xiaojun enquired. “About the ‘guy’, I mean?”

Ten shrugged, tilting his head to the side melodramatically. “Guess if he tries anything this time, he’ll face the pure wrath of this bad bitch.”

“Ten!” you cried in faux shock, a gasp quilting the air. “What have we said about swearing in front of the child!”

Laughter erupted as everyone synchronously looked at Yangyang, who was sending you an exaggerated scowling pout. “Not cool Y/N! I’m not a child!”

“Oh yes that’s right, you’re not a child, Yangyang,” Kun interjected plainly, leading the table to hush as each person accepted his words as an instruction to quieten.

Except everyone was wrong. 

Kun glanced at you with a surprisingly sly smile, and then at Ten, then round the entire table, before looking Yangyang dead in the eye, and uttering the words, “You’re baby.”

A plume of cheers erupted round the room as Hendery shrieked with laughter, Xuxi dropping a spoon out of pure joy, leaving Yangyang to merely accept his fate as burned.

.

.

.

You bid both Ten and Xuxi farewell from your place in the armchair closest to the kitchen, soon enough hearing them slip out of the backdoor and into the night. But you barely caught Kun as he seemed to follow them.

After performing a near-comical double-take, mind ticking and realising that the person who had silently swept through in their wake was Kun, you very nearly leapt into the kitchen, the clunk of a car door slam piercing the darkness as your eyes searched for the leader. 

“Kun?”

The man jumped nearly out of his skin, just outside in the cold, halting his motion to shut the door as you poked your head into sight. “Oh, Y/N. Is everything ok?”

You nodded, humming. As you stepped forward, you pulled your shirt further up to your chin to try and retain some heat so as to combat the flurry of new, cold air. “Where are you going?”

His eyes were transfixed upon your face, not that you could make that out in the dim light. All while he could distinguish yours much more clearly, the chalk platter face of the moon granting you a celestial glow from where it rose above the neighbouring buildings. “Oh, giving them a lift, so they don’t have to walk, since it’s so dark out,” he sheepishly apologised, “I should have mentioned it, sorry. But you can start the film without me, I don’t mind!”

“Oh, ok,” you mumbled. You had been about to say you’d make sure everyone waited for him, as you were aware the drive wouldn’t be long, but his words had stopped you in your tracks. 

There was no way for him to avoid the dip in the glimmer of your eyes at what he had said, but he couldn’t push his departure any longer. “I’ll see you in a bit, Y/N. I promise I won’t be long.”

You tried to lift your arms in time to request that hug he owed you, but the door had closed before he could have accepted. 

You couldn’t help but wallow a little bit in your thoughts for a moment. You’d wanted to have as many people in as possible, as those were always the best times. And you understood you couldn’t have Ten and Xuxi, so why couldn’t you have Kun to make up for it…?

He was helping them, however, and going by how freezing it was out there, you had to acknowledge you would have scolded him for not offering to drive them the pretty long distance to the executive building somewhat on the other side of town. It made you kind of hypocritical, and you couldn’t quite shake that thought off.

At that moment, there was a slosh of water that made your ears prick up, leading you to turn towards the sink.

You hadn’t even noticed Xiaojun there, doing the washing up as he’d been elected to by Kun as he left the table. You felt bad for a bit but it was surprisingly dark in the room, and in your defence, he’d been basically silent the entire time. 

“You alright, Y/N?” he enquired, adding more hot water to the bowl.

“I could ask the same about you?” you glanced around the room, looking for the lightswitch. “Has the bulb gone again?”

“No, the light’s fine.”

“Oh, well…” You made your way over to the switch.

“Don’t turn it on,” he announced, tipping his head over his shoulder. The lights from the next room crystalised in his eyes, azure-gold and tracing a diamond upon his cheek. It illuminated the curve of his lips, as he spoke again, quieter this time, “Come here.”

You did what he asked, brushing his shoulder with yours as you came to his side.

You tried to meet his gaze, looking up to his face and drawing across his features, only to get distracted by the shine of his silver hair, tracing down his skin and curling round the shell of his ear so neatly. Plush lips parted as he spoke and you raised your eyes to meet his, only to have him turn away at the last second.

You were left with no choice but to follow where his stare was facing. 

“Look, out there,” he whispered, gently placing a plate at the bottom of the bowl.

You peered into the garden, dimly lit by the light from the living room dancing beyond you, the faint silver of the moon, next door’s garden light, and nothing more—the sky starless and as dark and thick as ink. You couldn’t see a single shape, or even determine the colour of the grass, and it disheartened you to have to explain it to Xiaojun, who was clearly much more excited than you were.

“Jun? I can’t see anything,” you murmured, but he hushed you suddenly, leaving you to slam your lips shut, heart pinched.

After a few seconds he spoke again, voice barely above a whisper, “We have to be really quiet. And no sudden movements. She’ll appear very soon, I know she will.”

You frowned, glancing through the dark window, confronted by the hazy grass of the garden meeting the grey tile of the patio, and then your own musty reflection as your eyes switched focus.

You couldn’t see much of Xiaojun in the glass, the shadow engulfing much of his mirrored-self. However, you could see one half of his face, shaded as if through clouds, his crown crudely lit like a halo from the auburn behind. 

A sigh very nearly left your lips as you stole another glance at his real face, his brow furrowing while his eyes narrowed into the darkness outside, teeth ever-so-slightly teasing his bottom lip as he peacefully waited.

It wasn’t fair how ethereal he was sometimes.

Suddenly he perked up, eyes widening, and leaning into you as he carefully pointed with a soap-sud painted finger into the black. “Look! There!”

You leant forward on the edge of the counter, eyes desperately scouring the garden until you spotted what he was waiting for.

A small bundle, tapered with jagged edges upon its top, snuffling through the shadows. A moment’s thought, and you finally put an understanding to the creature.

A tiny hedgehog, on the search for food.

As she came closer, you could just about make out the twitching of a nose, while she made a somewhat beeline for the fence on the left hand side of the garden. There you could just about make out a weathered blue pet-bowl, filled with some food of sorts.

“There she is,” Xiaojun sighed, whispering a laugh sheepishly. “I was beginning to worry there for a bit, I’ll be honest.”

A wide smile rose to your face, overtaken by the purity of an animal that small just... shuffling through the cold to find food which had been placed in the back garden—and just for her too.

“Did you…?”

“Yeah, the dog food was me,” he replied. “She only comes when it’s quiet here, which isn’t often but it does happen after dinner, as the others get quiet. That’s why I offer to do the work here, so I can check up on her.”

You couldn’t glance away from the hedgehog, especially when she finally reached the bowl and began to tuck in. Though it was in the shade and it was very hard to see anything besides the bowl by that point, made to stand out against the night by the brightness of its sides.

“She’ll eat it all no doubt, she didn’t come yesterday. Unless she has somewhere else and is just running rings around me,” he chuckled, picking up the plate. 

“Why didn’t she turn up?” you asked, wrenching your eyes away to look at Xiaojun again.

The corners of his eyes rose as he wrinkled his nose briefly. “Xuxi’s euphoria last night?” 

You stood confused for a second, trying to retrace your memory, until you finally struck gold. “Oh yea! Jungwoo’s message! I think it was everyone’s euphoria to be honest,” you sighed, laughter at how over-the-top-bubbly Xuxi had been at the sight of his groupmate just texting him ‘hello’ dwindling, “I’d been worried sick about him. No matter how many times anyone assured me he was ok, I knew I wouldn’t settle until I heard it from him himself.”

“It’s alright, I understand that. And I’m pretty sure the others do too.”

As your eyes fell, remembering the anxiety you had about his condition, Xiaojun’s finally settled back on you. 

“You’re extremely kind Y/N, you almost care too much,” he said, “I know Jungwoo can’t wait to see you again, too.”

You finally met his gaze, letting a small smile rise to your lips as you did so. He was just so beautiful, you couldn’t actually look away even if by some bizarre curse you wanted to.

“Thank you, Junnie.”

“I mean it though, Y/N,” he insisted softly, eyes alight with a sudden certainty, “I worry sometimes you care too much about others, and though we appreciate it very much, I don’t…” His voice faltered, as if he’d spoken too much. “We don’t want you to hurt yourself in the process, and forget to care for yourself. We all love looking after you, but we also don’t want you to be hurt at all, if we can help it. So if something hurts you, let us know immediately, so we can support you… yeah?”

You nodded, swallowing as you felt your throat clench. His words were so kind—too kind. It made your heart wrench. Blinking quickly, you looked back into the garden, spotting the hedgehog making her way back to the hedgerow.

At that moment, a voice rose from the living room. “Y/N! What film do you want to watch?”

Somewhat grateful for the distraction, you felt the urge to cry dissipate as you took another glance at Xiaojun. He hadn’t looked away from you this time, it seemed, but you didn’t focus upon that for your own sanity. “I’d better go,” you said, “thank you for showing me the hedgehog. She’s really cute, I’m glad you feed her.”

“No problem, I’ll let you do it tomorrow, if you have time and would like to?”

“That sounds great!” You sent him a grin, covering any sadness you had felt a few moments before. Laying your hand on his shoulder for a second before you passed as a small farewell, you made your way to the living room to go help Yangyang. 

As you reached the archway though, you turned back around to ask one more thing, the thought suddenly preoccupying you to a stop. “Oh, Xiaojun?”

“Yes?” He finished washing a plate and placed it on the draining board, peering over his shoulder at you once again. 

“Does she have a name? The hedgehog?”

In the shadows of the kitchen, you thought you saw him falter, his lip waver in an attempt to formulate a sound, a shape, a word. Brash to the silence, you heard a stutter in his answer.

“Actually, no, I didn’t think... I just call her ‘hedgehog’.”

You spluttered at his seeming inhumanity. How could he possibly not name the poor little thing?

Your disappointment in him was obvious too, and so he hastily added, “Maybe you could come up with one?”

You reasoned with the suggestion, but it didn’t take long before you responded happily with a nod. “I’ll see what I can come up with. See you in a bit!” 

After you left the room, however, he let out a sigh of relief.

He was glad you’d fallen for that excuse, especially since it was so far from the truth. The first thing that he had done, once he realised the hedgehog was a regular, was give her a name. And since she was adorable, with her little nose and love for food, he decided to name her after the first adorable thing he thought of.

He hadn’t foreseen the issue that would occur if he showed her to the person of which he’d secretly named the hedgehog after. 

.

.

.

You spun round the door-frame, willing your thoughts to clear and dissipate. You clapped your hands against your cheeks to try and cool them from the raging pink they had flushed from your previous conversation. Being so close to him had hit a nerve within you somewhere, though what it was, you couldn’t quite comprehend. 

As you passed through, Hendery slipped round the other corner and collided into you.

His sudden appearance made you jump, a rather pathetic yelp uttered past your lips as you quickly found yourself losing your balance after an effort to haphazardly make distance between the sudden newcomer.

Luckily for you, Hendery’s reactions were faster than your falling. He grasped your shoulder firmly, though in such a manner it made you wonder if he wanted to touch you at all—you were at arm's length, his fingers fanned out to rest upon your shoulder blades, his touch barely there, yet very much present. 

You were quick to slot back onto your feet as you staggered to accommodate for his reflex. Only to push yourself further into his arms. You felt as if your luck couldn’t get any worse, face burning up once again as you almost butted Hendery’s head with your own. It was almost as if you were in some cliche skit where you had temporarily become a hapless staggering damsel for the day, and you weren’t going to have that for any longer.

You freed yourself from the sudden proximity with Hendery, refusing to make eye contact as you moved from staring at his exposed collarbone and instead the floor as you rooted yourself to it, folding your arms and huffing. 

He watched you attempt to reclaim your pride, exhaling in relief as you seemed to grow in confidence once again. He had to admit, he understood well that you’d had a bad day, but he couldn’t help but find it odd how flushed your soft cheeks were and how on edge you appeared.

Meanwhile, his face had been a picture, lips pursed into an ‘o’ of moderate horror as he’d almost knocked you to the ground, which then spread into a wide smile as he giggled sheepishly. His eyes were clear as glass, dark and glinting and rueful, as you finally worked up the courage to meet them again.

“Sorry Y/N!” he said, mischief lacing his words.

You scoffed, staring him down, though feeling more of a rush flood through your chest. “Y-yeah, you will be!”

He laughed at your response, quickly dropping the issue entirely. You were grateful for that, you didn’t want to admit that he’d spooked that much. “We need to choose a film, so… what one do you want to watch?”

“I don’t…” you shrugged, “I don’t really know.”

You were glad that you didn’t need to look at him now that he had shifted to your side. You could feel his stare on you however, and it made you want to shiver.

He nodded, interlinking his arm with yours. “Shall we go have a look, my lady?”

Before you could let any words slip through your lips in bemused amusement, he pulled himself closer to you, arm interlocking with yours, and then led you through to the corridor with the shelves stacked with movies.

Slipping through the archway, thanking any deities that were listening that there was no reason for Hendery to be able to hear the heightened tempo of your heart, you found Yangyang already there. He was squinting up at the top row as you reached the rack, fingers running across each box like a small child reading the letters of their first book.

Hendery extended his free arm towards the shelving, bowing his head, “Your moving pictures, my lady.”

You snorted, taking in the sight of the stockpile of films. He was always so extra. In fact, it made it hard for you to focus upon the selection, barely registering the fonts of the titles and colours of the boxes, as you were hit by a sudden spring of sentimentality. 

They’d been ordered alphabetically by title, and you remember the day starkly that you’d sat down with Xuxi to organise them. 

He wouldn’t have been your first choice to help order things, since his attention span normally lasted around that of a cocker spaniel with a new toy, but he’d been the only one in the house at the time, and he was the only one tall enough to reach the very top shelf regardless (you still didn’t understand why that top shelf had been installed and even being used, because if Xuxi wasn’t around—which did occur often due to his new schedules—then it was a real safety hazard to get a film down from there, seeing that no one else in the group managed to grow anywhere near 6″). 

On this occasion though, he’d been uncharacteristically focused, listening to your instructions carefully, his dazzling grin a sight to behold as he had cocked his head to one side whilst he thought—you could have seen the letters wafting across his thoughts as he counted them. He’d been very calm and rational, as if the bounce had been temporarily quelled, and he’d made jokes about how short everyone else was only a couple of times, too. 

In fact, he’d been a very big help, and the afternoon had also proved useful in the sense that you weren’t the only one with a better idea of where all the movies were. Even if they were organised well, the two of you could still find them faster than the others usually could, simply due to the fact you could remember where you’d placed them on the shelves in the first place. 

Kun had been extremely happy with the end result as well, which was always a bonus. Meanwhile Ten still didn’t believe you’d managed to get Xuxi to sit down and do it with you. You didn’t blame his disbelief. You could barely believe it yourself. But there he had been, clear as day, settling himself on the carpet without you even inclining to ask him to.

However, you did admonish the system you’d used now though. Perhaps taking the extra time to organise them into genres would have been better, as after all, you rarely knew a specific movie you wanted to watch.

You suddenly became very aware of Hendery’s presence. He’d inched forwards, his lips pursing out of the corner of your eye as he narrowed his sights on the possibilities for the night.

His movement had snapped you out of your thoughts, though it took a lot of effort to avoid getting caught upon the sight of his lips, beautifully curved and the perfect shade of rose—

You forced yourself to scour your eyes over the titles, eventually straightening to join Yangyang in peering up at the very top row, where the box-sets were kept.

“Whatcha looking at?” you asked Yangyang, a giggle thinly veiled. His thoughtful little frown was adorable, and it was clear he was thinking very hard about something.

“Did we watch the final part of The Lord of the Rings?” he answered.

You and Hendery both nodded. 

“Oh... well there goes that suggestion then.” He shifted down from tiptoe and came to lean against the table beside the shelving, sending you a sweet smile. “Y/N, what type of movie would you like?”

Eased, you sent him a quick smile before glancing down at the films at the lower rungs. “I’m not sure, really. Nothing too heavy, and nothing that will make me cry.”

He hummed. “So, a comedy then?”

Hendery’s eyes went wide, a look of genuine fear playing on his features. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Our senses of humour in this house, when it comes to films can…” he paused, silk voice tentative, “…vary, a lot.”

You nodded in agreement. “Remember what happened over that Robin Hood film?” You shook your head very firmly. “Bad times, my dudes.” 

Yangyang cocked his head to one side in thought, frowning at seemingly nothing. “Fair enough…” Suddenly, he perked up, showing a grin you knew well. “I’ve had an idea. What if we watch a really bad movie, one that’s so bad, it’s actually kind of good?”

You clicked your fingers, before shooting him finger-guns, “Now that is a good idea!”

The three of you turned towards the mountain of films. It wasn’t long before your attention was drawn from them once again, as Hendery gently lent upon your shoulder, letting his fingers just brush the jumper at your shoulder. Once again you were convinced he wasn’t perhaps focused on the films.

“Ok… bad… films…” Yangyang murmured, pulling out a blue box to read its description on the back. You didn’t even gather what he’d picked out, as your eyes had been drawn back to Hendery’s as if magnetised. 

As it turned out, he was a lot closer than you had previously thought. This time, it was his eyes that formulated the centre of gravity, and you immediately found yourself held in them, glistening mahogany so dark the tints stowed away in the shadows of the curtains of his fringe.

You sent him a smile, awkward and most likely faltering out of no reason other than mild shock at just how well poised his features could be, enquiring with a stutter, “Do you have any ideas?”

He smushed his lips together, as he usually did when he was thinking, something of which that always made your heart simper, and let his eyes wander away from you and up to the penultimate top shelf. 

“’Azure Shadow’?” he said, reaching up and grabbing the box, his arm shifting lending his hand to consequently rest around the curve of your shoulder, fingers grasping ever so tenderly as if you were an artifact he wasn’t supposed to touch. You couldn’t help but freeze up at it, all while he didn’t even seem to notice, his voice as clear as a cloudless, spring day sky. “I heard it was pretty bad—hey The CP Times gave it 4 stars!”

Yangyang pointed victoriously, as he quickly realised a point he’d made long ago was now finally proven. “See! I told you guys you should never trust the CP Times!”

You were grateful for his interruption, as it drew potential attention away from you, stuck in your emotionally stumbling mess. You felt his grip tighten lightly, fingertips rubbing ever so slightly against your shoulder blade as laughter seeped into Hendery’s voice. “What? What problem do you have with the CP Times? I…?”

“Oh come off it, Hendery, you know! That awful article they posted about—!”

“Oh…! I see where your allegiances lie, Yangyang the Traitor!”

“I—what does that mean?!”

“They published a lovely one about my favourite—”

The hand finally left you, your shoulder falling into the grips of a surprising cold, but your mind began to pull itself finally out of its trance. 

“And? They were horrible to mine!”

“They didn’t mention her though!”

To be frank, you had no clue what their little squabble was about, and it didn’t help that they kept interrupting one another. You shivered as you regained your sensibility, tiptoeing forward to urge yourself to enter the fray.

“Exactly!”

“She was on hiatus at the time!” Hendery countered, eyes bright in contrast to Yangyang’s wilder ones. “You’re just too in love with her, that’s what.”

Yangyang had no words for that. His mouth hung open like a guppy fish, as he scrambled for something to retort back. But he was panicked, and it showed on his face, as colour seemed to simultaneously drain from it but also rush to his cheeks. 

“I am not in love with her?!” Yangyang was scowling, his voice jagged and incredulous and harsh. You winced at the unexpected sound, leading his eyes to quickly flicker to you. Any strength that had once been in them vanished before your own, as all fighting energy left his body limper. His voice was much quieter as he echoed himself, glancing away from you and staring at the floor instead,  “I am not in love with her…” 

All the while Hendery just laughed it off, as if everything that had just happened had been a ruse to rile the youngest up all along. “Yeah, yeah, of course. I got you.”

You decided it would be wise to intervene before their bickering ended in a tussle again.  

“Well… maybe this film isn’t bad enough,” you remarked, earning a nod from Hendery and leading him to put it back on the shelf.

Yangyang remained silent for a while, even as Hendery suggested some other movies. His gaze was uncharacteristically vacant, while his presence had grown rather small.

You wanted to go over to him, to make sure he was ok, but there were many contradicting messages going on in the room, and you couldn’t really tell if it was that serious or not. One was behaving as if it was, the other as if it was not. Besides, Yangyang was neither super cuddly nor super solitary, so it was more of a case by case thing as to whether he wanted attention to help him calm down and cheer up or not.

“What about ‘The Man of Blade’?” he measured suddenly out of the blue, scoffing weakly as he retrieved it, “this one doesn’t even show its ratings, it must be awful!”

You skipped over to him, now given an inclination that he wanted to socialise. You really didn’t want to leave him, even if you didn’t know what the hell had just happened. And so you took hearing him talk as an invitation for you.

Placing your hand on his shoulder, you ducked your head in carefully. You wanted to see the description, but you also wanted to offer him some comfort, thus your cheek just barely brushed the cloth of his hoodie.

You had expected Yangyang to read it out, but feeling him shift his weight, perhaps just to accommodate for you, but you expected it was more out of sudden nerves, so you decided to take the role up instead.

As you cleared your throat in order to begin reading it dramatically to keep Hendery on side, Yangyang turned the box at an angle so you could read it better. You snuck a glimpse at him, to find a smile already filtering back onto his face. The signs of there being no lasting impact boosted your confidence as you found courage in reaching success.

“’A man makes a wish to a genie’,” you began, the corners of your mouth twitching already as you attempted to keep your tone serious, “‘to become the most powerful man to ever live so he could face God in a one-to-one’ battle to the death—”

“I’m sorry what?” Yangyang was back in business, ripples of his laughter seeping through his chest to where you could feel it, lending you further chance to rest your head fully against his shoulder. 

All the while Hendery merely laughed.

You tried to hold it together. “—a-and restore not only his pride but his… his…”

“Oh no, what?” 

Laughter bubbled in your throat as you forced the final sentence from your lips. “His valiant steed’s honour—yo, what the actual—?!”

Yangyang cackled as he began hastily opening the box. “It’s decided! We’re watching ‘The Man of Blade’! And we can all suffer together!”

Hendery snickered, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but why the hell is that even here?! Who bought it?”

“It must be a present?” you insisted. “Surely! No one in this house would buy this in their right mind otherwise—”

“I bought it.”

Three heads simultaneously whipped in the direction of the living room. 

There, standing in the archway, was Sicheng.

A moment of silence passed as the three of you stared at him, mouths agape and words lost, until you exclaimed, in more fear than you had perhaps originally anticipated, “Chengie, no!”

“Look,” he projected, before the other two could add to the confusion, “it was supposed to be dumb gift for Ten, something that I could hide his actual present behind, and so I decided to hide it plain sight until his birthday.”

A chorus arose. “Ohhh.”

“But, does that mean we can’t use it then?” Hendery questioned. 

“Oh, yeah, damn,” Yangyang said, closing the box, “it’s ok Sicheng, we’ll put it back.”

“Actually,” you began, eyes flickering from each man, and finally resting on the box, “Ten isn’t here, so as long as no one tells…”

“We can still watch it!” Hendery finished, clapping his hands and motioning for the box. “Let’s start it up, I want to see the menu page!”

As the two fought over who got to put the disc in the player, their squabbling much more harmless this time, you made a mental note to ask someone about the debacle later, turning your attention currently to Sicheng instead.

His eyes, dark caramel and hidden from the light, were down-turned and avoiding your gaze. They seemed to graze across your cheeks instead, flickering up to your own only occasionally.

You offered him a smile, small and soft, and then walked over to him. “Hey, thanks for the film! It sounds perfect for tonight.”

“It’s no problem, I’m curious to watch it too,” he grinned back, before easing you out of the way of the two bundles of energy that bounded through into the living room, “I really hope it’s as bad as it sounds.”

“Oh it’s got to be!” you assured, feeling warmth settle back into your system, slowly, but surely, as you laughed. Relief felt good after all. “Come on, Chengie, help me get some snacks?”

“Of course.” He stepped backwards, letting you past to lead the way. 

Back in the kitchen, you began to scavenge for all the food you could find, layering Sicheng’s arms with bags upon bags of snacks. You weren’t exactly paying attention to the number you’d piled, however, until you swung all the cupboards closed and aimed to place a final packet on top, only to find that you’d crafted a tiny mountain, and Sicheng’s face was practically completely obscured by its silhouette.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry Chengie, I didn’t notice how much…”

“It’s alright,” he answered brightly, peeking carefully round the precarious pile, “I got it!”

His smile was glimmeringly bright, and you couldn’t help but be stunned by it, since a bright smile like that wasn’t exactly common for him, even in the dorms. He stepped forward carefully to request the final snack be crowned upon the summit above his eyeline, and with caution, you obliged, balancing it on top as best you could.

“Now all we have to do is get you into the living room without dropping them—are you sure you don’t want me to take half? It’s not hard at all for me to do so…!”

He turned so he could see you. “It’s ok, you’re already doing too much by organising this. I can carry a pile of snacks, don't worry! Just… warn me if I get too close to an obstacle.”

You nodded, peering over his shoulder to see his way. “I can try and do that. I can promise I can help you avoid a chair, but I must warn you Sicheng, I can’t guarantee I can help you avoid other ones such as Hendery and Yangyang.”

You heard a laugh from behind the snack pillar, and felt your heart leap with pride as a response. It wasn’t that Sicheng was boring—no, far from it—it was just he wasn’t on the verge of being a giggling mess all the time like the others were. You’d guessed it came with maturity. Then you remembered how much of a dork some of the older members could be in general, and then admitted to yourself that you had to more or less discount that theory. 

“Moving obstacles are always the worst,” he agreed, shifting his hands slowly to keep a firmer grasp on the mountain as he turned to make his way back into the living room. “But I appreciate your effort nonetheless. You ready?”

You hummed in affirmation, and the two of you began your careful trundle into the living room.

.

.

.

With snacks arranged on the coffee table, you slumped on the sofa, taking care to mind your feet as you went—you didn’t want to knock all your hard work on the carpet, as then you would have to vacuum it all up and unless you had someone to make the pain more bearable, it wasn’t fun in the slightest. 

You watched as Hendery emerged victorious over the disc and scampered over to the TV, fiddling with the DVD player.

Yangyang, pouting from the sidelines, perked up once he realised that he now had a crucial advantage. 

He bounded over to you, barely choosing a side and instead practically flung himself onto the sofa too. He threw his arms open to encase you as he went, and once his back hit the cushions, he pulled you into him. 

Shrieking in surprise and glee, you shuffled yourself round so you could rest your head more comfortably on his chest. 

“There,” he murmured proudly, a hand coming to pat your hair softly, “comfy?”

“Very.” Your voice was muffled against his hoodie. 

Hendery glanced back over his shoulder at the sight, and hurried himself. You couldn’t see, and even if you could have, you wouldn’t have been able to notice the brief pang that hit Hendery’s heart at the sight of you snuggled closely into his warmth.

You would have been able to witness Yangyang’s smirk that he sent him as he began to make his way over.

All of this knowledge of course was obsolete to you, as you could see nothing at all, enveloped in warmth and seeing nothing but darkness with your eyes closed, your ear pressed against Yangyang’s heart.

Its beat was wild.

Sicheng meanwhile took a seat where he had been previously, spinning the chair around so he would be able to see the screen.

You heard it creak and peaked out from beneath Yangyang’s arms to catch a glimpse of him.

“Hey,” you called softly, causing him to swivel a bit further round to see you, “you sure you don’t want to come sit over here? It’s comfier than that desk chair.”

“But it is a spinny ch—” You hushed Yangyang before he could finish. 

Sicheng smiled, the dim in his eyes growing as he shook his head. “No, it’s ok, I’m good here.”

“You sure?” You couldn’t deny it to yourself: you really did want him to sit over there with you. You didn’t know why, or what you wanted to do with him had he come over when you beckoned, because he wouldn’t have been comfortably with you draped over him in any shape or form, which you respected, but you also wanted to touch him in some way. You hated seeing that grey hue in his eyes that forced him to turn them away from you, you reasoned.

There was probably something more to it all too, but as per usual, your ramblings were interrupted by his response.

It was a nod, and the very gradual spin of his chair as he pushed himself back to face the TV subtly.

You tried not to take it personally, but you couldn’t hide the falter in your smile. It was hard to get all your feelings together sometimes after all.

Yangyang couldn’t quite see it at his angle, but Hendery could, and it led to him pouting at you as he waddled over.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft, as if he didn’t want the others to hear. You were thankful for that, if it was the case, as it wasn't that big of an issue, and you didn’t want to worry anyone else.

“I’m ok, don’t worry!” you declared. “Just tired, is all.” 

Your response had been too fast, and it was just your luck that of course both Hendery and now Yangyang had noticed. You cursed your accidental volume, sending them both an eye roll as you played it down. 

“It’s been a real long day, but you guys worry too much,” you jested, poking the arm beside your head. 

You received a little huff from above you in a wordless reply, whilst Hendery quickly settled down beside you, inclining into your sloped body as he held your hand tightly, fingers laced with your own. They were a little clammy but then again so were yours, and you never cared.

‘Attention whore,’ you thought to yourself, a chuckle seeping into reality. Yangyang frowned at the random burst of humour, since no one had done anything as you did. He wondered what was going in your head. It was a merciless thing to chase, since no one would know, and he’d never really understand—that’s kind of how brains worked after all—but he loved hearing what you had to say about everything. He shifted his weight to bring you just a little bit closer, as if it would make a difference, let him understand why you were laughing.

He didn’t have long to consider much at all, with the film menu loading up and sending everyone in the room into a bout of horrified laughter.

“What even is that?!” Yangyang yelled above you.

“That, dear Yangyang, is an actual, colourised depiction of hell,” you countered, lips twisted in terror as you sat up instinctively. Yangyang too was tense—it was as if the atrocity had immediately set off fight-or-flight responses of every single person in the room. 

Hendery flicked his head over to you. “In the shape of a horse?!” 

“It’s never going to leave my head,” Sicheng murmured. “There it is. Emblazoned into the insides of my skull. Behind my eyes. I’ll never escape it. Set me free from this torment—”

“What’s going on?”

Xiaojun had come through from the kitchen, drying his hands on a tea towel and striding through into the living room as if he’d been summoned. 

Everyone silently and simultaneously pointed at the TV, depicting the single-shot menu screen of an abominable CGI horse crowding the entire screen.

“I don’t—mother of sweet jesus—” 

“I know right?” Yangyang exclaimed. “It’s horrifying. I hate it!”

“It’s actually cursed,” Xiaojun stated, unable to draw his eyes away from the savagery of art he’d been presented with. His mouth was agape as he leant on his hands, placed on the back of the sofa. “Obscene!”

Winwin’s voice was still low, but you could just about hear it over the whoops and cries of the others; “My sleep paralysis demon.”

“Is this what we’re watching?” Xiaojun asked, deep eyes wide and begging for the answer to be any cognate of ‘no’.

“Yep.”

He turned to look down to you, his expression torn in misery. “This crime to humanity?”

“One hundred percent.”

Xiaojun stared at the screen, eyes alight with the tacky flames of the anathema displayed before him. Eventually he snapped out of his cursed gaze and headed back into the kitchen. “Dear lord—don’t start without me!”

As the laughter died down, you settled back into Yangyang’s embrace, ushering Hendery to come closer too so you could have him near too.

He looked over to you, feeling the tug on his hand. With only a momentary pause to check if you were sure, he flopped down onto your stomach, exhaling happily with an arm stretched.

“You feel happier now, right Y/N?” Yangyang suddenly asked, voice low, and just below a whisper. 

You were surprised, but nodded nonetheless. “Yeah, I’m feeling much better than I did before. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” He cleared his throat, shifting his balance to support the extra wait Hendery brought to the table. “You’re certain we don’t need to enact special measures?”

You frowned, tilting your head up to come to look at his jaw, as he quickly looked back up to somewhere else in the room—or at least, anywhere besides the TV, for clearly very rational reasons. Bemusedly, you asked about his supposed ‘special measures’, but won little response. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, before he glanced down at you, eyes flickering across each paradigm of your face with his lips pressed plush as he thought. 

He parted them eventually, ebbing with air and possible words, until you felt the rise of his chest as he inhaled and readied himself to speak.

Only then did Xiaojun enter the room and take the final spot at the end of the sofa, patting Hendery’s legs to get them to move. 

“Ok, I’m back, we can start now!” he announced.

The ball of conversation was knocked from its ledge and rolled in a different direction to what you’d hoped. 

“Who has the remotes?” Hendery piped up, feet repositioned but this time on top of Xiaojun’s legs. The elder of the two wasn't impressed by it all though, and instead shoved them off by flicking his toes. 

“I do,” Sicheng replied, already frowning at the buttons. “Can someone get the lights?”

“Sure.”

Yangyang stretched up behind him, hand awkwardly sliding up the wall as he sought for the switch. Eventually his fingers struck gold, and the room snapped dark.

And then the menu finally disappeared as the horror of a film began. 

.

.

.

And by no surprises, it was utter garbage. 

But it lived up to expectations in that sense, and it was thus absolutely hilarious.

You’d spent the first hour shrieking with laughter, and then you proceeded to tear each scene and every piece of dialogue apart as a five-piece.

The entire film was in itself a curse, a sin, blasphemous.

Hendery was slapping criticism on the plot left, right and centre to the point it made you wonder why he was here at all and not a movie critic. Meanwhile, Xiaojun just snorted at everything he said.

The two had come to an unspoken truce, after squabbling over where Hendery could put his feet. They were now situated on Xiaojun’s thighs, and swinging every now and again, especially when the owner got particularly pent up and passionate about a piece of dialogue or plot hole. 

You felt your heart burn at how adorable it was, though also suffered the pain of the jerks that Hendery made every time he had the sole of his feet poked or tickled, which Xiaojun seemed to enjoy doing too much.

You stroked Hendery’s hair gently, lightly pressing his fringe out of his eyes where his head rested on your stomach, whilst you peered around to Sicheng to check if he was alright, having not heard a peep from him in half an hour or so.

What you found was borderline horrifying. He was completely engrossed in the movie, with a  grin plastered on his face as the lights of the terrible CGI glowed in his irises and fashioned him into a cult leader in a fantasy movie, watching something demonic burn.

You hushed a chuckle behind your hand, as you leant back to turn your attention to Yangyang. 

He’d been the forerunner of the jokes, cackling at every little thing and turning it into pure comedy gold for the rest of the people in the room, which you were very grateful for. The movie would have been brain-soup without him.

He’d re-positioned himself slightly so you were higher up on his body, head much closer to be of an equal height to his. This way you could press your temple against his cheek, if you wanted. 

However, it was him that had his head nuzzled against you, his cheek resting in your hair. 

He eventually quietened down as he grew more drowsy, instead taking in the scent of you, sweet and calming. It only lulled him into more peace. 

With you in his arms he felt complete, in a way. As if he had a duty of sorts and when you were there he was completing it. Not that he’d ever tell you as such.

But he wasn’t sure what this meant to him, and he didn’t want to think about it too much.

A part of him deep down knew that it would cause some pain, somewhere along the line. And so he didn’t spare those thoughts the chance. 

However, he couldn’t still the beating of his heart whenever you moved against him, whenever you looked at him and smiled.

As the credits rolled, there were several sighs of relief, but otherwise it was complete utter silence as the room tried to comprehend what abomination you’d just witnessed.

You glanced over at everyone to see if they were just as confused as you were. Seeing you were in firm company in your bemusement, you announced, “The Oscars are clearly rigged for this not to win.”

Yangyang snorted. “Of course!”

“Best film ever! Y/N couldn’t make a better one even if she tried.”

Xiaojun flicked Hendery’s toe for that one.

“Oh of course, honey.” You leant over slightly, arms gently squeezing the boy in your lap, giving him a squeeze. “And you couldn’t make a worse one.”

Hendery seemed to take it as more of a compliment as he grinned, nose scrunching as he headbutted you softly.

You tickled his sides briefly, seeking joy in the squeal that it earnt you, and let Xiaojun take the fall as he got kicked in the arm. You sent him an apologetic pout, not that you deep down meant it wholeheartedly. 

“Ow! Y/N!” he exaggerated, “And to think I defended you!”

“Karma,” you responded simply, much to his chagrin.

“For what?!”

“For all the headbutts I got in the stomach?” you asserted

Xiaojun shrugged, admitting his faults and hence, defeat. “Yeah, that’s fair—” 

It was Sicheng that interrupted. “Oh.”

His voice was disappointed, and where his melancholy suddenly procured from confused you, since you couldn’t see any possible origin anywhere. Had someone done something? Said something to dismiss him? More likely ignored him. You hoped for the others’ sake they hadn’t. He’d been so sunny during the movie. 

You looked over to him, trying to veil your concern in its entirety, but still show care. “Chengie?”

“The time,” he said, holding up his phone.

It was nearly midnight. 

“How long was the movie?” Yangyang exclaimed.

Sicheng answered, “Longer than you’d expect.”

“Well over two hours?” Xiaojun suggested. “But that time included the credits.”

“Haven’t you guys got to be up like, stupid-early tomorrow?” you asked, voice timid, fearing the ‘yes’ that you knew would follow.

A moan of irritation ricocheted across the room. 

Xiaojun confirmed it for you. “Yeah, we do.”

“I don’t want to go…” Yangyang whined.

“I’m sorry but you gotta,” you encouraged sadly, “you need sleep.”

“And so do you,” Hendery added, kicking his legs off the sofa and stretching as he stood. 

It was your day off tomorrow, though you couldn’t deny you were pretty tired. You decided not to protest. “I guess so.”

“Yeah, come on, otherwise Kun will be mad at us,” Xiaojun chuckled, “not sending you to bed at a responsible time, you know.”

You snickered, slowly shifting yourself out of Yangyang’s arms. 

His hands seemed resistant to the idea, catching on your shirt as you moved away.

Eventually though, he was freed from any of the ‘constraints’ he had—and thus all of his possible excuses as to why he wouldn’t head upstairs too—and was ordered by you to head to his room. “Come on, Yangyang. You gotta go.”

He pouted at you, in a last bid attempt to get you to have mercy and stay just a bit longer.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, but I can withstand even the strongest Xuxi pout,” you explained. From behind you heard someone, the identity of which you could not tell, whisper that that was a lie, but you ignored it and continued, “I’m sorry, but you’ve still got some training to do before you can win me over like that,” 

“Yeah, ok, I’m going,” Yangyang reluctantly nodded his head, mumbling,  “Worth a try…”

Hendery followed second, waving to you as he went with that Prince Charming smile almost knocking you off-guard again. It hadn’t, but of course something else was going to succeed in its stead. That ‘something’ took the form of Xiaojun, bidding you goodnight with a chaste kiss on your cheek. You were startled to say the least, it had been so brief, but felt like it had also lasted for minutes. His lips were warm, soft, but you hadn't been able to hold onto much tangibility to them, as no sooner had they met your skin, they were whisked away again. Like the touch of a spirit, afraid of the rapidly rising sun. It seemed no one else noticed due to the darkness of the living room and the fact that most of them were already halfway up the stairs or gone.

You remained in the living room a bit after they went, pretending that you needed to stretch on the sofa for a bit before getting up. It was a lie, though, and you knew that well, and you felt your fingers tracing over the curves of the invisible imprint he’d left there.

“You need to head up too.”

Sicheng’s voice was light and airy, like the shadows had engulfed it. You barely heard him, but he made you jump nonetheless. With one hand at your kiss-embroidered cheek, you threw one down to your chest where you wished the weight of your hand would somehow slow the sudden spike in your heart rate.

“I know,” you assured just as quietly, “I’m just… taking my time.”

You could just about trace the lines of his smile in the dim light after he turned the TV off. His presence was faint, but what you could feel was warm and gentle.

He whispered something that this time you didn’t catch. But you felt the tethered urge to know what it was.

“Sicheng?”

“Don’t worry.”

You swallowed, knowing that you weren’t going to get it out of him, much to your disappointment. He had just said what sounded like a collection of random syllables, but together they had carried something heavy, something with depth, something that had been patient for quite a time.

He sighed, getting to his feet. You heard the crinkling of wrappers and the clatter of bowls as he began to tidy up. 

“Here, I’ll help,” you began.

But as you sat up, you felt a hand press firmly against your shoulder.

“There’s no need, it’s ok.”

You frowned into the dark. He wasn’t looking at you, which was why his voice sounded distant. You could make out his silhouette, broad and proportioned as if he was drawn. He was like an artist's unknown creation, stood in the background of their studio, overlooked by many but appreciated much more than any by the few that knew him.

You worked up the courage to enquire about the occurrences earlier. “Why wouldn’t you come over and sit with us? Like, during the movie or before.” Feeling intrusive, you hurriedly added: “I mean, I don’t mind of course, just… you know?”

That caused him to look at you, dead in the eye, but he remained silent for the longest time. 

You reasoned that maybe this was why he never made eye contact with you. Because when he did, it was like he was peering much deeper than just your eyes. His stare was the definition of eyes being the gateways to the soul. You briefly considered if this one worked both ways when he finally replied, eyes dipping away once again.

“I didn’t want to get in your way,” he cleared his throat, scooping up an unopened snack bag under an arm, “besides, you were already quite busy with the others, so… I didn’t want to overwhelm you with anything more.”

Your features softened at his words, a pang in your heart. “I appreciate that, Chengie. But please remember that you won’t overwhelm me or get in my way. I like hanging out with you just as much as the others.”

You could make out the smile on his face, small and sweet, before he ushered himself away towards the kitchen. “You need to head to bed, Y/N, you need some sleep.”

He was right, but you were convinced you weren’t going to leave until you got one thing. If you'd calculated everything right, he wouldn’t have a problem. In fact, it may just be what he specifically wanted.

You headed to the entrance into the kitchen and waited for Sicheng to come back. Upon his return, he almost bumped into you, but caught himself just in time.

Your eyes met in the darkness, lit by the streetlamp from outside the window far behind you. His hair glimmered with the golden haze, crowning him surreptitiously, as he wordlessly questioned why you were there.

“I know, I’m heading up I promise,” you answered for him. “But… I just... can I have a hug first? Please?”

With his lips pressed into a small ‘o’, he looked shocked by your request to say the least. You worried for a moment that you’d misjudged, and was asking for too much of him.

Before you could backtrack and hurriedly explain that it didn’t matter if he said no, you’d be fine and wouldn’t think any different of him, that delicately crafted yet stoic face melted right before your eyes into the softest smile you could have imagined. “Of course.”

The silhouettes of his hands rose in the dark, barely touching your body as he brushed them along the slopes of your shoulders. He was gentle, but they moved with a certain affirmity, as if they took a mind of their own, following an old familiar road throughout their long-left hometown.

You found your own fingers gracing his collarbones, before shifting up, your arms coming flush against his bare, smooth neck, and finally interlocking gradually behind him. Sicheng meanwhile rounded the curves of your upper arms, eventually spiralling around to make the jump to your waist, where they wasted no time in nestling into the nook of your lower back.

He held you delicately, but firmly against him. It was reassuring, despite the lack of time you spent there pressed into his warmth, as you felt your breath slow, and your eyes close.

He felt so… tender? Vulnerable? It felt like he really meant whatever he was trying to convey through his actions. You just felt at such a loss because you couldn’t figure out what it was.

As his head came to a gentle rest against yours, his hands secure at the small of your back tightening as if instinctively, it occurred to you awfully suddenly. 

It was if he was hugging you like he was never going to get the chance to do so again.

.

.

.

Once you’d reached your room, you’d breathed a sigh heavy with a boiling froth of emotions.

In a cruel sense of irony, chasing after comfort had only succeeded for so long, as you were drawn back into the realms of stress once again.

It was of course something you could handle, you imagined at least—you’d gotten through the day of hell, you imagined you could handle a cornucopia of thoughts. Though you had to admit to yourself that there was a lot of string to unravel. 

You couldn’t help but remember the thrum of your heart as Sicheng had placed his thumb against the cusp of your jaw while he gradually pulled himself away, encouraging you to go to bed. His palm had barely touched your neck, the contact was so brief it felt like the breath of a ghost, but you had found yourself barely able to use your lungs regardless.

For a brief moment there had been a light in his eyes, that despite the dark shone so brightly. And then he’d pulled himself away, and that grey from prior had returned, like clouds pushed by a November gale.

What did it mean?

Oh please. You knew, didn’t you? Deep down the understanding was there, not that you could perhaps believe it.

What you were rather dealing with was the question of what it meant to you.

You decided to watch Youtube for a while to calm yourself down a bit after… whatever had just happened, and consequently ended up staying up long enough for the others to return.

The sound of the door opening and the joyous cacophony of Xuxi’s laughter—instantly answered with incessant hushing from not just Ten but also synonymously Kun—reminded you of one of the no doubt many reasons why you were unable to settle.

Kun had promised to return quickly, but he had been gone all night.

You wanted to ask about it, desperately. However, this coincided with the fact it was very late indeed. And how comfortable you were in bed. But it was also going to drive you crazy all night if you didn’t find out why. Kun was a man of his word. He would never just… break a promise like that. Would he?

After a few minutes, once Ten and Xuxi had retired to their rooms, your disgruntled prayers were answered as Kun knocked on your door, face peaking through the gap.

You stared up at him, eyes big and expectant with your lips pursed. He had explaining to do after all. It appeared he was aware of this fact too, with guilt written over his face.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m sorry,” he began, “can I come in?”

You pretended to think about it for a few moments, even though you both knew the answer. He waited though, and it was only when you gave him a ‘yes’ did he come inside.

He sidled over to your bed, eyes sweeping the shapes formed by your bed covers, to make sure that when he eventually perched on the side, he didn’t accidentally sit on your feet interlocked beneath the blankets.

“I’m sorry, I promised I would come back but the other two swore it wouldn’t be long, and it would be more rational to stay,” he explained, “but then it took longer than they thought, but I couldn’t risk coming home only to then head out again and… I don’t know why I listened to Xuxi about it to be honest, it’s not an overly rational thing to do.”

“Did he pout at you?”

“No! I am above falling to such… charms…”

“Sure you are.” You arched an eyebrow. “Did Ten tell you to stay?”

He nodded, his eyes surprisingly big. He wasn’t really one to pull the ‘kicked-puppy’ image to try and gain mercy, but here he was.

“Well, I’ll let you off then,” you let the faux scowl fall from your face and giggled instead, “we know how persuasive he can be.”

Kun paused, eyes flitting to yours. “So you’re not mad?”

You scoffed. “Kun, I wasn’t even that mad to begin with, I promise! I can’t be mad at you for long anyhow. You’re just too—”

You’d let your mouth talk without your brain, and it suddenly occurred to you what you were saying. As your voice faltered, you weren’t sure what was supposed to follow. 

Kind? Sweet? Cute? Handsome? 

Kun was waiting for you to finish, and unfortunately, you panicked a bit.

“Kun.”

He frowned bemusedly. “I’m too ‘Kun’?”

You nodded awkwardly, while you interrogated your own intelligence in your head. “…To be mad at for long, yes.” 

He cocked his head to one side, eyes narrowed towards but not quite at your bedside table. “Well, I mean, I prefer that to you being mad at me.” He exhaled, clearly relieved, looking straight at you instead. “Did you enjoy the film?”

“Oh it was awful!” you exclaimed. As you saw his eyes widen again, you laughed. “We enjoyed it so much.”

He was clearly very confused, and his lips wavered as he didn’t know how to respond. 

You took some delight in his confusion, you couldn’t deny. “Well,” you propositioned coyly, “you’d understand if you’d been there.”

“I’m sorry!” he reiterated, eyes wide and searching yours for any sign of relent.

Normally, you would have perhaps kept up the teasing for a little while longer. However, sleep was lodged beneath your eyes, encouraging them to close. 

“Ok, I’m sorry, I’ll stop now,” you laughed, though you felt a little bit guilty and sighed, sending him a small sweet smile. It still, however, occurred to you that he still owed you. “But… there would be something that would make it all up to me—”

To your surprise, Kun interrupted you, already one step ahead, “I know. Here.”

He shuffled along the bed so he was much closer to your body, arms held out for you. And you didn’t hesitate, much to his gratitude, levering yourself up with a temporary, newfound energy and straight into his embrace.

His warmth enveloped you, strong hands holding your upper back firmly, gently pulling you even closer. He didn’t even hesitate, nestling his nose into your neck, much similar to how you’d buried yourself into him.

Tender and tranquil, Kun seeped solace no matter the mood of the room. Some would perhaps identify this as a negative, but they would be wrong—very much so. He was needed to balance everyone else’s volume, brashness, fire. And you probably had very much needed him all day. Things could not be changed however, and the world kept turning even if you had previously wished it to. You wished for it to stop turning this time too, although for different reasons. 

His fingers drew art upon your back, much to your soothed delight. It wasn’t something he did super often, but it was a characteristic of his: whenever someone needed comforting, he caressed characters into their back. They were often straight lines, as you’d found over the time you’d spent living with them, decorated with divots and curves.

His head tipped into yours, his voice a deep murmur, “I’ve been waiting hours to do this.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You couldn’t even help it, though you shook it off as best you could. You’d been all over the place that day, emotionally, so of course you were going to be reacting all fuzzily over general acts of kindness. Well, that’s what you told yourself. Besides, he was just stating facts.

However, you were distracted by a small epiphany that hit you somewhat out of the blue. The calligraphy he traced between your shoulder blades felt so foreign to you, and it took no shape you recognised. This wasn’t something new to you, admittedly. You’d felt these moments of tenderness before. And since you could assemble no familiarity, you normally led yourself to just move on. But with silence in the room, the pure stillness that so rarely occurred, you were able to pay a fresh attention to the patterns, to the weight of his hands. It occurred to you that his ministrations were not random. In fact, his fingers drew the same code into your shirt, over and over. It was a long line, three consecutive dots, another line—was it lipped?—horizontal, then swooping, then flat, finalised by two curves. And subsequently, it repeated. 

You had barely an idea of what it was, but whether your scrap of a theory was right or not didn’t matter to you, as you were curious and were going to ask him nonetheless. He still owed you, you rationalised

“Me too,” you finally answered, frowned absentmindedly into his shoulder as you asked, “Kun, are you drawing something?”

“Hm?” He paused, confused by your words out of context.

“Into my back.” You shifted your face further into his hoodie, as if to hide yourself. Though it would be from him, which was slightly counter-productive. “You often draw as you hold me.”

“Do I?” Quickly though, his tact moved away from feigning ignorance, as he sighed, “Oh, that. I’m not really drawing, it’s more writing, actually.”

“Oh?”

“I-I do it to the others too…! Whenever they really need it. Though I’ll admit that’s not often,” he explained, his fingers halting as he spoke, “It sounds odd but… well actually quite silly actually…” he laughed breathily, awkwardness seeping into the corners of his eyes as he peered down at you. It was rare for Kun to get this anxious. “I write Mandarin kind of… without realising it,” he finished, “it helps the others and gives them some familiarity I guess? I figured subconsciously, I suppose, that it would help you a bit too? I don’t know really.”

He seemed pretty worried about what you thought—groundless, as you found his habit extremely endearing, actually, to the point you felt your heart swell. “Kun, that’s so sweet! Is it always the same thing for everyone?”

“No,” he answered after a moment’s thought, “I think I kind of write a specific one for each, but I can’t be sure now I think about it. To be honest, I don’t really pay—”

Your curiosity was not sated, and unfortunately for Kun, you couldn’t stop your nosey self from asking the question that this prompted. “Really? What do you write for them?”

“Well, like I said I don’t really pay attention to what I’m doing,” he responded sheepishly, “but… Ten gets ‘strength’, I know that one for sure, because I feel that’s what he has more of than he realises. Sicheng would get ‘ān’—you know, calm, content—because he is, but I've never had the chance to, as you, well, you know why. Lucas is lucky, he gets two characters because he’s ‘puppy’—”

“Obviously.”

He continued with a laugh that reverberated through to your chest. “—A-and I couldn’t honestly tell you what the others get. One of them I gave ‘loud’ because I think that’s what he needs to work on but—”

“I thought Lucas was ‘puppy’?” you snickered.

“Yeah, well,” Kun trailed off, “maybe it was him… I don’t know, I can’t remember.”

You smiled, releasing one of your hands from behind him to nestle instead amongst his hoodie as it had grown cold. You took this moment to work up the courage to enquire about the part that you couldn’t deny your interest was invested in the most. “What… what about me?”

He pulled away from you gradually, his hands coming to rest upon your upper shoulders, so very close to the sensitive parts of your neck. He studied your face, his own twisting into an expression of concern. “You really need to sleep,” he said, “your eyes are constantly closing.”

You pursed your lips at him. What did he have to hide about it? Was it something rude? It better not have been. “Hey!”

He cocked his head to one side. “What? They are. And you’ve had a tough day, you really should get some sleep.”

It was evident that it wasn’t him deflecting or avoiding your question—tiredness had seeped so far into your body that your voice had been barely audible, especially muffled by his clothes.

Hence you acknowledged his remarks reluctantly with a lethargic nod, before shifting yourself out of his grip, billowing the blankets out so as to allow yourself to lie down beneath them. Kun had stood to allow you more space, thus letting you curl up to conserve warmth properly.

He gazed down at you with particularly softened features. It was only in the dim golden light that you noticed how rouge his lips were naturally tinted, and how they curved into a smile as they opened to speak. Or how soft his cheeks were, as a long, slender dimple appeared as he did.

“You got everything you need?” Voice as light as silk, he leant over to catch your eyes behind the bundled blanket. 

You affirmed with a simple nod, feeling your body give into the approaching heaviness. 

You were barely able to work up the effort to speak anymore. The tiredness swept over you suddenly, but you didn’t fight it. Your body was crying for sleep, and your mind very nearly relented. But there was one more thing you had to clear up in some capacity before he left.

“Wait, Kun.”

The man turned back swiftly from where he’d gotten, heading towards the door. “Yes, love?”

You hummed, working up the words. “Something happened while you were out.” Upon seeing his face turn stony in concern again you proceeded before he worried too much. “Nothing bad! Just… Hendery and Yangyang had a bit of a bicker earlier. Over a newspaper? The CP Times? I think? Hendery really seemed to have struck a nerve though.”

Kun nodded, eyebrows furrowing in familiarity. “What happened specifically?”

“Well,” you sighed, propping yourself up on your elbow, as if it would help you think any clearer in your dozy state, “I think it had posted something mean about someone. Or excluded them from something when Yangyang thought they should have been included?”

“Yeah, that’d be the one.” 

Confused, you frowned at him, silently requesting him to continue. 

Kun winced as he drew forward a bit, in fear that the person in question would overhear from down the hall, “The CP Times wrote an article about YFCN—you know, the girl group?”

“Ohhh…” you drawled, things clicking into place a bit more.

“Yeah, one of the members was on hiatus at the time because she was ill, if I remember correctly, but the journalist wrote as if everyone was present and basically ignored her existence entirely. Lili I think her name was?”

You hummed in confirmation, “Does he like Lili a lot?”

Kun waggled his head slightly. “I guess you could say he’s a fan. Why?”

You shrugged, sinking back down onto your pillow, your arm struggling to keep you upright for any longer. “Hendery teased him about liking her, and Yangyang just… got all red and exclaimed ‘I am not in love with her.’ It really did come out of nowhere—and he did back down into himself after. He was totally fine once it had passed, though.”

Glancing back over to Kun, you saw his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, his eyes narrowed in pained thought at instead your blankets. His energy seemed to drop and disperse, just as though he had something he needed to mull over. 

In fact he was suddenly thinking over what you’d told him very carefully. “Did he say it like you said it to me?”

Your eyes trailed away from him as you nodded, fiddling with the covers of your blankets. “Why, do you think he was lying?”

His head flicked up to you at hearing your interpretation. He couldn’t believe you had ignored the emphasis in Yangyang’s words; you were usually so in touch and intuitive with the group’s tones. He excused it though, and waved it off as nothing to further worry about—you’d had a long day, the intricacies of Yangyang’s secrets were not exactly your top priority that evening.

However, this did leave him with a dastardly tantalising opportunity. He could take control of part of the narrative. He could curb some of the risks, even manoeuvre himself into a better position. It disturbed him how big of a part of him actually wanted to seize the chance and bathe in the possible outcomes.

Luckily, his morality immediately crushed those considerations, coupled with a healthy dose of realism. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone, especially you. And that was not the sort of person he wanted to be. Ever. 

Meanwhile you had your own subtle pain to fret over. Its origins were difficult to distinguish, as they always appeared to be that day. If Yangyang had a crush on Lili then it made perfect sense. She was gorgeous and strong—you were familiar with her group’s music, and you could never say you didn’t approve of his choice. She was the lead rapper, and an absolute badass with her own neon-punk style that contrasted so drastically but also gelled so well with the others in her group. It was no surprise he liked her—hell, if you had to choose a bias yourself you would choose her—and so you shouldn’t have been surprised. And, in all degrees, you weren’t. 

No. Instead you were stuck with this uncomfortable pit in your stomach. A swollen stone that weighed just a bit too much for you to dismiss.

“I don’t know,” Kun finally finished, almost making you question yourself if he’d spoken without you even realising, caught up in your own head. He hadn’t, but it made you realise how correct he was in suggesting you go to sleep.

Watching your eyes anxiously wander about the room, he added hastily, “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. You know how weird those two are sometimes.”

You chuckled softly, and Kun found himself inclining towards you, just to catch a better glimpse of the beautiful sound; only for him to stop himself just before his movement became noticeable.

“Anyway,” he sheepishly started, never intending to ever finish.

You echoed him, before letting yourself take in his face one more time for the night. No matter where or what the lighting was, he was incredibly handsome. 

Settling into your pillow at last, your subconscious finally quelled itself, agreeing at last that it was maybe time to give into that small, tired voice that begged you for rest.

Kun was grateful you were calming down, and as soon as he spotted his relief he felt the fangs of guilt bit into his neck. He didn’t want to leave you in any distress, and so he wanted to stay with you for as long as possible. But he also had his own emotions that were now deciding to not remain in check. And he hated it, but he had to acknowledge that he inevitably needed to be left alone to have his epiphany, and motivate himself into a game plan.

He nodded absentmindedly, straightening up and heading for the lamp on your bedside table. As his fingers flipped the switch and the room was plunged into darkness save for the blade of silver from the hall, his brain stuttered.

He’d wanted to do something for a very long time, and this was the perfect opportunity to do it. In fact it would be a way to get ahead of everything, perhaps. And it wasn’t like there was no evidence for his wishes. You’d already been desperate for a hug from him and him specifically.

But it was if his words were stolen, his movements forced to a halt. 

Was it fair to do anything after all?

He wasn’t sure. 

And so the lights went out, and he felt his feet moving by themselves towards the doorway, arm outstretched instinctively towards the handle, but too early to catch it—away from where he truly wanted it. 

“Goodnight, Kun,” you called after him, watching his retreating silhouette carve a shadow in the light from the hall. He looked so tall and impending all the way over there. It was rare for him to be so tense—in fact, you couldn’t name a single instance where he was this pent up, and the other members could be a real hassle when they wanted to be.

As you began to worry in your sleep-deprived state for him, he reached the door and held it open. His head turned, and he stole a long, gradual glance into the darkness to take in a glimpse of your face. You already had your eyes half closed, cheeks sweet and squished against your pillow as you squinted over to him, waiting for his next move. You looked so adorable wrapped up and surrounded in warmth, and with your hair crowning you, gifting you a makeshift halo, your temple was left exposed and waiting.

But Kun, as he cursed himself numerous times in his head, was a coward.

“Goodnight, love.”

And with that he left the room, leaving the door ajar just how you liked it.

As he trundled to his room not far down the corridor, his knuckles reached up to his chin, and then his lips, where they rubbed uncomfortably hard. 

There would be another time. Surely? He prayed that there would be, and that it was him alone who got the opportunity. But he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. 

Hearing the click of a door from further down, he desperately slipped himself into his room, narrowly failing to avoid Ten’s omniscient eyes as he exited his bedroom.

He didn’t know where the younger was going, and he didn’t want to know, his brain was too preoccupied with other things.

Yet he knew that he knew too much. Ten knew everything. Kun didn’t have any proof, or know for sure, but he had a feeling that the guy thrived off knowledge, things he could perhaps perhaps spin.

No. That was too far. This was all just a strange bout of paranoia.

But he couldn’t deny his disbelief at how all the members never chose Ten as the member they were most afraid of on variety shows. Maybe it was the age dynamic. 

“And there’s no evidence to show that Ten would ever do anything low like that,” he murmured to himself as he closed his bedroom door, “pull yourself together, Kun.”

He let himself exhale all the air that had built up in his lungs.

The conversation overall for him had been around a solid 4 out of 10 in terms of success. Not ideal.

He guessed he had to count his blessings though, that you didn’t apprehend his deflection prior over the characters. The idiot he was. Tracing ‘love’ into your back without even realising.

He was entirely lovesick.

And now he knew he wasn’t the only one, too. Of course he wasn’t. Why he hadn’t realised it sooner was a real challenge to his personally-perceived trait of ‘aware’ that he often took pride in.

It was him, and Yangyang. But was it just those two? His thoughts flipped like a switch, as if the vintage slideshow in his head had changed and had confronted him with nothing more than the purely angelic moving picture of you. Giggling when he had bought you ice cream at the beach, eyes gazing wide up into the grey skies as you’d been caught in a downpour and huddled under his tiny umbrella, the peace upon your features that he had just witnessed. 

He had to come to the conclusion that it was most definitely not just him and Yangyang.

Xuxi? Of course. The kid couldn’t hide anything, and he had seen the way he stared at you 24/7. The optimist in him had just dismissed it because he didn’t want it to be true. There wasn’t a lot he had on the guy. It was purely down to your preference, as he lamented to himself, because there was no way he could compete with Xuxi’s face, his humour, his doting, puppy-love affection. 

The qualities Kun did have were somewhat echoed in Sicheng though, he decided. And was it him too? He was always willing to help you. And just because he kept to himself more… Kun resolved he couldn’t count him out.

And Xiaojun? God, he wasn’t sure, but would he explain to him what he named the hedgehog after? No.

The leader cursed under his breath. He was in trouble to say the least. 

Again, he questioned himself why he was so surprised. You’d been living with them for a while, for efficacy to begin with. And then you’d chosen to stay. It was practically inevitable that since he’d fallen so quick and hard that the others would obviously do so too.

He was left to establish Ten’s involvement, and the diagnostics were hardly in his favour there either.

As he contemplated everything, sitting on his bed with his phone discarded in his hands, the man in question meanwhile barely let himself look away from where the retreating shadow of his leader had stolen away to, so guilty-like. Ten’s gaze was only snatched away by the image of your passed-out face that he caught a peek of through the gap in the door. 

Your beauty glimmered in his mind, a fuzzy image hazed with holy pink. And then he was silently taking the stairs, his mind becoming stuck on the picture of Kun’s eyes that he’d briefly seen before his head ducked away, and now covered his thoughts of you. They were glazed over, his real priorities tucked elsewhere. And as he noted where he’d just come from, and the context for the entire day, it wasn’t difficult for Ten to connect the dots.

He knew.

~~~

AN: here it is. The final piece. look out for the coming Endings!

Also, all film names were randomly generated on a title generator. If they are actually the names of films then they weren’t intended to be.

Ending One - Kun Ending Two - Ten Ending Three - Sicheng Ending Four - Lucas Ending Five - Xiaojun Ending Six - Hendery  Ending Seven - Yangyang

Masterlist