#helped her bring them home and he's a regular visitor ever since that moment

[redfurrycat]

@nixie-deangel

Nix.... Is this young Jakey Mrs. Bradshaw's unofficial handyman....

GLEN POWELL Red Wing (2013)

[chaoticminhos]

chained

pairing: seo changbin x reader

genre: smut, halloween !!

warnings: home invasion

word count: 2.7k

a/n: happy halloween my babies!!! enjoy sex demon changbin :)

summary: bombarded with chain messages the night before halloween, y/n expects nothing but her friends being stupid, or maybe some practical joke. what she didn’t expect, however, was for the message to play up to its threats, landing her with a surprise visitor.

you rolled your eyes as the message flashed across your screen for the nth time in just that day alone. nearly a dozen of your friends, and even some people that you wouldn’t call more than an acquaintance, had forwarded the same long, obviously bullshit chain message to you.

“the veil will be thin this halloween. send this message to 10 of your friends to lock in your safety. if you ignore, something bad will happen halloween night.”

it was the same type of shit that got thrown around in middle school and the fact that people still believed these cheesy things was really diminishing your confidence in your college for letting them in.

completely ignoring the message jisung had sent before the chain message asking if you were going to a halloween party the next day, you clicked off your phone. if he made you deal with stupid messages, he could deal with being left on read.

you made your way to your bathroom, setting your phone on the sink and ridding yourself of your clothes. you stepped into the shower, wincing at the cold. curse the cheap apartment for never having enough hot water, but it’s all you could afford.

despite the water being less than warm, you took your time. living in the situation you did, you actually sort of got used to the cold showers, and even liked them sometimes. of course you still wished it wasn’t temperature roulette whenever you needed to take a shower, but at least cold showers weren’t the most terrible things in the world.

eventually, though, your toes started to stiffen and the cold became unbearable. maybe the water heater was more busted than usual or maybe you were just in a cold spell, but either way, you could only handle so much of the ice cold water. even when you semi-enjoy them, a cold shower is only soothing for so long.

you stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel securely around yourself, wrapping your hair in another to dry.

just as you bent down to pick up your dirty clothes from the floor, your phone buzzed on the ceramic of the bathroom counter. you reached for it, pressing the clothes from the floor against your body to hold the towel up with the other arm. unsurprisingly for it being nearly the middle of the night, the name on your phone read jisung, jisung, jisung. no one else was usually up this late on school nights, and when they were, they weren’t texting you. unless it was jisung. as your best friend, he took it as his personal duty to keep you from getting a healthy night of sleep, ever.

you unlocked your phone and went to messages, where you had 5 unread messages from jisung just since you’d been in the shower. clingy, as always.

upon opening the chat, you were met with 5 more messages matching the chain message he’d already sent you. as you were typing a reply and telling him to stop being annoying, another message came through. same person, same words.

with a huff, you deleted the start of the grumpy message you’d been forming and decided you’d stick with leaving him on read. he would get bored eventually. or so you thought.

nearly half an hour passed and you were still getting regular messages from jisung, all the same exact thing, copy and paste. you’d resorted to silencing your phone to avoid the constant vibrations signaling a message, but they kept coming. by now you had well over 30 of the same text from jisung, and you were getting fed up with it.

seeing that ignoring him obviously wasn’t doing what you’d hoped, you wrote a message and hit send.

can you not be a pain in my ass for literally two seconds?

you watched as the message tried to send, only to be stopped by a red error mark.

“message could not be sent. check your network and try again.”

great, so not only were the showers freakishly cold, the wifi decided to play favorites as well, working enough to deliver jisung’s messages to your phone but not allowing you to reply.

you took a deep breath as you sunk into the couch you were sitting on, willing yourself not to explode. your phone lit up in your hand with another message, jisung, of course, and you caught a glimpse of the time on your screen. it only made your bad mood worsen.

it was 10 past midnight, making it officially halloween, and instead of being happy as you should on your favorite holiday, you were busy trying not to walk straight to jisung’s dorm and strangle the ever living fuck out of him.

your phone screen dimmed and shut off. you took a deep breath and decided to follow suit, lifting yourself from the couch and making your way to your bedroom. maybe you just needed some sleep. maybe it was just as funny as jisung seemed to think it was to be spamming you like a middle school girl and you just couldn’t see that through your sleepy grumpiness.

you let your shoulder hit the door, gently pushing it open as you stepped into your bedroom. not bothering to turn a light on, you tripped over something, probably a pile of clothes, arms flinging out to your bed to catch yourself, only you didn’t come in contact with the soft fuzzy feeling of your favorite blanket. instead, your frantic hands were met with another pair on arms. a stronger, really steady, definitely-not-your-roommates-because-you-didn’t-have-one pair of arms, so who the fuck was sitting on your bed?

a scream erupted from your throat before you even had time to process the current situation. you immediately put distance between yourself and the intruder, tripping backwards over the same pile of whatever you had stumbled over in the first place. you fell backwards, luckily not close enough to the wall to have hit your head, and shuffled until your back was flush with the wall.

you watched in shock as the shadow of whoever the fuck had broken into your apartment leaned across the bed and to the table you had beside it, turning the knob on your reading lamp until the room filled with light.

he leaned back into his original position, the only difference from before being that how you could see him. he didn’t look like what you’d have imagined someone breaking into a young girls apartment to look like. he was sporting a bright white t-shirt and black sweats, his hair brushed out of his face. not really the best outfit for someone to avoid detection in.

unless he didn’t want to avoid detection because it didn’t matter if you saw him because he was going to kill you and it didn’t matter if you’d seen his face because you’d be dead and... oh fuck.

the words that left your mouth would have made you cringe at how cliche they sounded if you hadn’t been in fear for your life.

“w-who are you?”

you’d expected anything other than the reaction he had. he cocked his head, a small pout forming on his lips.

“think.”

your jaw moved and you tried to get something coherent to form, but nothing came out.

he chuckled at your reaction, keeping the pout on his lips as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees with his hands intertwined in between them.

“it’s been, what,” he glanced at the alarm clock on your bedside table, “five minutes since the last message and you’ve already forgot?”

your guard fell a little as the confusion of his words set in.

“what messages?”

he rolled his eyes, moving his arms behind him to support his body as he leaned back, and began reciting the message you’d been receiving nonstop for the entire night.

“the veil will be thin this halloween. send this message to 10 of your friends to lock in your safety. if you ignore, something bad will happen halloween night.”

you blinked at him, “i still don’t understand.”

he stood from your bed and began towards you. you knew that you should run, hit him, make a grab for your phone, anything, but you were frozen. you watched with wide eyes as he crouched down right in front of you, his knees touching yours, which were pulled up against your chest.

“it says something bad would happen.” he raised his hand for you to shake, “so hello, i’m something bad.”

when you didn’t take it, he sighed and let his hand fall to rest on your leg. your eyes snapped to his hand on your knee.

“of course,” he let his hand slide down from your knee and onto your thigh, “i don’t have to be a bad thing.”

your head was clouded and the only processable thought going through it was how warm his hand felt against your thigh. you knew that logically you should have done anything to get him to stop touching you, he was a fucking home intruder for gods sake, but you honestly didn’t want to. every moment he was near you, you felt the initial fear in your body melt into wanting.

he cocked his head, “i won’t even hurt you.” he raised an eyebrow, “unless you want me to.”

his eyes trailed up from his hand on your thigh and across your torso until he locked his gaze with yours. a smirk grew on his lips at how compliant you were being. he raised his free hand to your other leg and gently pushed your legs from against your body until he could fit himself in between them, leaning forward so his lips were only inches from yours.

if he’d doubted for any second that you didn’t want him, the way your legs trapped him close to you and your eyes were locked to his lips wiped it all away.

surprising him, you were the one to close the gap between you two, pressing your lips roughly to his.

he hummed into the kiss, bringing a hand up to cup your face while the other remained rested on your thigh.

he took your bottom lip between his teeth and you greedily accepted his request, letting him deepen the kiss. it only lasted a moment before he broke it off, grabbing your arms and helping you stand. he gestured towards the bed, and you me legs took you there before you could even really process what he was asking.

you sat on the edge of the bed patiently, eyes locked to his back as he pulled his shirt over his head. as much as you could have stated at his muscular back for ages, a rush went through you when he turned around. you let him lean down and gently kiss you before manhandling you until you were laying on your back in the middle of the bed.

you gladly opened your legs and let him place himself between them, crawling over you and reconnecting your lips once again. one arm kept him stable above you as the other trailed its way down your body, sneaking under your shirt and up your back to unclip your bra. you whined as he took his lips off from yours to lift you up and pull your shirt and bra over your shoulders, but he quieted you with his lips back on yours as soon as the clothing was out of the way.

a soft moan passed your lips as he trailed wet kisses down your jaw and to your neck, softly nipping at the sensitive skin. he continued his path down your body and to your chest, taking your nipple in his lips while his other hand came up to tease the other. you’d never been someone who got very worked up from having your nipples touched, but something about the way changbin did literally anything to you made you squirm. he continued to trail kisses along your stomach until he reached the waistband of your pants, his hand leaving your chest to hook around the waistband. you lifted your hips and he easily slid your pants and underwear to your feet where you kicked them off, leaving you completely nude under him.

he bit his lip as he scanned your naked body, completely on display for him. the fact that he’d managed to get you on this position for him just minutes after introducing himself to you made him throb in his jeans. he knew you’d give in to him eventually, it wasn’t possible for a human to deny his aura, but you’d given in right away. maybe you’d have given in to him even if he didn’t have a seductive aura, and the thought of you being attracted to him for reasons other than the fact that everyone was turned him on beyond belief.

he could have sat there between your legs and admired you for the entire night, but the impatient whine that left your mouth told him you wouldn’t be too happy with that idea. instead, he leaned back on his heels and undid his pants, pulling them down enough to finally release himself from the constraints of his underwear.

there really wasn’t an aspect of this man that wasn’t perfect, it seemed. he gave himself a few slow strokes, groaning at the long awaited stimulation. his hands returned to your hips and drifted towards your heat only to be stopped by your hand grabbing his wrist.

“i don’t need prep, just please fuck me.”

he caught a groan in his throat and replaced it with words, “say that again.”

you hooked your legs around him and pulled him close to you, close enough to make the head of his cock brush gently against your wetness.

“fuck me, changbin. i need you.”

how was it that he, the sex demon, seemed to be under a trance by you, a mere human? he didn’t question it, just immediately listening to you and lining himself up with your entrance, slowly sinking in.

you tried to keep your eyes open, you wanted to watch the pretty faces he was making as he sunk into you. you succeeded for a while, but when he gave the first harsh thrust, hitting you right in the sweet spot on his first try, you couldn’t help but screw your eyes shut and let out a borderline scream of pleasure. he was doing you so well, you thought maybe he was made for this.

it honestly surprised you how long you lasted with every single move of his hips being aimed at the exact correct spot. with a few particular violent rolls of his hips and his expert hands on your clit, you had the most overwhelming orgasm you’d ever experienced. you caged your legs around him, moaning a mantra of curses and his name. you felt him full you up and you could have swore that the feeling mixed with the unholy noises he let out could have made you cum again just from that if he hadn’t worn you out so hard from just one round.

he gently pulled out if you, cooing at you while you whined at the overstimulation. he fell down on the bed next to you and turned to face you.

“i made a good choice.”

you cocked an eyebrow, “what? breaking into my house and seducing me?”

he chuckled, “i didn’t break in. you let me in when you didn’t answer a single message i sent you.”

“that’s not even good logic.”

he shrugged, moving the bed a bit. “it’s clear in the rules i wrote.”

“yeah, okay.” you gave him a skeptical look. “how did you even get jisung in on this? he usually prefers to terrorize me alone.”

“didn’t need him to know about it. i don’t think his phone even registered the texts. they’re only on your end, if i did it correctly.”

you raised an eyebrow, “you some kind of hacker?”

he smiled, looking over at the bedside lamp and turning it off without ever touching it, not that you noticed.

“something like that.”

[ddarker-dreams]

In Your Eyes. Yan Izaya x Reader [COMM]

warnings: izaya orihara counts as a warning if im being honest. dude’s a jerk. word count: 3k.

7:12 PM. 

This isn’t the time of day that Izaya would normally close his services. Not when most of his clientele operate under the cover of night, crawling out from their day jobs and towards him. Izaya’s second monitor is a testimony to that. Message after message flooding in, notifications going ignored after a brief glance. The inquiries have a wide range. From a businessman wanting to know if the wife in his loveless marriage is cheating on him as he suspects, to the yakuza seeking information on a rival group that has been infringing on their territory. These people, deep as their pockets may be, occupy an insignificant role at the time. 

Izaya’s eyes flicker to the live feed coming in from outside his apartment. One sight in particular catches his attention, his lips quirking into a self-satisfied smirk. He stands from the leather chair behind his desk, stretches, and makes for the kitchenette. There’s a spring in his every step as he walks, fingers running over a variety of untouched teas. Earl grey, matcha, chamomile. Chamomile might be best here, he thinks. Izaya busies himself with boiling the appropriate amount of water. Any second now, he just needs to be patient… 

There’s a tentative knock on his door. 

Izaya already anticipated having a most prized visitor paying him a visit. The door was unlocked in advance, but the excitement in his veins is making it difficult to decide on what approach to use. Calling over to come in, or answering the door himself…? He decides on the latter. Playing the indifferent game is growing tiresome. When he swings the door wide open, Izaya’s greeted by the sight of you. You must not have been expecting such a swift response, as a cute gasp leaves your lips. Ah, how endearing a sight.

Not one to stand in silence for long, he extends an enthusiastic greeting. “Ah, [First]-chan, what a lovely surprise. Come in, come in.” 

You do as he instructs, an uncertain smile on your face. He notes how you scrutinize your surroundings. Eyes shifting to every wall, your posture remaining stiff as you remain focused on nothing in particular. After a moment of deliberation, your attention returns to him, and you bow your head.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” you let out a strained laugh, fixating on the soles of your shoes. “I’m sure you must be really busy, but, uh… I had some stuff I wanted to discuss. With you, that is.” 

“You’re in luck then, as I’m not doing anything at the moment,” Izaya pauses at the high pitched sound that signifies his water is done boiling. From how easily startled you are by the noise, he almost wants to tease you. Not yet, he decides. There’ll be time for that later. “Would you like some tea?” You nod your head. “If it isn’t any trouble.” 

He takes this time to recall the cryptic text message you sent him earlier. How much self restraint it took not to respond -- for the greater good, he reminds himself -- the contents catching his interest. You’ve been remaining purposefully vague. Is it to tantalize him? Keep him in the dark for some unknown reason? How interesting, the myriad of possibilities you bring to the table! Izaya’s own theories are plentiful. Hearing it from you beats anything his own imagination could concoct. It was a gamble that you’d actually come by today since he never responded, a test to see just how important this discussion is to you. 

It must be vital if you took the train from Ikebukuro to Shinjuku to get here, as he’s aware you have classes tomorrow morning. The day after that is clear of any university activities if memory serves. This further proves the point to Izaya that whatever it is on your mind must be taking high priority. How his heart flutters at the thought, anticipation rising as he whips together the tea. Humans once again exercise their adaptability, moving along in new directions, with just a tiny push from him. 

When he returns, cups of steaming tea in hand, you’ve already made yourself comfortable on his couch. Your legs crossed, hands clasping together on top of your lap. Izaya’s oncoming set up footsteps must not have been enough to alert you to his presence, so he clears his throat. Just like you did before, you startle, jumping in place. Izaya tuts at your reaction.

“It’s not good to keep zoning out like this, [First]-chan. What if you trip and hurt yourself on the way home? Now, I can’t be having that.” He teases while handing you your teacup. You wear a sheepish smile on your face, cheeks turning a rosy hue from his teasing. This might be the first time he’s ever seen you this out of it. Upon closer inspection, there are bags underneath your eyes, and your overall reaction time is sluggish. Hm…

Izaya takes a set beside you, likely closer than he needs to be, but you never protest. A loud sigh leaves your lips as you sink into his couch. “I sent you a text earlier, but I don’t think you ever saw it.” 

He nods his head in confirmation. The chamomile seems to be working its wonders already, your shoulders slumping down further. Easing you up in his presence has never been a simple task. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot recently,” you take another sip, wincing at how the hot liquid burns as it travels down your throat, “What I realized is that, maybe I do rely on others too much. When Miki went missing earlier this year, you said something similar, didn’t you? That there was a lot I couldn’t do. At the time, I didn’t want to believe you. I still don’t know if I do. So that’s why I wanted to ask if you still think that of me.” 

So that’s what is haunting your mind? A budding identity crisis? He wasn’t expecting something as ordinary as this, feeling almost taken aback that you’d come to him on the topic. Maybe it’s hypocritical of him to think that way. He often finds himself thinking back to the first time you showed up at his office, replaying your words and expressions in his mind like a projector. It’s unlike Izaya Orihara to be a sentimental person, yet he recalls your first meeting with immense fondness. 

- - -

Namie had almost dismissed you. She informed Izaya that there was no practical way you could afford these services, and that taking your appointment would be a waste of time for them both. A standard broke college student isn’t worth all the effort. And on a regular day, he would’ve been inclined to agree. Maybe it had been the boredom, as nothing of interest was brewing in Ikebukuro at the time. Whatever the reason, in retrospect, he’s grateful for the chance encounter. 

“A missing person’s case?” Izaya glances down at the coffee table, where you’ve laid out numerous personal pictures. All featuring the same girl -- Yamato Miki -- who you’ve come here today to seek help for. The job feels familiar, while simultaneously being unlike anything he’s been asked for at the same time. Information for the whereabouts of unsavory folk isn’t a rare request. This falls into a different category. You’re not asking out of ill intent, or he would’ve picked up on that by now. You weren’t lying when you said you were worried about the wellbeing of your friend. 

His eyes return to you shifting in your seat. “I’m curious. Why not go to the police about this instead of me?” 

From how your nostrils flare, he can piece it together before you even verbalize a response. This is the first question of his to earn such a blatant reaction. Everything prior, you had responded to the best of your ability, trying to keep your emotions in check. You steady yourself with a deep breath.

“I’d gone plenty of times, and none of them seemed to care in the slightest! Miki… she has a bit of a record, you see. Nothing serious, she wouldn’t ever hurt anyone, just stuff haunting her from her teenage years,” your gaze lowers, fists clenching by your side. “Since she used to run away from home a lot, they think it’s something like that.”

Izaya sees the pieces of this puzzle falling into place. It’s been about ten minutes since you came in, explaining your story, and his interest is starting to wane. There’s nothing that sticks out to him as unique. Maybe giving you the time of day was a mistake after all, like Namie suggested. Still, the question remains, why go to him specifically? You, a seemingly upstanding citizen, must surely have better options. 

He’ll entertain this charade a tad longer. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

“It’s not unreasonable to think that,” Izaya can’t help but agree with what the police had told you. The change in your demeanor is subtle, former timidity melting away. Greedy as it might be, he wants to see more of this unsightly side of you. So he continues prodding without relent. “People with troubled pasts such as your friend have next to impossible odds to overcome.” 

Your jaw’s clenching, he can see the imprints of how hard your fingernails dig into the palm of your hands. It’s simple to play someone like you to his own tune, he muses. Izaya just about had his fill of this. Maybe he’ll put a last nail in the coffin for good measure. Will you curse at him? Explode and yell? Break down crying? Storm off without a word?

“Chances are, she got in way over her head, and is currently laying dead in an alley somewhere. Or maybe she is somehow alive! In that case, what will you do then? If she couldn’t rely on you, her supposedly closest friend, why do you think that is? She either doesn’t trust you as much as you thought, or was taking advantage of your kindness all along.” Izaya can’t help the smile that curls onto his lips. Now that’s the look of despair he wanted! Being confronted with a fate you knew all along, and yet tried so hard to ignore. Only to fail, to be drawn into a vulnerable position of reality--

“So what?” The tone of your voice is eerily collected. You take a deep breath, glassy eyes refusing to break contact with his own, a sense of resolve keeping you in tact. Izaya tilts his head at this conjecture, as if to invite you to elaborate further. 

“So what if she might be as bad as you say she is? Miki is my friend. I don’t care for some arbitrary method of judging people based only on possibilities. I’ll see the truth for my own eyes and decide myself.” 

Well… to be honest, he was expecting an entirely different reaction. For you to scold someone like him is borderline laughable, yet here you are, doing just that. So why does he find himself even more drawn to you than before? There’s been passion ignited inside you by his own hands, social etiquette thrown to the wayside. Instead of letting this newly lit fire run rampant, you control the flame, refusing to burn as he intended you to. Izaya Orihara has never been one to back down from a challenge. Maybe this isn’t a waste of time after all.

Izaya leans in, resting his temple on his fist. “Pray tell, [First]-chan, what would you do in the event that I’m right? And your precious friend is involved with stuff she shouldn’t be?” 

“I’ll give her a good wakeup slap,” you place a finger to your cheek, considering the proposition. “Then chew her out for making me worry as much as she has. In the end, I want her to know that she can come to me with anything, even the worst she has to offer. That’s what friends are for.”  

A mindset like this is idealistic to say the least. Optimism has never been a field Izaya has excelled in, as he bases things on concrete reality. Is that even the correct label for your way of thinking, he wonders? You’re not ignoring the possible truth, making excuses for her, or even considering enabling her poor behavior. No, it’s a strikingly unusual approach, that takes far more patience than most people have to offer. The shift in outward demeanor from soft-spoken to this unrivaled confidence backs it up further. 

Izaya wants to know more about you. To peer behind the curtain that is your mind, poking and prodding at everything within reach. Seeing how much you can withstand before falling apart at his hands. It looks like you were wrong Namie, he thinks. This is turning out to be interesting. 

“If that’s the case, I’ll lend you my help.” 

You blink. “Y-you will…? But you just went on a tangent about how my ‘deadbeat’ friend isn’t worth the effort.” 

“What can I say? Your impassioned speech tugged on my heartstrings, [First]-chan,” he coos, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. “Maybe I’m growing soft after all. Alright, now let’s start with you giving me your phone number--” 

“Hold on!” you exclaim, putting up a hand. “I don’t need help from someone like you.”

Now it’s his turn to be thrown off by another person’s words. Maybe a taste of my own medicine, he thinks. 

Here he was, figuring you’d grovel at his feet for help. Now that he’s extending a hand out of what you should perceive as goodwill, you… don’t want it…? There’s no quick, witty response. The cogs in his head are turning, trying to comprehend this bizarre situation, and coming up with nothing satisfactory. He hears what’s most definitely Namie struggling to cover up a laugh in the distance. 

“Were you not just trying to convince me?” Izaya quirks up an eyebrow. That’s how he perceived your earlier lecture, as a way to bring him over to your side. For a rare moment, there’s no condescending lilt in his voice, only a genuine attempt to rationalize your actions. 

You’re already moving on from this loss, picking the scattered pictures up and returning them to your handbag. “Not really. I just didn’t like the thought of you looking down on someone without really knowing anything about them.” 

This time, Namie isn’t capable of muffling her laughter. Izaya sighs as he leans back into his couch. How troublesome you’re proving yourself to be. Do you not realize that a few phone calls from his behalf would be enough to ruin you for the rest of your life? Or maybe you do realize, and don’t care either way. Whatever the case, he’s not letting this go. It’s not everyday someone manages to leave him at a loss for words. 

“So it’s back to the police then, hm?” 

You shake your head at his guess, frowning. “I’ll just figure it out on my own. Thank you for your time, Orihara-san.” 

Now you’re standing to leave. Turning your back to him, you make for the door, leaving Izaya to try and piece together what’s happening to him. Izaya follows after you, intent on changing your mind. Anything to keep you close so he can continue observing. 

“What exactly are you planning on doing? It sounded to me like you had no leads or connections. I’m not sure how familiar you are with investigation work, [First]-chan, but you’re not off to a very good start.” Izaya calls over, successfully getting you to stop in place. It’s a relief to know he hasn’t lost his touch. You don’t look fully convinced, so he continues on.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re going to be helpless all on your own,” Izaya points out, your grimace growing deeper with every word. He’s getting somewhere, he just needs to reel you back in. “We wouldn’t want my earlier premonition to come true.” 

“I guess so,” you agree without enthusiasm, lips pursing. Izaya can’t help but feel satisfied with your compliance. Then you continue walking towards the door. “I need to give it some more thought. I’ll call your secretary this evening.” 

With that, you’re out of sight, the door shutting in his face. Hm. He doesn’t get the feeling you’re acting like this out of spite. No, you’re sticking true to your own convictions, trying to get a feel for how to best work things out. Izaya’s already planning to run multiple checks on you. He has a growing curiosity for knowledge on you that needs to be quenched. What school you’re going to, where you currently live, if you have a record--

“I can’t say I was expecting that,” Namie comments in her usual monotone. From the skin tightening underneath her eyes, Izaya can tell she’s still fighting back a smile. “Someone turning down your offer to help and lecturing you? I almost feel undeserving of such a wonderful sight.” 

Izaya sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair. “I’m glad you enjoyed your boss being berated so much.” 

“There’s almost nothing better,” she concurs with a nod. “When you’re finished standing there and moping, I already brought her social media up. I figured you’d want to see it after that display.”

This is enough to capture his undivided attention. The boredom from this week is a relic of the past, Izaya’s enthusiasm for human beings returning in full bloom. What a terrifying beast you’ve managed to awaken. You’ll make for a fascinating source of entertainment. He already finds himself looking forward to the next time you cross paths, Izaya confident in his ability to make this happen. He excels at interrupting the flow of people’s lives unprompted. 

- - -

The rest is history, so they say. 

Izaya’s whittled you down this far, creating a codependency that pleases him, a result of hard work on his behalf. You stare at him with doe-like eyes. Vulnerable eyes. Waiting with bated breath to see if he’ll confirm or deny your deepest concerns. 

He wraps an arm around your slouching shoulder. "Now that you have me, what you are or aren’t capable of on your own doesn’t matter anymore. Isn’t that right, [First]-chan?” 

“I... I guess it might be.” 

[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 13/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

Mulder can tell something isn’t quite right when they roll up to the ranch.  The chickens are up in their coop and none of the goats are roaming around.  The barn is shut up and Queenie doesn’t run to greet them as she usually does.

“Can you handle the team on your own?” he asks Jesse.

Jesse nods in the affirmative and Mulder clicks at Blondie and squeezes his calves against her sides.  The horse starts galloping up the dirt road towards the barn.  Mulder spots Melvin and Richard together on the rise behind the barn as he approaches.  Melvin takes his hat off and waves.

Mulder pulls the horse to a stop and slides out of the saddle in one fluid move.  He runs to Melvin and Richard, his heart galloping in his chest about as fast as the horse just ran.

“What’s happened?” he asks.  “What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s alright,” Melvin says.  “We just had ourselves a little visitor yesterday that’s caused a bit of a hubbub.”

“Who?”

“Not who,” Richard says.  “What.”

“A panther come by,” Melvin explains.  

Mulder feels his knees weaken.  “Where is she?” he demands.

“Who?  The panther?”

“Katherine!  Where is she?!”

“I think she’s up in the house.  Let me tell you, you married yourself a regular Annie Oakley.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She shot him dead,” Richard answers.  “Maimed him on the first shot, kilt him on the second.  All quicker than you can say boo to a ghost.”

“And the two of you just stood by?  Why weren’t you protecting her?”

“Well, hey now,” Melvin says, but Mulder doesn’t wait for any explanations or excuses.  He turns tail and runs to the house to find Katherine.

When he bursts through the back door, he finds her immediately in the kitchen, setting the table.  She’s clearly startled and drops the cutlery she’s holding onto a plate.  He’s so glad to see her, glad she’s alright, glad she’s going about her day with normal things like setting a table.  He throws his hat down, walks around the table to her, grabs her by the waist, and kisses her.  Not on the cheek, not on the brow, but on the lips.

Between the two of them, he’s not sure who’s more shocked by the kiss.  When he initially pulls back, her eyes are wide and that single eyebrow of hers is raised higher than he’s ever seen it.  He can’t believe he’s done what he just did, but he’s not sorry for it.  He shakes his head slightly, preparing to stammer out an apology anyway, but her eyes drop down to his mouth and the only thing he can think about is kissing her again.  Instead of apologizing, he does just that.  His arms wrap themselves fully around her, bringing her against him.  She squeaks a little and her lips part against his as though she’s going to say something.  He moves a hand to the back of her head to hold her just a little longer.  Her hands come up his back to his shoulders and then drop down under his arms and around to his chest before he breaks away.

They’re both breathing hard.  He holds her wrists where her hands rest at his chest and runs his thumbs up and down over hers.  They stare at each other until she pulls one of her hands free and touches his jaw.  She strokes the whiskers that have grown out since his week away and he reaches up and holds her hand to his cheek, squeezing her fingers.

“I, uh...,” he says.

“Is that your way of telling me you missed me?” she asks.

He almost sighs with relief that she isn’t angry.  There’s a small part of him that took her hands in his so she wouldn’t slap him, though he would agree that he deserved it if she had.

“I did miss you,” he answers.  “Did you miss me?”

“I...kept myself busy.”  She smiles at him and he has to give a little laugh.

“Yes, you did.”  He nods.  “Killing panthers, I hear.”

“Yes, well.”

“You’re alright?” he asks.

“I’m fine.  Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know.  I actually didn’t stick around to hear the full story, I just know we had a panther on the property.  And that you shot it.”

She snorts a little.  “Yes, a panther showed up, Queenie was fit to be tied over it.  I was in here about to bake a pie when I heard her.  So, I grabbed the rifle and I shot the panther.  That’s all.”

“And you’re sure you’re not hurt?”

“My shoulder might be a bit sore from the recoil.  It’s been some time since I’ve shot a rifle, but otherwise, I’m fine.”

He hugs her to him and sighs.  “Kate, I think my heart tried to escape my chest when Melvin told me you had to kill a panther.”

“I suppose that’s why you came in here all crackpot and kissed me then?”  

“I’ve actually wanted to kiss you for quite some time, I guess getting a bit spooked just gave me the courage.”

She’s slow to answer.  “Well, it was nothing,” she finally says.

He loosens his embrace on her and leans back, keeping his hands at her back.  “Killing a panther isn’t nothing,” he says.  “I wish I’d been here.”

“Why?  What would you have done?  Tried to reason with him?”

“No, I’d have shot him.”

“Well, that’s exactly what I did.”

“Yes, you did.  Melvin and Richard seemed mighty impressed, too.”

“Can we please move on from the panther?  Tell me how things went in Fort Worth.”

“Good.  We brought eight horses back with us to train up.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“I got something for you.”

“I told you, you don’t need-”

“I know, I know.”  He steps back to fish the pouch and the ring box out of his pocket.  “I don’t need to get anything for you, but sometimes I just can’t help myself and I’ll work on that little problem of mine, but it truly did brighten my day to do some shopping for you and I hope you’ll receive this with the intent in which I give it.”

“What is it?”

“Here.”  He opens the pouch first and drops the gold band into her hand.  “I wanted us to have wedding bands.  We are married after all.”

He holds his hand out to her and she hesitates for a few moments, but then takes his hand and slides the band onto his finger.  He smiles and pockets the pouch before he shows her the ring box for her band.

“I just don’t know that I can picture myself wearing something fancy,” she says.  “I know you mean well, but I’d be terribly afraid of losing it or damaging it somehow and with all the work here, I just think…”

“I thought of all that.”  He nods in understanding.  “And let me tell you, the salesman had me on the hook for a beautiful blue stone called a sapphire and I wanted to get it for you more than anything, but I didn’t think it would speak to you in the same way it spoke to me.”

“I’m sure it was beautiful.”

“I got this instead.”  He opens the box and holds it out to her.

She opens her mouth and then looks up at him before she turns her eyes back to the ring.  She touches it softly with her fingertip.  “A claddagh,” she says.  “How did you know about these?”

“Well, I didn’t.  Not until I noticed how unusual it was and asked about it.  When I saw the stamp on the inside, I knew I had to get it.”

She takes the ring out of the box and tilts it to read the inside.  “I will wear it,” she says, and gives him the ring and then her hand.

Mulder puts the box down on the table and holds her left hand with his.  He moves to put the ring on, but she stops him and shakes her head.

“We’re married.  The heart should be pointed down towards my hand.”

“I didn’t know.”  He flips the ring between his fingers and then slides it onto hers.

“Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure.  I have a few other things that I need to get from the wagon.  Speaking of which, I should probably go on and help the boys with getting the horses settled.  And I owe some apologies to Melvin and Richard.”

“What for?”

“Leaping to conclusions.”

“See if you can’t get things done soon, supper is almost ready.”

“I can smell it.”  Mulder lifts his head and sniffs the air.  “Meatloaf?”

“And mashed potatoes.”

“My favorite.”

“I know.”

“And I believe you said something about a pie?”

“Apple.”

“It’s good to be home.”

“It’s good to have you home.”

“So, you did miss me?”

She closes her eyes briefly and smiles.  “Go on and help the boys.  I’ll ring the bell when supper’s ready.”

He nods and turns to go.  He picks his hat up off the floor and when he looks back, he sees her looking at her hand, touching the ring on her finger and smiling softly.

↭

When she thinks about that kiss Mulder gave her, her lips tingle.  It was entirely unexpected, but not unwelcome.  She may have presented a nonchalant response over it, but her insides had felt fluttery and jittery in a way she’s never experienced before.  And then he gave her that ring.

She touches the ring now, twists it back and forth against her finger.  It fits her perfectly and it’s exactly what she always wanted.  Her grandmother had a claddagh ring that she had hoped would be hers one day.  Those hopes were dashed four years ago.  The wedding band she’d worn through her first marriage, until Jack sold it, was plain and simple.  Just a gold band with a solitary opal.  She thinks it had once belonged to Jack’s mother.  Still, it always felt heavy on her finger.  Unnatural.

After supper, she goes to her room and finds the new valise he’d promised her sitting on the bed.  Inside, there are new clothes and fabric, a copy of The Taming of the Shrew, and a set of magazines.  She has to sit down when she sees they are science journals, overcome with gratitude and awe.  She’s hugging them to her chest when Mulder comes to the doorway.  He’s trimmed his beard down and looks like he’s freshly washed.

“Thank you,” she says.  “I know I keep saying that you don’t have to do anything for me, but I appreciate this more than you know.”

“I’m glad.  It’s my pleasure.  I was just about to head out to the porch for a bit.  I’ve missed our talks.”

“Oh.”  She hesitates and looks down at the journals.  She’s eager to start reading.

“I’ll bring the lamp out.  You could read an article or two to me from one of the magazines.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not.”

She takes her new shawl and wraps it around her shoulders and then follows Mulder outside to the porch with Popular Science under her arm.  He puts the lamp on the table and she moves her chair a little closer to see better.  She thumbs through the magazine for something that might interest them both.

“Here’s an article entitled ‘Origin of Color in Animals,’” she says.

“Sounds like a fable.”

She puts the magazine down on her lap.  “That reminds me, I had lunch with Susannah and Monica, as you said I should do.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“Monica told me what auras were.  She said that all people emit colors that tells you what kind of person they are, and that she can see these colors.”

“Huh.  Well, that’s very interesting.  What color do I emit?  I’m sure she must have told you.”

“Blue and red, is what she said.”

“Those are good colors.  I think.  How about you?”

“Tan and crystal.”

“That must be very interesting for her.  I’d like to see an aura.”

“You believe her?”

“If she says she sees them, why wouldn’t I believe it?”

“People can’t emit color.”

“Why not?”

“Because...because they can’t.”

“What if some scientist somewhere writes about it for one of those journals in your hand?”

“They would have to have proof.”

“Couldn’t someone’s word be proof enough?  If you trusted them?”

“Well...no.”

Mulder chuckles.  “Alright, Kate.  Tell me about the animals and their colors then.”

She hesitates for a beat, but then smoothes the page of her magazine and brings it closer to read.

“Oh wait,” he says.  “Before you start, I actually wanted to tell you that while I was in Fort Worth I met with a man who’s going to come out in a few weeks and survey the land.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve hired him to take a look at things and do some designs for an addition to the house and bigger stables, a new corral, that sort of thing.”

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed for some reason.  Are you disappointed?”

“Not exactly.”

“In my experience, that means yes.”

She twists the wedding ring on her finger back and forth with her thumb.  “I guess I thought I just might have some say in the matter.”

“Of course you’ll have say in the matter.  To an extent.”

She frowns.  “I guess that means all your talk was just that.”

“What have I gone back on my word about?”

“Nothing.  I just thought that...I thought that it was my land too.  I went and paid the mortgage on the first.”

“With money that I gave you.”  He chuckles as though it’s a silly joke, but she bristles at how condescending and placating what he’s just said feels.  Her eyes begin to water and she angrily grits her teeth and knits her brow to push back any tears.  She is so damn tired of being beholden to the whims of some man.  Mulder had led her to believe he was different.  She was foolish enough to think that he could be.

“It’s always been about the land hasn’t it?” she asks.  “The job you gave me, it means nothing.  My name on the lease is just a...just a farce.”

“Kate-”

“Don’t call me that.  You only seem to call me Kate when you think I’m being unreasonable or foolish.  When...when you’re referencing The Shrew.”

“I don’t think I do, and, well, you are being a little unreasonable, don’t you think?”

She gets up out of the chair and he grabs for her hand, which she yanks away, causing her to stumble backwards.  He jumps up quickly and she flinches as her immediate retreat causes her to bang her hip into the porch railing.

“Sit down, honey,” he says, gesturing to the chair and holding his arm out towards her, but not touching her.  “There’s nothing to get worked up about.  You’ve dropped your magazine.”  He bends and picks up the journal from the ground, flattens the bent page, and then brushes the cover free of any dirt.

Her wrist throbs from ripping it from his grasp so quickly and her hip smarts where she hit it.  She holds her hand, rubbing the top of her wrist lightly and praying she hasn’t given herself a sprain.  Cautiously, she perches at the front of the chair, takes the magazine from Mulder, and places it on her lap.  

“Go ahead and do what you’d like,” she says.

“Kate...Katherine, I don’t understand why this has upset you, I really don’t.  All I’ve done is hired a man to do a survey.”

She says nothing and stares out at the silhouettes of the treetops and the hills in the distance.  The land is so vast it seems illogical that it should make her feel so claustrophobic, but it does.  Knowing there is nowhere to go and that she’s trapped, once again.

“Talk to me,” he says.  “Even if it’s just to tell me to go to the blazes, please say something.”

“I would like to go to bed.”

She doesn’t look at him, but in her periphery, she can see him twist his mouth.  He grits his teeth and the muscle in his jaw jumps and quivers.  She turns her head away just slightly.

“You don’t need my permission,” he says, and the sarcasm in his tone is more than a little obvious.

She doesn’t trust her knees not to give out on her if she gets up in that moment.  She’s feeling so many emotions at once that she’s rendered almost paralyzed by the intensity.  Anger, disappointment, sorrow, shame, regret, confusion.  She doesn’t even know if she has the right to feel so hurt, but still, it’s how she feels.

“Fine,” he says, after she hasn’t moved for some time.  “I’ll go.”

She swallows, the tightening of her throat a tell-tale sign that she may finally be powerless to keep from crying after so long.  She will not do it.  She will not cry over this.  He slaps the arms of his chair as he gets up and she startles, shrinking a bit in her chair.  Even his shadow in the lamplight feels overbearing to her right now.

“Do you really think I feel that this is a farce?” he asks.  “If it was only about the land, I would’ve paid off the option as soon as we were married.  I left the mortgage as it is because I thought you would enjoy the responsibility of it.  Surely you realize it makes no difference in the end whether you make those payments or if I do if the money is coming from the same place.”

He pauses and then puts his hand on his hips and kicks angrily at the floor with the toe of his boot.  “Dammit, Kate,” he says.  “I bought you a ring.  And you want to try to tell me I’m not taking this seriously?  Or...or to imply that I don’t value or respect your opinion somehow?  I don’t know how this conversation took such a turn, I truly don’t.”

She doesn’t know how it is, but words seem to hurt just as much as slaps.  Her gut clenches and her hands curl into defensive fists as though she were about to fight off the blows.  Her knees feel even weaker now than a few minutes prior.

Without another word, Mulder turns and goes back inside the house.  It takes her a good ten minutes to be able to stand and go to her room.  Her arms are still shaking and she has to hug the magazine tight and carry the lamp with both hands, very slowly.  The door to Mulder’s room is closed and she shuts hers quietly as well and then curls up on her bed.  She shivers and pulls her shawl tight around her like a blanket.

[mxndoscyarika]

Honeydew (Marcus Pike/Moreno x OC) | Chapter 7

Summary: Erin He moves to DC after working for the FBI in Texas and runs into a hero in disguise; Marcus Moreno. Something about him is familiar, too familiar, yet different in a way that she can’t quite place. Although confused, she can’t deny her feelings for him; perhaps, after years of regret, she finally found the one.

Warnings: food/drink mention, mention of dead loved one (Marcus’s wife), brief nudity, kissing

Ao3

Honeydew masterlist

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

Author’s Note: Here’s the next chapter! I wanted to let them have a moment to just be together after everything that happened, and this was one (of many) of them. Enjoy!

“I just don’t understand why it’s not working. It doesn’t make sense.”

Sometimes she wondered why she had to be a supervisor that knew how to code. If she were non-technical, like many of her past managers, she could have simply told the developer to do some code reviews with his colleagues. Well, it wouldn't have been that simple either way, but at least she would get to go home.

Erin sighed and sat down by Brian’s desk. The empty coffee cups and notebook with scribbled ink was a familiar sight, though his desk did seem to be missing one crucial thing: a rubber duck. “Let’s just take a step back and go through the logic, ok? So we have that….”

She and the developer went through the specifications for the updates and the high-level implementations that needed to be done. It seemed like he managed to get most of the framework for the code set up; all that was left was, well, writing the code and making sure it was correct. However, the deadline for shipping the code was coming up in the following days, and he was still at the debugging stage.

Although it had been a while since she’d programmed anything in a work-related context, she thanked the CS gods that she still remembered enough to take on some of the debugging. Conveniently, Brian had prior commitments that night and needed to leave on time–as if an engineer’s shift was ever truly over. But while there were others who could help out, something told her that it would be faster if she did some of the debugging herself. After all, she’d just spent half an hour reasoning through the logic.

“Why don’t you finish up as much as you can, push your changes to the repo, and I’ll take a look later?” she suggested, scanning the code. At first glance it looked fine–as most code normally did–but there were obviously issues somewhere that caused all the tests to fail. “I have some other work to do, but if we can get everything ready within the next couple days I don’t think they will mind the update being slightly delayed.”

With that, Erin went back to making her rounds through the work area, picking up any stray folders and getting last-minute status updates from the others. The sky was already dark, any trace of the sun long gone. Normally she would be getting ready to leave soon, but there was more work to do ahead of the op she was leading.

Ignoring the vibrations of her phone, she made her way back to her office and set up her desk to keep working. One thing she’d learned over her years of experience as a supervisor was that an organized desk was crucial for concentration. If only other aspects of her life were as organized as her desk.

It had been days since she found out about Marcus’s secret identity, but she couldn’t help but still feel utterly stupid. She was stupid to think that she could move on. That she, for once, was enough.

The truth was that she was never enough. She wasn’t enough to bring Marcus back after his disappearance, and she wasn’t enough to make hiding his past life unbearable.

She would have been lying if she said she didn’t consider breaking things off. But at the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. He said that he and Pike were the same, that everything they had was real. And if that was true, then maybe things would get better. They could try to make things work, and show up for each other. After all, wasn’t that what caused the mess anyways? Them not being there for each other at the most important moments?

Someone knocked on her door.

Erin didn’t look up from her work. “Come in.”

“Hi honey.”

This time she looked up, a small smile on her face. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at home with Missy?”

Marcus chuckled softly. “I guess I should, but my mom convinced her to stay the night so that we could have some alone time,” he explained, sitting in the chair in front of her desk. Eyes twinkling, he lifted a paper bag. “I texted you asking what you wanted for dinner but you didn’t reply, so I got your favorite.”

Now she really was smiling. “You brought canh chua? I’m sorry I didn’t reply, I’ve been running around the department trying to get everything together.”

“It’s alright; I figured you were busy, so I wanted to make sure you at least had dinner,” he said, pulling out the container of soup along with some utensils and a couple to-go bowls. “I know you love the bạc hà, so I asked for extra. They’re in one of the small containers, so we can add them in ourselves.”

“You’re too good to me.” Erin pushed her laptop to the side so he had more room to organize the slew of containers. The tamarind-flavored soup was often a treat rather than a regular meal, one that she normally savored in the cozy atmosphere of the Vietnamese restaurant. Her heart melted a little as she realized that Marcus had to have driven across town to get it from the restaurant.

“You deserve only the best.”

Some containers were filled with jasmine rice, fragrant and pillowy. Others overflowed with toppings like aromatic cilantro, spicy Thai chilis, and crisp bean sprouts. And, as promised, there was an extra container with fresh slices of bạc hà, the spongy stem of the elephant ear plant.

Her mouth watered as she helped fill the bowls with rice and soup, letting the golden broth soak into the grains. The tomatoes and pineapple chunks were perfectly cooked and plump, brightening the salty, nearly fruity, broth.

When she pushed the bowl towards Marcus he shook his head. “You eat first, Rin. You’ve had a long day. How was work?”

“Tiring,” she scoffed lightly, adding a questionable amount of chili to her bowl. The soup was still pleasantly warm when she scooped some into her mouth, the salt giving way to the fruity sourness and inferno of chilis. She moaned in satisfaction, “This is exactly why you are my favorite person in the whole world. Thank you for bringing this, brown eyes.”

He smiled softly, adding a significantly smaller amount of chili to his bowl. “Of course, honey. Just like the old times, huh?”

At that, Erin sighed. Sometimes she forgot that her memories of Marcus Pike were really of Marcus Moreno, and it still hadn’t ceased to be jarring when that realization hit. “Yeah.”

Noticing her hesitation, Marcus looked at her apologetically. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that–”

“No, it’s okay,” she interrupted, waving him off. “I just...I missed this. Us in an office sharing food in the evening. I never thought I’d ever get to experience this again, but now you’re here.”

His eyes softened and he reached over to hold her hand in his. Stroking the back of her hand softly, he said, “I know. I missed this too.” He shifted in his seat. “And I know we can’t go back to what we were before, but I don’t want you to feel like you need to separate our memories. They’re ours, honeydew. Nothing can take that away.”

“I know,” she said, eyes burning. “I’m sorry I’m not as happy–”

“It’s alright,” he interjected gently. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

And, if she would let him, he was going to spend the rest of his days showing her how much she meant to him. It was a mistake–a huge one–to hide from her for that long. If time was money, he’d cost her so much. Maybe he wouldn’t ever be able to give those years back to her, but he could make the most of their time in the present. Now he just hoped his paperwork would get approved at HQ.

“I’m just so tired,” she said quietly.

Of everything. Of being herself, and of feeling like the biggest fool in the world for not realizing the man she loved had been in her life eight years ago.

She’d long since stopped caring about what her colleagues thought, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t pride herself on her intelligence and knack for details. With everything, she wasn’t quite sure what hurt most: the blow to her pride, or the fact that Marcus had lied.

But deep down, a part of her was happy. He finally came back, and while the past was wrought with cracks, the future felt...secure. And if there was anything she knew about Marcus, it was that he wore his heart on his sleeve, and that he wanted to stay for the long run. She knew that, no matter what, he wanted to make things right.

“Why don’t we head home after this, then?” he suggested, lips quirked up in a small smile. “They can’t get too mad if the smartest woman in the bureau takes the night off.”

---

“Would you like to stay?” she asked, unlocking the door to her apartment. Marcus’s car was parked in the visitors’ parking area, and it was starting to get late. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I’d love to, if you’ll have me,” he answered, heat rushing up to his cheeks when her eyes met his. Even after all this time, he couldn’t get over the way she looked when she smiled at him like that. When she looked at him like he was everything she ever wanted.

They settled into the apartment as usual, with Erin checking on her plants and Marcus helping to plug in her laptop. Something about the way Erin moved around in the space was just...right. He’d seen her navigate government buildings and sites for operations, but at home, there was a different kind of confidence about her. It was a confidence that he knew only a select few were allowed to see.

Once they reached the bedroom, Marcus kissed her forehead and went into her bathroom. “Stay here, I’ll get a bath ready for you.”

Erin let out a huff of laughter at his eagerness, resigning to putting away her bag and changing into more comfortable clothes. As much as she loved a good suit, she also loved the warmth of sweatpants and the softness of silk. But seeing as she still needed to wash up for the night, she slipped on a silk nightgown, the hem stopping just above her knees.

Eventually, Marcus returned and led her into the bathroom, presenting her with a bathtub full of gardenia-scented bubbles and steaming water. He’d also found her electronic candles, placing them strategically so she could see in the dimmed lighting.

“It’s perfect, Marcus. Would you like to join me?” she asked, biting her lip in anticipation. The bathtub was just large enough for two people, and she wanted to know what it would feel like to be with him in her most vulnerable state. After all the secrets and waiting, she just wanted more .

He shook his head, trying to not let his mind linger too long on the way her nightgown hugged her chest like liquid gold. As much as he wanted to be with her, something told him that it wasn’t the right moment. “You’ve had to take care of yourself for so long, honey. Let me take care of you, ok?”

“But what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Their lips melded together as their resolve grew strained. She tasted sweet and intoxicating, and it took all his strength to not give in. “You deserve to be treated like a queen. You’re my queen, and I want to make you feel good. Is that alright?”

She hummed softly and kissed him again. A low moan escaped her lips. “You really know how to make a woman conflicted, Marcus.”

“Sorry, it’s a bad habit.”

“I know you are. I’m just glad you’re here now,” she said. Pulling away, she stepped up next to the bathtub. Slipping the straps off her shoulders, she suggested, “If you’re not going to join me in here, why don’t you get comfortable and keep me company?”

The bath felt as amazing as it looked, the hot water melting away the tension in her muscles and the bubbles acting as a blanket to keep her modesty. Well, not that she hadn’t undressed in front of Marcus, but she wanted to keep some parts of her a surprise.

After some shy laughs, Marcus stayed by her side the entire time, sitting on the edge of the tub. It was just wide enough for him to sit comfortably, close enough that they could talk softly and he could help wash her hair. The golden glow of the candles and the warmth from the bath soothed their nerves until they were just two people in love.

Relaxed and back in her nightgown, Erin sat on her bed and checked her emails one more time. Thankfully, there weren’t any that she needed to reply to.

“Careful, hot tea incoming.”

She smiled up at Marcus, who was holding out a cup of steaming pu erh tea. Accepting it, she remarked, “I’m surprised you were able to find the tea leaves.”

“It helped that I remembered that you always have a designated cabinet.”

“I guess not that much has changed after all these years,” she said, sipping from the cup. As she did, she wondered if it was just herself that hadn’t changed.

“Dance with me?”

Her eyes widened in confusion when he broke the silence. “Hm?”

Marcus held out a hand, which she instinctively reached for. “Dance with me. Please?”

It didn’t take long for her to give in, setting the cup down on the nightstand. They swayed slowly in the bedroom, moonlight streaming in. Although there wasn’t any music, it was just what they needed. They just needed a moment in each other’s arms.

Erin’s head rested against his chest, the warmth from his body sinking into her. “I missed you so much,” she said softly.

“I missed you too.”

He missed her too.

But there was still something nagging at the back of her mind. Part of her didn’t want to disturb the peace, but she also wanted answers. Maybe it wasn’t the best time to ask him. Maybe it would undo everything. Before she could stop herself, she asked, “Can you tell me about your wife? Missy’s mom? Did she..?”

Marcus sighed softly, but not out of frustration. No, it was the kind that was borne of fondness. His arms tightened around her. “Yeah. We actually met not too long after I had my documents changed back. I didn’t want to tell her. I wanted a fresh start, but I still felt very much like Marcus Pike rather than Marcus Moreno. So, I told her about my past and we went from there.” A soft chuckle. “She was definitely shocked, but it was different because she never knew me as Pike, only Moreno.”

She wasn’t you, he wanted to say.

“I’m glad she knew,” she replied, snuggling closer to him. At least he told her, the mother of his child. It was...comforting to know that he hadn’t been all alone during those years. Eight years was a long time to keep a secret. “And what about now? Do you still feel like Marcus Pike?”

“Some days I feel more like Pike,” he admitted. “But with Missy and the Heroics, I feel like I’ve settled into being Marcus Moreno. It took a few years, but….Pike will always be a part of me. It wasn’t ever not me, just…a different side.”

“I see.” When his arms shifted, Erin clung to him tighter. “Don’t leave. Please.”

Marcus kissed her temple, his lips soft and warm. “Never again, honey. I’ll be here until you’re tired of me.”

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[sonnetsnerdstuff]

✧ Got7 as random boys in your town pt.2 ✧

✧  pairing (memberxreader) ✧  genre (common people!AU, fluff)

Im Jaebeom (재범)

The designer at the local gallery

You don’t know anything about him except that he has a job in the creative field and that he’s a regular at the local city gallery. As you work there, you started recognizing him by the third time he came. He usually comes alone, writes down things on a little notebook and thinks deeply on it afterwards sitting on a bench near the entrance. On rare occasions he brings other people with him and you smile as you get glimpses of them from the glass-doors starting arguments about who knows what, pointing at a painting then at another, heated cheeks and gleaming eyes. It seemed like watching two different people. With one thing he remains consistent though: the strange habit in which he always wanders on the same route inside the gallery -despite of the type of exhibition it is- not really minding if it means going in reverse sometimes. He also always snacks on all different types of food; once you're sure to have seen cat food in his bag too. Lastly, you never really saw him giving attention to other visitors apart his companions; his eyes neither really smiled when greeting you buying tickets. That’s why today, as he’s been sitting in front of a really pretty blue painting for half an hour already, you pass by him and get impressed by the deep, longing stare he has on his face. You cannot help but wonder if it’d be like that how he looks at someone he finds as intriguing as those difficult-to-decipher strokes... and blush.

✧ ✧ ✧

Choi Youngjae (영재)

The boy on the same train

You were skipping through your music, disgruntled as nothing matched your mood this morning while you were looking from the scenery passing out of your train’s window to the cabin door and backwards. It had been days. You switched to the audiobooks app and put on the book from yesterday lecture, just praying to not fall asleep. Not much later on, what woke you up was not your fear of missing your stop but a big, loud laugh. You opened your eyes fighting off the instinct of springing up. There was only one person that took that train and could be that impossibly happy at 7:50 in the morning. You tilted your head towards the usual seat and there he was: big sweater, coffee in one hand and a huge smile while talking to his friends. You paused your audiobook, his happy voice now filling your ears with no distractions. Now that was relaxing. A little smile came up on your face. To you, he looked as everything you’d ever wanted to be like as a student: content, put together, with a bright future. Not like the lonely, grumpy night owl that you had become deciding on following that crazy course. You looked again at the scenery outside, peacefully this time. Well, if you couldn’t be that happy student you dreamed of, at least you had someone to impersonate yourself as. When you sat up to get off the train, you asked yourself again if you’d also look especially bright like his friends if you had a personal sunshine always with you too.

✧ ✧ ✧

Bam Bam (뱀뱀)

The popular kid in college

He was known among campus. May it be because of his money, something funny he had done during class, his parties or the mistery of how it was literally impossible to enter his circle of friends. He just naturally gave off that “cool kid" vibe that set him apart. At least, that’s what you mostly heard about him since you didn't know the guy or didn't intend to mind him at all. Except that one time he was doing the college marathon in Gucci and man, that was a sight you couldn’t miss. The truth was, you've never been into popular guys; you liked your boys to be interesting, so apart from envying his life from time to time you never really gave a second thought to BamBam. Until now, with him tripping down and scattering a bag of presents at your feet. They were wrapped in red paper with hearts pattern and photos of "pudding, cupcake, latte and king" -his cats, you supposed- respectively wishing you a "purrry christmas" as greeting cards. You lifted an eyebrow. That was unexpectedly... dorky. You sneaked a look at him while helping retrieving the six presents but he undoubtedly still was giving off that cool-guy aura. Then you also noticed the obviously home-made lunch box, the chipped black nailpolish closing the designer bag and the slightly embarassed blabbering, and you kinda got it: why he didn’t have many friends despite his notoriety. And, for a moment, you thought you’re screwed.

✧ ✧ ✧

Park Jinyoung (진영)

Your bestfriend’s older brother

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you, you could easily get charged”. You shut the door and jerk back from the brand new car you found in front of your best-friend’s house porch, to see her brother coming towards you; now you get why you didn’t recognize it. He’s back for vacations you suppose. “But it’s yours!”- “That makes it even worse, I’d say: unauthorized invasion of a stranger’s propriety” You scoff: "I don’t know if I should be more disappointed in you calling me a stranger or you already abusing others with your lawyer attitude”. “We see each other a few times a year... surely we’re not friends”. Ouch. Yes, yours is indeed that type of forced acquaintance where you don’t know each other but end up being somewhat close, as you kinda replaced him in his family since he was off to uni and their parents missed a child. “I was sorta hoping on distant cousins on good terms” you blurt out. As he gets closer you take a better look at him and notice two things: he got more buffed -again- and he’s holding a Polaroid camera in one of his hands. Then you remember that his room is full of photos of every nice moment of his life. “New car, new photo?” - “Of course”. After shooting his car he looks towards you, gets closer and put the camera up, as for a selfie: “And new family member, I suppose?”. He was aknowledging you. In response, you smile so big your cheeks hurt and while the flash blinds you, you admit you’d always wanted to become a real part of this family.

✧ Part one ✧

Masterlist ツ

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Yancy x Illinois - First Impressions Aren’t Always the Best

I decided to try properly writing Yanois, just to see how I’d manage it. After rewatching Illinois’ scenes, I think he would get on the nerves of the Yancy I write at first.

Word Count 2,122

(Read more because Illinois talks so much...)

-

Happy Trails Penitentiary was renowned for its rehabilitation initiatives. They had a wide variety of classes and visitors to help prisoners. Educational courses, chances to learn new skills, pen pal projects. Many prisoners would never have the opportunity for such experiences, and it was an integral part of helping them prepare for a better life outside of prison when their sentence was finished.

There was one visitor that most prisoners in Yancy’s ‘Gang’ adored. His name was Illinois, a renowned adventurer and archaeologist. Between his job in the university and research trips, he only had time to visit once every few months. It worked in his favour, as those that wanted to visit were able to to hear the various stories that Illinois was more than happy to tell. Not only that, it would encourage the small ‘fan club’ among the younger prisoners.

It was one of the few events that Yancy avoided. Something about Illinois rubbed him the wrong way. He was so arrogant and cocky, acting like the world revolved around him. It wasn’t an act, either. Yancy had spotted Illinois speaking to the Warden on his first visit two years earlier, and he acted the exact same way as he did in the talk that happened that day. After that, Yancy decided he didn’t want anything to do with the adventurer. But if Illinois were to ever become an inmate? Yancy would make sure Illinois had the snot beaten out of him within the first week.

Unfortunately, a lot of the Gang were of the opposite view, especially those around Yancy’s age. To them, Illinois walked straight out of an adventure movie and lived the ideal life. What prisoner didn’t dream of going exploring in uncharted territories? It meant that they would frequently share Illinois’ tales in rec yard when he came to visit. Yancy would roll his eyes, but keep quiet. Let them have their fun.

Today was the day that Illinois visited the prison. It had been over three months since the last visit, so there was an excited buzz among individuals in the Gang. Yancy spent the morning bracing himself. There was a talk after lunch that the others would go to, which would mean the rest of the afternoon and evening would be nothing but historical chatter and “Illinois is so cool!”. He would grumble, but he would keep that to himself. It wasn’t fair to deflate their excitement. He went to the library, found some random book and focused on that for the day. Then, once they had their excitement, it would die down and Yancy could enjoy more casual conversation.

Which was the plan… Until Bam-Bam pleaded for him to go to the last talk of the day. It turned out that his shift clashed with the talk everyone else they knew went to, and he didn’t want to go alone. Begrudgingly, Yancy closed the book, returned it to the shelf, and followed Bam-Bam. A flaw of being a loyal friend was knowing when to swallow your pride and do something you would rather not do.

-

When you go to something with low expectations, it can be incredibly difficult to feel the time was used in a worthwhile manner. Some might have memories of a teacher they hated, or a family gathering they had been dreading. This was a similar position to what Yancy found himself in. One of the ‘classrooms’ had been adjusted slightly to allow various displays to take center stage, with the chairs in neat rows in front of it. Bam-Bam and Yancy claimed two seats at the back, allowing the greaser to slouch in the chair with his arms crossed. Then, once more prisoners had arrived, the talk began.

On and on Illinois went, droning endlessly in that slow drawl. Yancy wished he had a TV remote to speed up the talking a fraction. Was Illinois focused on making sure everyone could understand him, or did he want to prolong the joy of hearing himself talk? It might have been more tolerable if Bam-Bam wasn’t genuinely engrossed in the lecture. They could have made amusing comments throughout. Instead, Yancy was stuck. Sure, history was interesting, but Illinois really drove home the stereotype of boring history teachers. The ‘adventures’ even sounded cliché and fake. Maybe he should have taken the book with him after all...

A painfully slow half hour passed. Once the talk was over, Illinois would literally open the floor to the other prisoners. The chairs would be pushed aside and those that wanted to look at the items Illinois brought were welcome to do so. Yancy was dragged along to view the pieces. Most of the articles were dated to be approximately eight thousand years old. What caught Bam-Bam’s attention was a stone carving that vaguely resembled a cat.

“Ahhh, I see the ‘White Jaguar’ has caught your attention.” Yancy had to repress a shudder at the smooth voice interrupting their own questions back and forth. Illinois stepped over, resting an arm against the perspex container. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? A miracle we even found her in the first place. She was why I wasn’t able to visit like I said I would last month.” Bam-Bam’s eager question had Illinois chuckle and shake his hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m sure you two gentlemen have much better things to do than hear about how I nearly lost my right hand in my most recent adventure.” When Bam-Bam insisted otherwise, Illinois smirked (and Yancy nearly gagged).

“If you insist. While on our recent dig, I noticed one of the ruins had a floor panel that looked a little different from the rest. It took a little persuasion, but I got that pesky stone up. There, sprawled out before me, was a staircase leading down into the earth. I picked up one of the torches and made my way down. Slowly, I delved deeper into the darkness. One step gave way under me to set off a series of poison-dipped darts, but I was able to dodge them all without breaking a sweat.” Illinois continued, dramatically regaling every single trap that he encountered until he found the White Jaguar. When taking everything around it, he surmised that the owner of the house had been a thief. The jaguar motif was familiar, as he had noticed something similar in a nearby cave that had been repurposed at the time as a sacred spot.

“- Now, this heart of this cave was still guarded by ancient jaguar spirits. They rattled the large statues as I approached, obviously sensing the treasure I carried. In the middle, there was a jaguar’s head carved out of stone. Its jaw was open wide and I couldn’t help but feel as though it was just the right spot for this precious lady. But then, skeletons of what I assume were magic users from an era long gone by pounced and tried to wrestle the statue off me, but I was too fast for them. At last, I reached the carved head, put the White Jaguar in the mouth… and the stone head moved, trapping my arm in a ferocious bite!” He gestured to the cloth wrapped around his right wrist. It was unwrapped just enough to show the healing bite marks. “It had the strength to bite it clean off, but relented when it realised what I had done by offering my arm as blood payment to return -”

“Wait wait wait.” Yancy’s interruption had Bam-Bam elbow him, but it didn’t stop the objection. “That can’t be right. If youse managed to bring this back to where it’s meant to be, why the fuck is it here?”

“An excellent question. This is my recreation of it. I am no thief. I return artefacts to where they belong. Archaeology has a rotten connection with thievery, and I try to rectify the mistakes of my predecessors.”

“So then this entire thing could be bullshit!” Yancy scoffed. “Bam-Bam, this guy just got bitten by someone’s dog and has made this pile of baloney to hide that.”

“Are you accusing me of being a liar?”

“Well, I ain’t calling you a ‘truther’, that’s for sure!”

Yancy was ready for a proper argument. In fact, he was hoping for one. Instead… Illinois laughed, and it wasn’t that typical ‘cocky chuckle’. It was a bright, genuine laugh. He could almost see Bam-Bam go starry-eyed at such a rare moment. Typical Yancy. Getting more attention from Illinois when he wanted to rile him up.

“I suppose it all does sound rather suspicious when you put it that way. Let me show you something.” Illinois gestured for the pair to follow him toward a display of photographs. Instead of pointing to these, he instead reached for his briefcase. A small photo album was pulled out. Yancy noticed that it was dated three months prior. While Illinois flipped through it, both prisoners could see what looked like an area that had been dug up. It matched the pictures in front of them of an excavation site. At last, Illinois found what he was looking for.

“One Guardian Jaguar, complete with the White Jaguar in its mouth. As you can see, the teeth have fresh blood on them. It was an… Oddly tranquil sight, despite the unfortunate situation.”

“So then why act like these are the real deal? People just take youse’s word for it?”

“Normally those that attend my talks know that what I show are my artistic recreations for purely educational purposes. I suppose I do take for granted that those who attend here are invested regulars.” Illinois gave a small shrug. “It’s an easy mistake to forget to remind people who might be new to my talks. I’m sorry if you thought I was a fraud, but I am the real deal. Too good to be true, yet here I am.”

“Yeah yeah, ‘sucks that I’m perfect as shit’, I get it. Least you knows not to make that mistake again.” Yancy rocked back on his heel with the intention of turning and walking away.

“Now now. I can’t let you walk off like that. Take this.” Another item was pulled out of his briefcase. “I made this smaller model of the White Jaguar as a ‘first draft’. I was intending on using it as motivation to my first-year students but… I think it should stay here with you.” Illinois took the opportunity to reach for Yancy’s hand. The small clay model was gently placed in it before Illinois curled Yancy’s fingers over it to keep it in place. His hands stayed where they were as he continued, “We think the White Jaguar was a symbol of good fortune. Perhaps it might bring you some good luck.” He smiled at Yancy, only to have the moment broken by the guard announcing that there were five minutes before the prisoners had to return to their cells for the afternoon count. Yancy took the chance to quickly leave the room without as much as a ‘goodbye’. At least his friend, who introduced himself as Bam-Bam, quickly thanked Illinois before darting out.

A few more questions were asked of him by other prisoners and curious staff; and then it was time to tidy up to bring everything back to the university. It was only when he reached the White Jaguar model did Illinois hesitate. There was something about that abrasive prisoner he couldn’t put his finger on. Was it because he seemed uninterested in the adventurer? Or was there something else? It was a rare moment that Illinois wished he’d had an excuse to chat to the prisoner longer. Maybe not here, but somewhere quieter. Just the two of them.

Huh… Was this what an attraction felt like? He joked about others falling in love with him so often, he wasn’t sure if this was payback for never returning interest in others. He was drawn toward a prisoner that seemed keen to dismiss his hard work and reputation. And worse! Illinois didn’t even know his name!

Then again… A good adventurer always loves the thrill of a mystery. Maybe he could try and find that prisoner next time he visited. Now that the university was open again, he’d be able to drop by more frequently…

--

For what it was worth, Yancy also had a mystery on his hands.

Namely, how to get away from Bam-Bam - who would not SHUT UP about their prolonged conversation with Illinois - and half the gang - who were incredibly jealous Yancy got a gift from the Illinois!

He dropped his head against the chow hall table with a low ‘thunk’. This was the opposite of getting the others to stop talking about Illinois around him!

[shadowsfiguresfigments-blog]

A good place to die Chapter 26 (smut)

Warning: Harsh language, violence, smut

He was all over me, literally. Whilst he kept my lips and tongue busy with his, his hands roamed across my body, gently caressing every square inch of it. The last tattered remains of my clothes fell off, but his silken gloves kept me warm against the cold air. I sucked on his lower lip to encourage him further, and in response he leaned into me. The sensation of his touch multiplied, and during a breath pause to draw breath I opened my eyes. Penny had sprouted another two pairs of arms, giving him a slightly spider-like appearance.

Whilst he played with my hair, he simultaneously worjed my erect nipples, kneading them; pinching them just enough to illicit a sweet stinging pain. And all the while his hands wandered down further, along my hips, in between my thighs. I pressed harder against him, the familiar desperate yearning overcoming any sense of self-control I had left. There needn’t be any more barriers between us, nothing to separate us – I had been inside him, literally, for fuck’s sake – and I tore at his clothes, fighting against the last veil of silk that stood between us.

His chuckle was barely audible, more of a deep rumble that went through his body right into mine. The hands in my hair disappeared and the pressure against me lessened, but before I could protest his fingers slipped inside me. My insides clamped down on him in an unconscious effort to pull him further along, and their effort was rewarded; Penny’s finger went deeper and deeper into me, as if they were growing in length. The weirdest sensation filled my stomach – his gloves, he must have popped his gloves – and a heartbeat later he touched that sweet, sweet spot.

I screamed as the orgasm hit me like a sledge hammer, but Penny was nowhere near done. His body pressed back against mine, finally rid of clothes and all decency, and he held me so tight I was no longer able to breathe properly. He was still mercilessly working my pussy, but another hand made its way between my ass cheeks. I briefly and very feebly thought about protesting, but in response he pressed against my G-spot again. Whether it was because I was dripping wet or by some transformation of his, his fingers quickly spread some hot liquid around my asshole. Then he inserted one.

One moment, there was the sensation of having soiled myself; then he pushed through the barrier and there was some pain. It didn’t last long, though, as having him inside both front and back quickly overwhelmed me. Still, it wasn’t enough for him. His tongue swelled up, almost forcing my jaws apart, and picked up the rhythm of his fingers as it thrust deeper and deeper into me. As he had swallowed me whole, enveloping me completely, he now filled my up with himself in every way possible. I no longer could feel any ending to my body, nor the beginning of his; all of my senses were filled with him alone.

Again, there was a brief pause as he withdrew his fingers from my pussy, then he shoved his dick into me. I came immediately, and this time it lasted. Wave after wave hit me, eroding my sense of self further and further. Something was different from all the times we had had sex before – something inside me had changed. It resonated with Penny in a way that was difficult to understand – like two sound waves with just the right frequency to suddenly amplify each other.

That resonance almost tore me apart, and I screamed on the top of my lungs as Penny shuddered and came.

The following week was entirely governed by the last minute preparations for both Bee’s return as well as the store opening, which would coincide. With Auntie’s help I fought my way through the rooms and seemingly unending layers of garbage and dirt. Thankfully Bee had already declared her intentions to renovate the whole apartment by herself, and she had spent countless hours picking colors and some new furniture from catalogs. The little insurance money she got wouldn’t allow for much more, but her DIY-attitude had significantly improved over the last days. We just made sure the dirt was gone and that the facilities worked; which they did. Still, by the time I was done every evening I did little more than hit the shower and fall into bed.

Penny found his own way to keep me company – he usually waited in my room, made good use of the phone I had gotten him, and occasionally accompanied me on my ways in the form of a big orange tabby. At night he would cradle me in his arms, making our fight seem like nothing more than a bad dream.

I didn’t have the energy to discuss it any further, either; nor could I bring myself to tell him I still felt rather overwhelmed by the sex we had had. It was a weird, uncomfortable balance that I just couldn’t deal with.

He had carried me home that night, wrapped into silk-like sheets he had miraculously produced, and he had washed me in our tiny shower. I was still entirely beside myself – I didn’t even spend a thought on auntie – and just stood there as he rinsed away his cum that poured out of my body.

He even tucked me into bed.

When the big day finally arrived, I was too tired to feel the least bit excited. I almost fell asleep twice during school, but fortunately no one noticed. It was Friday, and I was excused for the last lesson (P.E.), so I got to leave early. That also meant there was no chance of any potential bully waiting for me, and I didn’t bother checking my bike for any manipulations, as there hadn’t been any for quite a while. Of course, that didn’t turn out too well – somebody had opened the valves of my tires, and by the time I got to the shop, there was no air left in them. I didn’t care, though, as I had to prepare the little buffet auntie had organized for me (nothing major, just some tea and coffee, and some cupcakes she had surprised me with in the morning). After I finished that, I went through the registry and my documents for the last time, in a desperate attempt to not think about Penny and focus on the task at hand.

A quick glance at my watch told me that I had about fifteen minutes left before the official opening hours started. I briefly wondered whether anyone would show up at all – Auntie and I had invested in some flyers, and we had distributed them both at her working place as well as my school. I had also thrown the remaining ones into random mail boxes on my various ways. Despite that, my reputation might very well end up keeping any potential customer from actually seeking the store – my store, I reminded myself – out.

For the first time in a long while I thought back to Yaneesha, Shot and the other idiots that despised me so much. The reason for their unwavering hate was still very much of a mystery to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to wish them harm. After all, they had ultimately suffered bigger losses than I did, and ever since Yaneesha had left school, I hadn’t been physically attacked anymore.

At least not by humans.

I sighed and unlocked the doors.

To my big surprise a couple of people entered while I was putting out the huge board I had painted. They roamed around the shelves, and a tiny silver-hair lady even told me how happy she was that the store was open again. I vaguely remembered her face and came to the conclusion that she was one of the very few somewhat regular visitors. Didn’t she have a fondness for novels? I directed her towards some new arrivals, which prompted my first successful sale.

It was somewhat difficult to believe, and the whole situation felt unreal. Something about the ordinariness was quite at odds with the crazy circus my life had become. I answered questions, recommended books, and made a couple of other sales. It wasn’t much, but still a whole lot more than what I’d expected – nothing.

Auntie joined me after I had been open for ninety minutes, and I could tell how tired she was. We both forced smiles, and despite my best efforts, she insisted on staying with me, though her face grew paler by the minute. Just when I had convinced her to sit down and stop fussing, her face lit up with recognition.

“Oh, you didn’t tell me he was coming. How nice!”

I whirled around just to see Benny-Penny standing outside the store, a red balloon on a string in his hands. For some reason that really touched me – I was just glad auntie sat behind me, so she couldn’t see the stupid smile spreading across my face. I rushed out and grasped his hands.

“I’m so glad you’re here”, I gushed. “I can’t believe you’re willing to go through this… Are you okay?”

He nodded, a familiar twinkle in his eyes, and handed me the balloon. It even read “Congratulations” on it. After quickly wiping my eyes I ushered him inside, ignoring the weird vibrations that built up in my stomach.

Penny looked utterly out of place, a wonderful mixture of awkwardness and otherworldly beauty that was just a tick off – probably not enough for anyone to realize but enough to cause the other visitors to show signs of unease. It was almost comical – a guy in a rather fancy suit started fiddling with his tie, a young girl put her jacket back on, and a group of teens moved closer together. Despite the fact that it wasn’t a good thing unnerve the people who I was supposed to sell to, it was still entertaining to observe. And I couldn’t help myself but marvel at his human form; the way his muscles visibly moved beneath the thin, tight sweater he was wearing; the way that ass looked in that pair of jeans; the way his movements were still the same as in his clown form.

I quickly went into the back room and tied the balloon to my backpack, not wanting to leave Penny alone for too long; but by the time I had returned he sat beside auntie and they chatted away merrily. He laughed – that wonderful, over-the-top crazy laugh of his, and shook his head. Auntie smiled, said something and started chuckling. For a moment she looked much younger, the stress lines fading, and my heart started hurting again.

How I wished I could see her like that every day.

I joined them, but I admittedly didn’t pay much attention, nor contribute much to the conversation – I was just content to see auntie and Benny-Penny happy. My odd behavior wasn’t noticed, though; Benny told one joke after another, and soon, my costumers had circled around us, joining in on the laughs. From time to time I could have sworn I saw a glint of something in Benny’s eyes, but it always disappeared so quickly I couldn’t be sure.

It was a rather pleasant experience to have him around. Time flew by quickly, and making sales felt like something I did on the side whilst I was mainly focusing on Benny. Finally the last pulk of people left the store, and I waved after them. Auntie stood up and started cleaning the buffet table; throwing away crumbled napkins and stacking plates. I offered to help, but she refused me; so I started counting the money I had made. When she left to bring the plates upstairs to the apartment, I dropped all pretence and threw myself into Benny’s arms.

“Thank you for coming”, I whispered, somewhat at a loss at how to convey the deep gratitude I felt.

He just patted my head, but I could feel how exhausted he was. I understood all too well – being around other humans and having to act normally was difficult enough for me, and I was part of their race. I reached up and cradled his cheek in my hand.

“I will make this up to you, I promise.”

Benny’s head shot up so fast I didn’t realize he had moved for a second.

Something was wrong.

His face had become devoid of emotion, the smile that had just been there completely gone, and there was an orange hue in his eyes. He stood utterly still.

“What’s the matter?”

“One of them is coming closer.”

“Who?”

“One of them.”

It took me a second to put his words and his behavior together.

“You mean… the ones that hurt you?”

He nodded, his eyes turning ever more orange. I took his hands and pulled him around to face me.

“Listen, if you need to get out of here, go. But I don’t think you’re in danger – you look like a human, you’re in a fucking bookstore, and besides, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, okay?” That had absolutely no effect whatsoever. He was still as tense as before. “Penny, I promise, you’re safe.”

He slowly lowered his eyes, exhaling loudly. Not even a second later, he tensed up again. This time, he was watching someone outside. I turned around and saw two young men walking down the street. They held brown paper bags and yelled loudly, pushing each other constantly. My somewhat rusty instinct for bad situations told me they were trouble.

“They want to trash your shop.”

I didn’t even question him; I was too focused on the fact that they had changed direction and were now clearly walking up to us.

“I won’t allow that.” I reached into my pocket for my phone, with every intention to call the cops, but this time, Penny grabbed my hands. He had the weirdest little smile, and his left eye started drifting to the side. For some reason, I got goosebumps. I could only watch as he left me and stood in front of the duo. They shouted something, he replied, and the three of them walked away.

What was I supposed to do? I still had my phone in my hand, and I contemplated dialing 911. But what should I say? That I had possibly evaded big trouble? That my killer clown boyfriend had just left with the troublemakers and they’d better start searching for the leftovers, if there would be any? And that Pennywise might be in danger? Hello officer, you know, there’s this creature that kills and feeds on humans, and I love him very much, and he got spooked, so could you please start an investigation, and by the way, clean up after him?

“Where’d he go?”

Auntie had come back to me and looked out the door. I shook my head, gathering my jumbled thoughts.

“Oh, his mom called, he’s supposed to help her with something.”

“It was nice of him to stop by.”

“Yeah, very nice.” I still stared at the corner around which they had disappeared, as if I could make my gaze bend around it to follow them and make sure everything was okay.

“Is everything alright? Did you quarrel?”

“Oh no, I guess I’m just… a little overwhelmed with everything.” My attempt at a reassuring smile was bad at best, but somehow auntie bought it.

“Oh well, it’s been some hectic weeks for both of us.”

I nodded. A quick glance at my phone told me it was time to close down. That, thankfully, wouldn’t take long. However, there was still-

“Look who’s come!”

For the second time that day, a very welcome visitor approached the store. This time it wasn’t my favorite alien killer clown, it was Bee; with a large suitcase in hand and a warm smile on her face.

[itslaurenmae]

passages: sigtryggr/stiorra

Written for @tlkfanficfest​ round three - trope: stuck in a siege - read on ao3 here

No warnings, just some softness for these two, speculating on what may have happened during the siege at Winchester - feat. reading aloud, fresh bread, and hair braiding. Enjoy! (gif made by @jennasmarbles​)

Twenty-nine days.

That's how long the siege at Winchester had lasted so far. 

Twenty-nine days she'd spent inside the walls of the palace of the dead king Alfred, reading his chronicle aloud. 

Twenty-nine days spent not keeping score, twenty-nine days eating the same crust of bread. 

Twenty-nine days with Sigtryggr.

Stiorra felt a rush of heat to her cheeks as she caught herself thinking those words, laying on the floor of the room they’d been sitting in. Twenty-nine days with Sigtryggr. The number was not what caused the blush. 

“I’ll be back,” Sigtryggr had said. That was hours ago, and no one had been in since.

Not that she expected visitors. The only other people who ever came in the room besides Sigtryggr and herself were messengers - Danes who would try to lean over Sigtryggyr’s broad shoulders while they played the game she’d taught him or while she read to him. And Eardwulf, that one time, but he’d never be back now. 

“You do not need to lean,” she’d heard him say to the first messenger on day one. Sigtryggr had risen from the spot he was sitting and met Dane messenger eye to eye. “Say what you came to say.” 

He did this with every person who came to speak to him - told them not to lean over him, not to speak in a whisper. He only had to say it once for them to obey. Sigtryggyr had a commanding presence like that. 

It was not lost on her that Sigtryggr did not speak in secret tones with those who came to deliver news or ask advice. Everything related to the siege - how much food they had, where the defenses were being fortified, who was being held and where within the palace walls - he discussed all of these things openly in front of her at a regular volume. No hushes, no whispers. She heard every word.

After two days, she knew it was on purpose. He was showing her who he was. 

He wanted her to know.

On day three, he asked her to read from Alfred’s chronicle to him. 

“Why?” She kicked at the table leg, pretending not to notice the book he’d brought in.

Sigtryggr scooted toward her on the bench, placing his folded hands on top of the table they sat at, side by side. She felt his gaze on the side of her face as she pretended to look out the window. “Because I want to know about him. I want to understand.” He unfolded his hands and pushed the book toward her. “And because I can’t read English. You can.”

Stiorra quirked an eyebrow at him. She’d abhorred all those hours Hild and the other nuns had drilled at her to learn her words when she’d been a child, but now, she saw that perhaps this skill had a purpose. Made her valuable.

She reached for the book, opened it to the first page, and stole a quick look at Sigtryggr. He was smiling, and she mirrored a small smile back at him before clearing her throat. “Bring me water, and I’ll read all day.” 

He’d done just that. Brought her water, and sat and listened to her quietly, attentively. She’d read to him until the sun dipped beneath the horizon and the candles burned their wicks down to their pans. She’d gone to bed that night smiling.

Sigtryggr’s attentiveness was the most disarming thing.

On day four, she read to him some more. He’d crossed to the other side of the room and found a more comfortable place to put his feet up. Stiorra wondered if he was really listening to her, to each and every single word she was reading, or if his mind was wandering elsewhere. She glanced up from the page and saw him looking out a window. 

“And in the year 842, a great turd fell from the sky.” She deadpanned, using in the same tone she’d been reading in, making no show of the silly words she was choosing. 

Immediately, Sigtryggr’s eyes snapped to meet hers, brows knitting together as he narrowed his gaze at her. She ducked her back head down, making as if she’d not looked up from the page at all, but it was too late. He’d caught her.

“A great turd from the sky?” She could hear the grin in his voice again, could picture what it looked like on his handsome face as he took a step from the window. Stiorra kept her eyes on the page but couldn’t help but snicker - as she’d often done when making an off-color joke to the other young women at the abbey. 

She felt his eyes again, but hadn’t looked up to greet them. The bench shifted as he took a seat next to her and leaned back against the table. Hiding her face behind her hair, she heard the smile in Sigtryggr’s voice once again. He leaned toward her, close enough his breath caused her hair to move, but not so close as to touch her. “Tell me, Stiorra Uhtredsdottir. Tell me about this great turd from the sky.” 

Stiorra couldn’t stop herself from giggling onto the page then, unable to contain herself. He really was listening to what she was saying. 

The bench creaked as he reached across the table for the water jug.

“You have great wit,” Sigtryggr said, refilling her glass of water. 

“I do,” she responded, lifting her eyes to meet his. When she took the cup from his hands, their fingers brushed. A spark. “Thank you.”

“Keep reading.” He stood back up and resumed his stance by the window. “I am listening.”

Days four through ten had passed much the same. She read. Sigtryggr listened. 

She taught him to play a favorite game from her childhood and beat him so many times they stopped keeping score. They shared meals. He asked her questions about her father, her mother, her home. “What home?” she’d answered. It wasn’t Coccham, it wasn’t the abbey, it wasn’t Saltwic, and it certainly wasn’t Winchester. She had places she’d lived, but none of those places really felt like home. 

She explained it all. And still, Sigtryggr listened. 

Sigtryggr watched. 

Sigtryggr learned. 

On day eleven, they walked around the halls of the palace together. She’d told him she was tired of sitting, and he said he’d walk with her. Stiorra liked the way their elbows grazed each other when they rounded the first corner.

She wanted to go outside but did not ask. She was a hostage, but hadn’t thought of herself that way for a little while. Sigtryggr never called her that, never referred to her as one when he talked with other people who came into the room. No, the hostages were the nobles, Lord Aethelhelm and his daughter Aelfled, Alfred’s wife - the pious Lady Aelswith, and two children. The one she knew, Aethelstan - who she almost missed - and some other boy, who she did not give a rat’s arse about. Sigtryggr called them the hostages, his men called them the hostages. But not her. Sigtryggr just called her Stiorra. 

She didn’t remember she was a hostage until day eighteen, when she caught Brida’s pointed glare when they passed by her on a walk in the hall. The harshness of the other woman’s stare was powerful, her ire tangible, like tiny knives poking into Stiorra’s face. No, she could not ask to go outside. Not yet.

More reading. 

More games. 

More walks inside. 

More days. 

More time with Sigtryggr.

That was days one through twenty-eight. Today was day twenty-nine, and he’d been gone for hours.

She’d dozed off in the room without meaning to. She was woken by voices in the hallway, some Dane saying that Sigtryggr had gone to the ramparts as another silly volley of Saxons were attempting to rush the gate. It happened so frequently, Stiorra had stopped caring or keeping count of how many times this made. She’d woken up with tangles in her hair, and decided to work new braids atop her head. 

She thought about how she and Sigtryggr spent hours of each day together now. They’d fallen into a rhythm. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they played, sometimes she read from the chronicle and he asked her questions. Sometimes they just sat in the room, together but not. He’d puzzle over maps while she watched the Dane warriors sparring in the courtyard, idly carving runes into a piece of wood he’d brought her from outside.

But right now she was alone. 

She wondered when he’d be back. She took her hair down and brushed it out, marking the silence. There weren’t even birds singing outside.

After tying a new knot on top of her head, she pulled up a smaller section of hair and began passing one section over another, steadily bringing each piece to find its place with the next. The braid began to take shape, and with each new pass, each minute that went by, she began to understand that she missed Sigtryggr.

The shade shifted across the window, marking the passage of time. Stiorra pulled another section of hair to the opposite side of her head and began to work it into a second small plait to match the first. 

She thought for a fleeting moment, somewhere near the midpoint of the second braid, that perhaps she shouldn’t care about him or what he was doing, but the truth was that she did. By the end of the second braid, she resolved to feel no shame in that.

Too much time had gone by. He’d been gone for many hours now, she was sure. She needed something to do with her hands, couldn’t bear to sit and wonder any longer what was delaying him. Stiorra backtracked and began redoing the first braid she’d made after her nap. 

Sigtryggr returned to the room while she worked on a third braid, a plate of apples and fresh bread in hand. She hadn’t heard him, her back to the door as she sat by the window, fingers flitting in and out of the new braid she was making. 

He sat the plate on the table as quietly as he could. He didn’t want to interrupt her at her work. Sigtryggr knew how to remain quiet, how to wait until the right moment. 

Stiorra felt a breeze pass through the room, and with it came the scent of fresh bread. She turned to see where the scent came from and was both surprised and relieved to see Sigtryggr there, one hand on his face, his head cocked to one side as he studied her.

“Sigtryggr.” She dropped her hands from her hair and made to stand, pausing her work. Startled. Happy to see him. “You brought bread.”

A small shake of his head. “Do not stop.” 

Her eyes locked onto him, and he held her gaze as he crossed the room. How he could be so deft, so quiet, so graceful and so powerful at the same time - she wondered if she’d ever know. She swore her insides were melting with every step he took in her direction.

Stiorra sank back into the chair, disarmed by him as he moved toward her, catlike. She pieced together the remaining sections of her braid, her breath slow, not breaking his eye contact as he stepped to her. She searched for something to say, but no words came. Nothing but a lump in her throat and the slow cadence of her own breath, rising and falling.

He knelt to her eye level and held himself in a squat next to her. Sigtryggr faced her, but did not crowd her. He never crowded her. Not that first day, when she’d tried to cut herself and he’d disarmed her, both with his words and also with his hands - not when he’d stepped in to to protected her from Eardwulf, not when he sat next to her on the bench, and not now. 

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks as he placed his left hand flat on the chair next to her leg, gentle but solid. She knew her ears would be turning crimson, knew he’d be able to see the effect he had on her from this close. She briefly thought to turn away from him, to move her hair to cover the flush, but the way the air had collapsed around them kept her from doing so. Too locked into him and his brown eyes and his handsome face, she met him with her own studied look.

Sigtryggr reached his right hand up, keeping the left flat on the chair to the side of her leg, chaste but firm. His fingers ghosted over the side of her face, his thumb lightly brushed over her cheekbone. She felt him reach up and take hold of the braid she’d just finished. Her breath caught in her throat. 

Sigtryggr took the braid in his hand, running it between his thumb and forefinger, handling it like it was holy, the way she’d seen him touch Thor’s hammer around his neck. She could hear his own breathing, so close to her she thought she might burst into flame. She couldn’t stop from thinking about what it might be like to feel his even breath closer to her, over her cheek, on her neck, in the hollow of her collarbone, in her ear as he whispered her name. 

She gulped, feeling a new rush of heat to her cheeks and a warm tingle deep inside her chest. He was so close. So close she could see the fan of his eyelashes, the ridges of the scar on his face, proud and regal, the scent of fresh bread still in the air. 

“You must show me.”

“Show you?” she gulped.

“You must show me how you do this.” 

Stiorra blinked. Without warning, she scooted back in the chair, which caused Sigtryggr to lose his balance a little and force him to brace his hand on the ground as he caught himself. 

“Turn around, then,” she directed, her voice higher in pitch than usual but unwavering. “Sit.”

He laughed, eyes only briefly dropping to the floor with a sigh as he did as she asked.

Sigtryggr listened. 

He sat on the ground in front of her, between her knees. He crossed his legs and straightened his spine. 

“Can you see?” she asked as she reached for her brush.

“Yes,” he nodded, and his reflection in the window nodded back.

“Good. Now, this is called a braid,” Stiorra said, taking his hair into her hand, brushing it the way she’d done for herself, for Aelfwynn sometimes when she’d lived at Saltwic. She was surprised by the texture of his hair, of how much of it there was. It was softer than it looked like it would be, and it smelled like wood and wheat and outside.

“I know what a braid is.”

“This is not just any braid.” She began to thread her fingers through Sigtryggr’s hair, taking a small section from his temple into her hands. “This is the braid my mother would make for my father when he returned home from a long absence.”

Sigtryggr didn’t say anything. He sat still, but not stiff. She saw the rise and fall of his shoulders in the reflection of the window in front of them, marked the way his lips were parted while she separated the section of hair into three smaller pieces.

“Well, that’s what she told me it was when she taught me to do it.” 

She began to move one piece over another, and saw Sigtryggyr’s shoulders sag just a little, to relax as she began. 

“He’d come home after fighting some battle or settling some dispute somewhere, and she’d make him wash, and while his hair dried, she’d put this braid in his hair.” She worked steadily as she crossed the first few passes. A flock of birds passed by the window.

Sigtryggr said nothing. His breathing had fallen into an easy cadence, and she found herself mirroring it.

“To keep it out of his face,” she continued. “My mother couldn’t stand when his hair was in his face...” 

She trailed off briefly, remembering Gisela telling her this very thing time and time again as she’d worked a braid into Stiorra’s hair. And do you know, Stiorra, with every pass I made in your father’s hair, I weaved in my care for him? My hope for his continued safety? My joy for his return?  

Stiorra felt a lump of pride in her throat, a quick sting rising in her eyes. She didn’t want Sigtryggr to see that, though. It wasn’t for him - it was for Gisela, the mother she missed so much - for the life Stiorra and her family didn’t get to have, for the fear she secretly carried - the fear that she, too, would die young like her mother. 

He was looking at her reflection in the window, eyes open and eager. Not wanting to pull him into her sadness, Stiorra made another pass of Sigtryggr’s hair and quietly quipped, “I can’t stand when your hair is in your face, either. It always is.”

At that, Sigtryggr laughed, shattering the unspoken tension, bright and warm and alive. 

Stiorra smiled back at him into their reflections in the window. The warmth from the late afternoon sun shone on their faces, clear and bright in the window glass. She blinked back the sting at her eyes, happy to have made him laugh. She wanted to make him laugh like that more. 

With every pass, every placement, every strand, Stiorra weaved her own hopes into the braid she made for Sigtryggr that twenty-ninth day. Hopes that he’d stay safe. Hopes that her father was still alive out there, hopes that one day, there would be a world where it didn’t matter - being a Saxon or a Dane - hopes that she could be both, that she could be more. Hopes that perhaps, she and Sigtryggr could be more, together.

Stiorra continued working, sweeping the plait to one side of his handsome brow. She checked her work in the reflection and rested her hands on his shoulders, relished the sight of his peaceful face.  

“I am pleased,” he said. 

“Good,” Stiorra replied, fastening the end with a silver bead from her own hair. “It suits you.”

“But you did not show me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You did this for me, but you did not show me how to do this for you.”

The sun began to slip behind the wall of the courtyard. It wasn’t night yet, but it would be shortly. Stiorra beamed.

“You want to braid my hair?”

“Yes,” Sigtryggr answered. He rose from the floor and stood before her. He lifted her chin with his finger. “Yes, I do.”

So passed the twenty-ninth day. 

This work is largely inspired by a conversation I had with @jeynepoole​ about how much I can't stand Sigtryggr's wig in season four. I've started calling it his Hermione hair. It's poofy and ridiculous, and I can't be super sure, but I'm fairly certain he doesn't have a braid on the one side before the siege at Winchester begins, but I think he's got one by episode ten. I don't think it's out of the question that Stiorra could have braided his hair for him in that time. 

Thank you for reading!

[katblu42]

The End?

This is something I wrote for a creative writing competition. The challenge was to write something (within a week) starting at the end and working back to the beginning. For some reason the prompt/challenge sparked this little piece, which is pretty much non-fiction. I guess it came at a time when the subject matter was on my mind. I wanted to post it now because a related anniversary is coming up.

There are warnings!!! Please heed the tags. Death, Sickness, Hospitals, Cancer. (If more warnings/tags are needed please let me know so I can make appropriate edits!)

Below the cut for length and warnings.

This was not how their story was supposed to end. There were still so many chapters they had hoped to write together, so many journeys toward possible futures that they had imagined spending side by side. She never anticipated being a childless widow before she had even turned forty-two. She’d never considered being faced with a hopeless situation, or the unenviable decision to allow them to stop treatment and let him slip away. Treatments that could prolong his life a little, but not fix him. Their plans had never included his hand desperately clinging to hers as she tearfully told him it was okay for him to let go and leave her behind.

He had wanted to fight. It broke her heart that there was nothing the combined efforts of all the medical staff could do to support his fight. It was a losing battle. His body was giving up on him, organs shutting down even though his mind was not ready to give up. The three weeks he lasted in the ICU had left him battle-scarred and exhausted, but he had still not wanted to give in, or let her down.

His Forty-second birthday was less than a week before the end. It was spent with family, visiting two by two according to ICU visitor limits. He was barely able to communicate by then, his lips scabbed and bloody, and a ventilator tube in his throat inserted by tracheostomy. The medical team had not wanted the tube to remain in his mouth any longer, but he was too weak to breathe on his own.

He had been off the ventilator for a while, during one of the hopeful moments. They’d been able to remove the breathing tube, and they had been able to reduce the blood pressure medication for a while. His temperature had stabilised and she’d focused on the improvements, encouraging him to think positive. Facing the alternative had been unthinkable.

She had put such hope in the drug she’d had to sign permission for them to administer – one that had to be shipped urgently from interstate, that had approval for use in the US, but not here. They had told her it was possible too much time had passed for the reversal drug to be fully effective. It had been more than five days since the chemo treatment which now needed reversing had ended.

Hope was all she’d had at that point. Seeing him finally settled in Intensive Care with all the monitors and their beeps and alarms, the ventilator with its click and hiss, the hum of the heat pump regulating his temperature, the blood transfusion and IV lines all keeping her unconscious husband alive, she had to cling to every scrap of hope she could. His immune system was so compromised she had to wear the gown and gloves and mask just to sit in the corner of the room and let the silent tears fall.

The ICU waiting room was deserted during the wee hours. She and her Mum stayed until dawn before buzzing the door intercom to enquire about seeing him. His Dad had left after the surgeon had spoken to them all some hours before, explaining that in his current state surgery was not a viable option for the infection in his gut. The previous wait in Emergency had been shorter, and the waiting room slightly more comfortable, but the constant worry and the lack of information had been excruciating.

Two ambulances had attended their tiny unit in answer to her call, such was the seriousness of his condition. Despite having four uniformed people fussing over her husband, she had not been given much information about what was happening. She’d been instructed to get all his medication together to bring with her to the hospital, then left to change out of her pyjamas while they loaded him into an ambulance. All this happened in a blur of action and confusion. Less than 20 minutes before they all headed to the hospital she had been performing chest compressions on him on the tiled floor of their cramped bathroom.

The Emergency Services operator on the other end of the phone had talked her through the CPR procedure. She’d learned it years before in first aid training, but having to actually perform the chest compressions on someone she loved was still horrifyingly daunting. He hadn’t stopped breathing, but the ES operator had assured her CPR was necessary because his gasping breaths had been so far apart.

She had never had to call an ambulance for anyone before, but it didn’t take a genius to see she needed help. His level of responsiveness had decreased so rapidly after she’d found him slumped forward sitting on the toilet, unable to sit up unaided. The yellow tinge to his skin had startled her. He had cried out to her in such a way that instinct had brought her rushing from the loungeroom without taking a moment to process anything more than the feeling that something was very wrong.

He had just wanted to sleep, so she tried to give him space to do that, sitting quietly in the loungeroom while he stayed in the darkened bedroom. He had refused to let her bring him something to eat, which had concerned her. She’d offered to call the hospital for advice, knowing he was uncomfortable and wanting to make sure he was okay, but he had refused to let her, insisting that there was no need to make a fuss. She’d arrived home from work around five, and suspected he had been in bed all day, “just feeling a bit yuck.” Later she would feel so much guilt for not trusting her instinct to get help for him then.

For the first couple of days after his chemo treatment ended he had seemed okay, feeling upbeat, acting normal. He had been in high spirits despite the prospect of months of treatment still ahead. There had been a little grumbling about feeling a little bit off, but that was to be expected, right?

His first (and only) round of chemo had been a five day affair. Three medications, two of which had been administered within a day at the clinic and the third he had carried around in a little pack while it slowly released over the five days. The plan had been laid out by the oncology team, with lots of consultations and discussions during the preceding weeks. He was to have two or three rounds of the chemo drugs, then radiation treatment would begin. Combination therapy to treat the cancers in his mouth and throat.

There had been months of discomfort, reducing his ability to eat properly, or enjoy food. He had lost a considerable amount of weight before she had been able to convince him to finally go and see a doctor and find out what was wrong. He’d always been the type to avoid going to a doctor unless he was literally at death’s door. She knew that part of what had held him back for so long was the fear that it could be something serious.

He didn’t want to ruin their holiday, but he promised he would see someone about the sore throat when they got back from the Gold Coast. It was only a week spent away, but they had visited all their favourite haunts. This was one of their regular holiday spots during their ten year marriage. They always felt like big kids, visiting the theme parks and the beaches, playing mini golf, messing about in the resort pool.

The two of them had been lucky to share many little trips away over the years. They’d had many more days of laughter and smiles than they’d had of tears and troubles. There had been precious gifts exchanged between them – but not many in a physical form she could lay her hands on. Each of them had broadened the other’s horizons, sparking interest in new experiences, sharing the activities and pass-times they loved.

Their wedding day had been filled with fun and friends and family. She had seen then how many people his bright and generous personality drew to him. So many people had wanted to share in their joy, and had told her she would never find a more loyal and loving mate. All the elegance and finery, the colour and music, the celebration of their union had been a wonderful way to begin their journey hand in hand to the future.

His proposal on the beach, early in the morning in a place he had been holidaying with his family every year since he was tiny, had taken her by surprise. He had asked her to come with him for a walk. They had travelled quite a long way up the beach, just watching the waves crash on the shore, listening to the shrieks of the gulls and making small talk. Then he had dropped to one knee and asked the question. She needed a moment to take in what was happening. His heart just about stopped, thinking she was hesitating. She had said yes, and put him out of his nervous agony.

Their first “proper” date was a walk to the local McDonalds for burgers and sundaes. Neither of them had much money, so neither had wanted to go anywhere fancy. She had been happy with the little things – like the way he always walked beside her on the footpath placing himself between her and the busy road. He was not rich, nor did he have impressive style or a brainiac’s intelligence, but he was open and funny and kind and she wanted to spend time with him.

She hadn’t ever been to the trivia night at the local bowling club, so she wasn’t sure what to expect, or how it all worked. The lady who hosted the quiz gave her an answer sheet and steered her towards a table, telling her the young man with the twinkle in his blue eyes, and the dimpled smile would look after her. That was the moment their story had begun.

[multisfabulis]

Only Through Acceptance Will Love Find Us

The Florist of Belleurseul (Chapter 1)

Word Count: 5728

What's this? Another update from me within less than a week? What is this witchcraft?!

I'm joking, of course, but this is, for sure, another update! For those that didn't read the notes for "Land's Trust in Light", you can disregard this but all I'll say is that it is practically unheard of for me to post twice in the same month, much less the course of two weeks, so I'm having a bit of fun with myself.

Anyway, I know I said in the last chapter I wouldn't update this story much because I consider this a backburner project, meaning I wouldn't devote much attention to it unless it was one of the rare occasions I had nothing else to write at the moment. However, I figured that, since I only left everyone a 500 word prologue last time, it'd only be fair to write and post the first chapter so you guys would have something to chew on while waiting for the next chapter. It's after this I'll be putting this story on the backburner to be worked on occasionally, meaning no frequent updates. Have fun with the foreshadowing I put in here!

Read on AO3 | Read on DA | Support me on Ko-fi!

     “Thank you, have a nice day!”

     At that, Venlithea Virthana slid the gold coin into her pocket. She managed to bring in a good sum of money today, despite the encroaching winter. Pride coursed through her at the thought of having sold that many flowers and she had to stop herself from jumping for joy. She instead settled on walking with a bounce to her step as she wondered if things were finally looking up.

     Days like today didn’t happen very often. Some days had only a handful of regulars show up while others none. Then there were days she’d be verbally harassed or even pushed to the ground, which would spill her flowers out on the ground to be trampled upon by unsuspecting or uncaring passersby. Those happened enough times she stopped being bothered by them a long time ago. She was highly thankful today wasn’t like those days.

     She had only one thing left to do before going home and that was to return the book she borrowed from the bookshop. She planned on exchanging the book with the one she regarded as her favorite so she’d have something enjoyable to read for the next few days while her mother was out of town. Gripping her basket tightly in her hands, she set off for the bookshop.

     Venlithea, or Ven as she preferred to be called, has lived in the small, quaint village of Belleurseul all her life. Anyone could mistake it for being a quiet, sleepy town in the middle of nowhere if not for the people. The village sprang to life every time a visitor dropped by and they would deem the occasion as cause to celebrate. She’s had plenty of sleepless nights from the noise these parties brought to her door. It’s partly due to this she’s wanted to leave Belleurseul for years.

     It’s been her and her mother’s dream to go and find a new place for them to live. A place they could truly, truly call home. In order to do that, though, they needed money and lots of it. Her mother was a traveling merchant, which fetched them a nice amount of gold, but her sickly nature’s prevented her from going on many trips. Once she was old enough to, Ven began selling flowers she grew herself as a way to help out. It wasn’t much but it kept them afloat.

     Working as a florist’s been hard. She wasn’t stupid to believe she’d earn tons of money selling flowers, especially in a rural village like Belleurseul. She just didn’t expect the struggles that came with being a flower girl. Better yet, the struggles of her being a flower girl.

     As beautiful as this village was, it wasn’t perfect. Some of the buildings were falling apart, the scent of fermented waste lingered in the air, and she’s known from experience how cruel the people were. They’ve made no secret on how much they dislike, and even fear, things different from them. She and her mother weren’t like them, thus they were outcasts, pariahs.

     She received the brunt of their harsh treatment. She’d hear the rumors and gossip spread about her when she walked into town. Stories of how she was a changeling born from fairies or how she was a witch sent from hell to curse them were just the tip of the iceberg. She knew they were utter nonsense but what point was there in denying them if the villagers continued to tell those tall tales, regardless of how she felt? The way she looked wasn’t her fault yet---

     She fervently shook her head to rid herself of those thoughts. She couldn’t, wouldn’t dwell on painful memories. Today was a good day and musings of the past weren’t going to ruin that for her. She needed to get what she wanted to do done so she could help Mother prepare for her upcoming trip. She hurried off to the bookshop, ignoring the pointed looks people gave her as she passed by.

     Within minutes, she arrived at her destination. The bookshop was a small, one-story building settled on a busy street corner north of the village. It had dark yellow walls that were beginning to flake with age, large windows on either side, a thin, wooden door, and a rusty sign hanging above with the word “Bookshop” carved into it. She’s come to this place ever since she was a child and the owner considered her his favorite customer. She stepped inside, the familiar smell of musty books enveloping her.

     There were stacks of books scattered across the wooden floor. Bookcases that stretched all the way up to the ceiling stood at the back and sunlight streamed in from both the windows. To her left was an old, rickety counter that came up to her chest and behind it was the owner of the bookshop. He was an older man with graying hair and round glasses sitting atop his nose and was reading a book when he noticed her. He grinned warmly at her.

     “Ah, Ven, you’re back!” he said excitedly, putting his book down and walking around the counter. “How’s your day been? Are you returning a book?”

     “That I am--” she fished the book out of her basket and handed it to him-- “and it’s been great, thank you for asking.”

     Fixing his glasses, he squinted his eyes and exclaimed, “You finished this already? It’s only been a day!”

     “What can I say? I’m a fast reader,” she replied with a giggle. “Any new additions for me yet?”

     He let out a hearty laugh. “Not since you asked yesterday but I’ll let you know as soon as I do. Now, go on, take your pick!”

     She practically skipped over to the bookcases in the back. It was a shame she couldn’t borrow more than one book at a time. It wasn’t as if the owner wouldn’t let her, it was just that she’d get too distracted with one she’d forget all about the other. She hated being somewhat of a scatterbrain when it came to books. Still, there was only one she wanted and she was going to have it. Reaching the middle bookcase, she took out the thin, hardcover book.

     “I’ll go with this one.” She held it up to him. “Will that be all right?”

     Taking it from her, he asked, “That one again? Haven’t you read this twice now?”

     “Yes, but it’s just so good,” she replied, playing with her hands. “I consider it my favorite.”

     “Oh, it has to be if you’re saying that! Tell me, what is it you like so much about it?”

     “Oh, uh, well, um…”

     She struggled to come up with an answer. She was a horrible liar but the truth was too embarrassing to reveal. How could she tell him about the deep sense of yearning the book left her with each time she read it? The way her heart hurt when she had to depart from the world that gave her comfort? How it filled the hole inside her by letting her have what she desperately wanted for only a short time? There was no way she could talk about such intimate things with anyone, least of all him.

     “There’s just so many things I like that it’s hard to pick just one,” she answered, hoping it didn’t sound as stilted as it did in her head. She technically wasn’t lying so it might’ve seemed convincing.

     With a guffaw, he put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Tell you what, why don’t you keep that book since you like it so much?”

     “Really?” she asked, her eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly take this from you without---”

     “Ven, I can think of no one else better to hand this book to--” he squeezed her shoulder before retracting his hand and grabbing his chin-- “but if you’re so insistent on paying me back, bake me the usual.”

     “Blackberry bread, right?” She grabbed the book from him and opened the door with a smile. “I’ll have it ready for you tomorrow morning!”

     She turned to page one right after exiting the bookshop. Her eyes read over the familiar words just as they had twice before. It was a good thing she’d gotten so used to reading while walking in town, she knew what accidents to expect. With that, she fully immersed herself in her beloved fantasy world.

     Flying down some steps with an unusual grace was easy. Pushing the sign above her up to protect herself from getting soaked, she could do with her eyes closed. She was small and agile enough to carefully dodge people barreling past her. It was when she already reached the third chapter she noticed the soreness in her legs. She decided to take a short rest and sat on the rim of the nearby fountain.

     The noises of the world around her faded away as she continued reading. All she heard now was birdsong and the crunching of snow under her feet. She imagined herself to be in a castle’s courtyard, a wintry wonderland. She could almost feel the bitter cold nipping at her hands and face and she shuddered. Her heart fluttered in her chest upon seeing how close she and the princely beast were to each other. She began to wonder if there was there that wasn’t there before and then---

     Loud bleating tore her out of her imagination. She looked up and saw several fluffy sheep gathering around her. One that seemed to be an older lamb pushed its way through the herd, bleating up at her. A smile broke across her face as she petted its head, giving it scratches behind its ear like she always did. She liked animals; they weren’t judgmental and she loved being affectionate towards them. Pets, strokes, scritches, and kisses were part of the whole package.

     Then it tore out a corner of her page and ate it. She let out an annoyed sigh as she continued scratching the lamb’s ear. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t miffed at the small display of destruction but it was better to forgive and forget. It’s not like the lamb did it maliciously and it was only a corner. She could get over missing a corner of an illustration-less page.

     Now was the time to be getting home. The sheep parted to make way for her and she flipped the page before crossing through the main thoroughfare. However, it was hard for her to focus on reading when there was a commotion going on. She looked up to see a crowd surrounding someone, with loud squeals and all. Ah, so the wayfaring Casanova was back in town.

     Renard Géroux stood in the center with his signature charming smile. His blond hair flowed down to his shoulders in waves, not a stray strand anywhere on his handsomely chiseled face. The sun complemented his dark brown skin and the sheer white of his clothes made him seem as if he were glowing. The most striking thing about him, though, were his icy blue eyes. Eyes that were now locked on hers.

     She felt a shiver run up her spine as he approached her. Everyone was like a giant to her but Renard was truly the embodiment of one. She had to crane her head up to meet his gaze, standing just at his chest. What could he want with her and how quick could she get away?

     “Oh, hello, Thea, how are you today?” he asked, flipping his hair back. “It’s rare to see you outside at this time of day.”

     Closing her book, she fought the urge to huff out a sigh and replied, “Hello, Mr. Géroux. I just got done running an errand I had to do after work so I’m on my way home.”

     “Please, call me Renard,” he said while flashing a smile.

     “Mr.---Renard, I’m in a slight hurry here so please, tell me what it is you want with me.”

     “Since you asked me so nicely, I was wondering if you would like to take a walk with me later today?”

     She hoped he didn’t see her bristle at his suggestion. The many women that huddled around him gave her glares full of daggers. How she wished she could tell them he was all theirs and that she wanted nothing to do with him. It was rather unfortunate she wasn’t a mind-reader.

     “Surely you know of the rumors about me, right?” she asked in an attempt to dissuade him. “Do you really want someone known to be a witch spending time with you? I’d be tarnishing your pristine image.”

     “I tend to not believe in rumors, gossip, and the like. Now--” he wrapped a svelte arm around her shoulders-- “how about that walk?”

     Quickly shaking off his arm, she replied in a deceptively calm voice, “As much as I appreciate the offer, I must decline. I was going to help my mother prepare for her upcoming trip and I planned on relaxing by reading my book.”

     “Oh, come on,” he scoffed. “I hardly think reading some old, dusty tome is better than taking a nice stroll with me.”

     She felt her temper flare up and forced herself to smile. “Some people may agree with you but I find good entertainment in books. Maybe you should try them some time.”

     “What, like this one?” He snatched the book in her hands away. “How can anyone have fun with these?”

     Her eyes widening in panic, she reached up to try grabbing the book from him while practically begging, “Renard, can you please give that back?”

     “How can you even read this?” He carelessly flipped the book open to a random page. “It’s so wordy and long and there’s not even any pictures in it.” Then he threw the book over his shoulder. “You don’t need that.”

     Her heart stopped when she saw it land in a nearby mud puddle. She dove to the ground and fished it out, praying it wasn’t badly damaged. Relief crashed over her upon seeing that it was only mildly wet. If it had gotten soaked, she would’ve been seriously upset and devastated.

     “So how about it?” he asked nonchalantly. God, she really wanted to tell him off but causing a scene was the last thing she needed.

     Instead, she took a deep breath and answered, “I’m simply too busy, Renard. Maybe when I’m free, then I’ll consider it but for now, I’m saying no.”

     Holding the book close to her chest, she turned to go home. All she had to do was see her mother, bake the blackberry bread, and garden. Tending to her flowers always seemed to calm her down.

     “So are you going to end up like your crackpot mother, then?”

     She stopped walking as soon as she heard those words. Her fingers were beginning to hurt from how tight she held her book and she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from shouting. She was pissed, for lack of a better term. She could handle the insults hurled her way but her mother was another story.

     Breathing in, she stormed over to him and asked, “What did you say?”

     “You heard me,” he replied, crossing his arms and returning her glare.

     “I thought you said you didn’t believe in rumors.”

     “They’re not rumors if they’re true. I mean, your mother’s always selling these so-called ‘herbal remedies’ and passing them off as medicine, right? Wasn’t it because of one of those strange concoctions her lover died?”

     “You should fact-check your sources because you’re wrong on all accounts. Everyone knows how her lover died and even if they didn’t, that matter is none of their concern. Secondly, my mother’s a traveling merchant who happens to be an herbalist on the side. Herbalism is just another method of practicing medicine and is not something to be considered as witchcraft.”

     “Thea---”

     “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go help my mother prepare.”

     Turning around, she started going back home when she stopped suddenly and looked behind her shoulder. “And another thing. Go to hell, Renard.”

     Then she crossed over the bridge leading to her house. She was almost expecting Renard to grab her and demand she apologize but thankfully didn’t. He needed to be knocked down a peg or two. He shouldn’t have said those kinds of awful things about her mother. He was just like them.

     She couldn’t begin to imagine how hard it was to raise a child all alone. Her mother tried her best to give her everything she needed, despite the struggles. There were nights she’d hear her crying, nights she’d go hungry, yet she faced her with a loving smile every morning. She became a florist to a town open with its prejudice as a way to repay her mother for all she had done for her. She wasn’t a crackpot; she was a hardworking, devoted mother and she loved her.

     Her anger dissipated when she arrived home. It was a small, two-story house that sat on the outskirts of Belleurseul, with amber walls and pine green accents. It had an equally small stable around the back and a water wheel on the side closest to the stream. It may not have looked like much but it was home. She was going to miss this old house when she and Mother moved.

     She walked towards the stable and she saw a woman. She was tall, olive-skinned, and a little on the plump side but it only added to her beauty. Her rich, burgundy hair was tied back into a thick braid and fell past her shoulder as she spread a handful of seed over the ground to feed the chickens. She turned to face her upon hearing footsteps and eyes the color of toasted pecans warmed at the sight of her. This was her adoring mother, Nithenoel Ravavyre.

     Coming out of the stable, she greeted her daughter with a quick hug and kiss before asking, “Hi, sweetheart, how was work today?”

     “Hello, Mother, it was great actually. Here, let me show you.” She took some of the coin she gathered today out of her pocket and presented them to her. “There’s more where those came from.”

     “Oh my…” Mother said under her breath, bringing the handful of coin closer to see them clearly.

     “Today must’ve been my lucky day!”

     “I’ll say!” She closed her fingers over the coins. “Listen, how about we go inside and put those away so we can talk, hmm?”

     The two women climbed up the stone steps leading to the front door. It was a dark, well-made door with a makeshift peephole in the center. Ven was hit with a blast of warmth when Mother opened the door and it felt very nice against the cold. The fireplace must be lit if it was this warm.

     Upon entering, they passed by the narrow staircase that led up to the second floor and cut across the living room. It was small but it was the perfect size for them. The walls were a nice cream color and hanging off them were several paintings Mother had done when she was younger, way before her time. To their right was a light wood cupboard where Ven set down her basket and book and above it was an oval mirror. On the other side was a small, brown sofa and a low table sat in front of it on top of a big, dark blue rug. At the back was the lit fireplace and windows where sunlight was streaming in, a couple chairs were placed in front of the fireplace with a thin blanket hanging on the back of one of them. The next room they went in was the kitchen.

     It was tiny. There were four cabinets above the four counters that stretched from one honeyed wall to the tall pantry. On the opposite side of the counters was a small breakfast nook that served as their dining table with a couple stools sitting under it. A footstool was tucked in the nook’s corner for when Ven needed to fetch something from the cabinets or pantry, which was every day. She couldn’t wait to have a bigger kitchen when they finally moved.

     Mother sat at the nook while she opened one of the counter doors. Inside were linens meant to come out when they had guests over but that wasn’t what she was looking for. She tossed some sheets aside to uncover a mason jar. It was heavy and she set it down on the nook. Unscrewing the top revealed tons of gold inside from years of working and saving up.

     It was what they called their nest egg. They needed some serious money for their dream to become a reality and this was the result of their hard work. They’d have more if times weren’t rough and they didn’t have to dip into their savings but no use in dwelling on those.

     As she was dropping her coin into the jar, Mother asked, “So, any other news to share?”

     “Well, I returned the book I borrowed yesterday and guess what?” She screwed the top back on as Mother looked at her expectantly. “The owner gave me my favorite book for free!”

     “That’s great, honey. I suppose it’s the one you set on the cupboard back there?” She leaned back on the stool to see it. “For free, too?”

     “Well, I have to bake him his blackberry bread but it was his deal, not mine!” she replied, putting the jar back in its spot under the counter. The sheets she tossed aside earlier were thrown over the jar to hide it better.

     Giggling, Mother leaned forward and said, “I know, honey, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. That book’s the one where the beast falls in love with the girl who shows him the true meaning of love, right?”

     “Mm-hmm and it’s all mine!”

     “I’m happy for you, Thea. You know, speaking of, have you found someone you can call your prince yet?”

     She let out a sigh upon hearing the question. It was hard to find and be interested in someone when the whole village seemed to hate her. She had people she’d fancied before but she knew to keep her expectations low and realistic. If she did have a “prince”, they certainly weren’t in Belleurseul.

     “Mother, you know I'm not interested in romance,” she replied, bringing the footstool out of its corner.

     “Not interested or haven’t found anyone yet?” Mother asked.

     “Both!” She set the footstool down in front of a counter and climbed up it. “I don’t see the point of trying to find love here since we’ll be leaving Belleurseul sometime in the future.”

     “What about that Renard fellow? I hear he’s back in town.”

     “Ugh, Mother, don’t even joke about that. That man is an arrogant and pompous jerk who thinks he’s the hottest thing alive. I don’t wanna be anywhere near him.”

     “My, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak so strongly about someone before. Did he do anything to you?”

     “No, it’s just…he makes me uncomfortable.”

     “Uncomfortable?”

     “Yeah. I don’t know how to explain it but--” she held a bundle of sugar in her hands before setting it down beside her-- “he gives me bad vibes. He hasn’t said or done anything to raise any red flags for me but he just gives me a weird feeling.”

     She couldn’t explain it any other way. She could sense there being something off about him since their first meeting years ago. He seemed normal, if a little too forward at times, but she couldn’t shake off the apprehension she felt around him. Maybe it was her dislike of people like him that gave her discomfort. Either way, she knew she didn’t want to be alone in a room with him.

     “Thea, you still have your dagger, right?” Mother asked with an unusually serious expression.

     She stepped down from the footstool and smiled at her. “Don’t worry, Mother, I always keep it with me when I go out. See?” She walked around the nook and lifted her skirt up to reveal the small leather holster strapped to her thigh. “If he tries anything, I’ll make sure to defend myself.”

     “I know you will, hon, I just can’t help worrying about you.” She turned in her seat to cup her cheek. “You’re my only child, Thea. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

     “I’ll be fine, Mother,” she said, laying her hand atop hers to comfort her. “Trust me.”

     Without a word, Mother stood up and kissed her on the forehead. Then she hugged her, her arms wrapped tightly around her tiny body. She returned it in the hopes it’d ease her anxiety. They’ve only really had each other for as long as she could remember; they were each others’ world, in a sense. It’d shatter if something happened to one or the other so she understood her mother’s concern. The best she could offer were words of assurance and those had to be enough.

     Mother pulled away and resumed their conversation from earlier. She was good about alleviating the gloomy atmosphere so she welcomed the change in topic. It shifted back to her lack of interest in love, with Mother expressing that she only wanted her to be happy and her saying that she had a whole lifetime ahead to find love so she wasn’t worried. One of a kind, the words Mother used to describe her. She wondered if she really was so special.

     She stayed in the kitchen to bake while Mother went down into the cellar to make some last-minute elixirs. The cellar was where she worked to create her herbal medicine to sell during her time on the road. She wouldn’t need to travel so far if the villagers believed she wasn’t going to poison them but her reputation was considered to be unsalvageable at this point. Ven was only allowed to tend to the herbs down there because Mother refused to let her help in the synthesizing process. There was a safety risk involved, or so she said.

     Baking was a mindless activity. She didn’t need to read the labels on the measuring cups or fill the spoons to the brim, she’d done this so many times. Kneading the dough let her focus on her hands and work out any energy she may have needed to spend. It gave them food if they had none, it gave her an outlet. The last thing she did was stick the blackberry dough into the fireplace to cook. She watched as the dough expanded into its loaf shape and her mouth was watering at the smell of it. She took the newly-baked bread out and waited for it to cool down before cutting it. One half was for Mother while the other for the bookshop owner.

     Then it was time to pack. They began loading up the wagon with the goods Mother wanted to sell, making sure she had enough oil in her lantern to last her for several days, and stocking her with plenty of food for both her and the horse. Dahlia was a beautiful Clydesdale, large and powerful but sweet as can be, with a chestnut coat, blonde mane, and the most soulful brown eyes. She’s been with them ever since she was a young foal and was used to taking long trips such as these.

     “Well, I think I’m set to go,” Mother said, fastening her hat as she walked up to the wagon. “I’ll be back in a few days so remember to feed the animals and---”

     “Take care of myself, I know, Mother, don’t worry,” she cut off. “Everything will be fine.”

     Letting out a small laugh, she gave her a hug and kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Thea.”

     “Love you too.” She returned the hug. “See you soon.”

     Mother climbed up to the seat and took hold of the reins. Ven approached Dahlia to stroke her neck, asking her to keep themselves safe till they were home again. With a cry, the wagon began to move and turned on the road heading out of the village. Mother and Ven waved each other goodbye.

     “Stay safe!”

     “You too!”

     It was late in the afternoon when Mother left. She went over her mental checklist to see what else she needed to do. The animals were fed their lunch, she’d done all her chores for the day, and she took care of the bread for tomorrow. She had the rest of the daylight hours free and she knew exactly how she wanted to spend them. She strode back inside to read her book.

     Before she picked it up, she glanced at the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her as she thought about the rumors the villagers spread of her. She wasn’t a witch or a changeling, that much she knew for sure. But what other explanation was there for how she looked? No one looked like her, no human in the whole world ever looked like her, so why did she? Books held the answers she wanted but those were fantastical and she lived in reality. A reality that couldn’t apply to her.

     Her face seemed normal enough, even if it resembled a fairy’s from an illustration in one of her books. Bright, round eyes, small button nose, rosy cheeks, and full lips were all the defining marks of a fey. Maybe her skin counted as well, since she’s heard it described as being pale as moonlight. Long, snow white locks of hair framed her face in a way that matured her as the rest, although tied back, cascaded down her back like a waterfall to her waist. Then there were her eyes.

     Everything else could be explained away but not her eyes. They were truly a mystery, an impossibility made possible. They were a vivid violet, similar to dark amethyst gems or bellflowers in full bloom. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could determine why she was born with them but that didn’t stop the villagers from making their own interpretations. They weren't quiet about it, either.

     Maybe the reason she loved this book was because she could sympathize with the beast. She understood what it was like to be feared, hated simply for her looks. They were both cursed but his was a spell that could break. Hers was a matter of permanence, something she was stuck with till the day she passed on from this world. Who could love a beast like her?

     She needed to escape. Her emotions were starting to get the best of her and staying in reality any longer would surely cause them to overflow. She gingerly grabbed the book, sat down in one of the chairs by the fireplace, and began to read from where she left off at. This was fine.

     Be patient, she told herself. Just wait a little more and you won’t feel this way ever again. You’ll find your prince. You won’t be lonely anymore. You’ll be loved and accepted, you just need to wait a little longer.

     She hoped that day would come soon.

[catsafarithewriter]

Have you watch doctor who with the episode of Donna’s life happening in rewind but without the doctor existing? Just that gave me a idea of a prompt if that’s ok?

A/N: Oh, I love Turn Left! (Also Donna’s series is one of the best, hands down.) I’ve actually been side-eyeing this episode for a while now, so thank you for enabling this :D

This ficlet turned out longer than expected (I’m 3K in, with the end still a good stretch away) so I’m gonna do what I did with my Smoke ficlet, and split this up. Each post is fairly short, so updates should be pretty frequent.

Note: This isn’t really TBF-compatible, since Haru never becomes a Bureau member, just a regular visitor to the Bureau.

x

Baron doesn’t know exactly when Haru disappeared. 

Maybe it was after she missed their monthly catch-up dinner - but, then again, the Bureau had been running late and it wouldn’t have been the first time she had to admit defeat to her regular life. 

Or perhaps it was when she didn’t drop by with her weekly cake offerings for Muta - which was less about the cake nowadays and more about the excuse of a visit - but maybe they had missed her. The Bureau’s doors were always open to her, but its inhabitants kept irregular home hours. 

Or possibly it was around the same time they had that freak hurricane and she didn’t detour by the next day to check in on them. 

He makes excuses, reasons for not knowing, for not sensing that something vital - that someone - was missing from his life the moment she vanished, but in the end the only truth he has left is that by the time he realises, he’s too late.

x

The shock comes one early March day. The daffodils are just beginning to flower in their plant boxes and the realisation that spring is on the way brings about thoughts of Haru and birthdays. 

“The problem with spring birthdays,” he jovially announces to the rest of the Bureau, “is that they follow too soon after Christmas. The perfect gift takes time to find, and few measly months is hardly enough.”

Toto pauses grooming his feathers with the expression of one suddenly afraid they have forgotten an important date. “Spring birthdays?” he echoes. “Whose are we celebrating?” 

“Whoever it is, I ain’t shopping for them,” Muta grumbles from the sofa. “I remember the last time yer dragged me into a spirit market. Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Really, Muta; just because she didn’t bring a cake last week is no reason to ignore her birthday,” Baron scolds lightly.  

“Whose birthday, Baron?”

It is then that the first sliver of something akin to dread freezes through Baron’s veins. He turns to Toto, appraising his oldest friend’s face - looking for the telltale smirk, the crinkling of the eyes that betray a joke - and finds only sincerity. “Why, Haru’s, of course.” 

“Who’s Haru?”

“It’s probably just a client or someone,” Muta calls, only half-listening. “I can never keep track of all the waifs and strays yer insist on helping.”

“You’re part of the Bureau too, hairball,” Toto reminds him. “You’re meant to help as well.” 

“Yeah, but I draw the line at buying presents for them all. The Christmas card list is already too long as it is.”

"Haru,” Baron repeats. “Haru Yoshioka.” His gloved hands curl in on his desk and the dread pools into his stomach. “The human who has been visiting the Bureau for the past decade.” 

Muta cackles. “Haru who? Aren’t you a little too old for imaginary friends, Baron?”

Baron stares. “If this is a joke, then it’s in exceptionally poor taste.”

The force of his words takes his companions by surprise, and for once the bickering falters. “This is no joke,” Toto says. “Who is Haru?”

“Haru Yoshioka,” Baron says again, and he rounds on Muta. “She brings you cake every week and learnt to bake angel food cake, just for you. She helps you with your newspaper puzzles, and calls you Buta when you steal the last cake slice. She snuck you into the cinema last month to see an action film you couldn’t wait for the DVD of, and once rigged up a projector in the Sanctuary for a movie night.”

“Baron, are you feeling...” Toto begins.   

Baron turns to the crow, pleading. “Toto, she helped you move your favourite mulberry tree when the new road was due to destroy it. She stole out into the night and it took her until 3am to shift it somewhere safe. When one of your friends broke their wing, she took him in and looked after him until he healed. She plays chess with you regularly, even though you win nine tenths of the time, and she still finds it funny to call the rooks ‘ravens’ on your side. So don’t ask me if I’m feeling okay, Toto, because I am fine, but something else is very, very wrong.”

A silence lingers in the Bureau. 

“Baron,” Toto says, “there’s never been a Haru in the Bureau.”

A uncharacteristic growl curdles in Baron’s throat and he snatches up his cane. “She buys me a new cane every year - ever since my old one buckled during her case with us - how do you explain this without her?”

Toto looks with pitying eyes on his friend. “Baron, that’s the same cane you’ve had for decades.”

And now Baron feels the difference in the wood - in the nicks and scars the old stick bears from years of use - and the cane he holds is foreign to him. 

“You always said you were going to replace it,” Toto says gently, “but you never got round to it.”  

x

[NEXT PART HERE]

[saudadeonly]

burn my heart out: remember the words (Chapter 1)

Read on ao3. Part 8, consisting of 3 or 4 chapters. 

Death Eater!Sirius Black AU

Lord Voldemort wages war on Hogwarts but he is unaware of the years-worth of battle fought against him.

(or, several instalments following the Battle of Hogwarts with Sirius Black standing on the wrong side)

Minerva’s regular visitor brings worse news than usual.

Word count: 3940

___

March 1983

Throughout the war, Minerva has become used to her office being not only a safe place for her students and colleagues but also a transition point for all those who wish to go home to be with their families. Although sometimes a foolish decision, given the frequency of Death Eater attacks outside Hogwarts, no one ever tries to stop them. At this point, it seems only a matter of prolonging the inevitable and Minerva cannot fault anyone for wanting to spend their last days with their loved ones rather than studying for a future that may never come.

Therefore, it is by sheer dumb luck that her office is hosting no one but her when the door opens and the familiar figure of Sirius Black steps through, wand already in hand to make himself visible again, his outline slowly colouring in.

Even before he looks up, Minerva knows something is terribly wrong. Sirius rarely comes to Hogwarts – not since James nearly discovered him in the office when swinging by to pick up Harry – instead preferring to arrange other, less conspicuous meeting points, and only ever with a letter sent days in advance so she can make sure no one so much as detects his presence. It’s a wonder he even managed to get to her door unnoticed since Flooing was thrown out of the picture when Voldemort took over the Ministry.

His hair is pushed back from his face and wind-swept but not a string lies out of place otherwise. His robes, much the same as always, are clean and pressed, his shoes polished. He has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, giving a clear view of the gauntlet strapped across his forearm, where he now tucks his wand. He lifts his hands easily when Minerva points her wand at him and he shifts into Padfoot, shaking his fur out. Even as a dog’s, the grey eyes are dull.

Minerva follows his example a moment later and takes the opportunity to stretch her back as a cat before they both shift back into their human forms.

Sirius picks at lint on his robes. “I have bad news and terrible news,” he says, with less worry than the words would necessitate, considering they’re from him. As a matter of principle, his news are bad to begin with. “Which ones do you want to hear first?”

Minerva rises from behind her desk, putting her wand away, and steps around it. “Well, in keeping with the spirit of the game, I suppose terrible news.”

It might have coaxed a smile out of him otherwise. As it is, he only presses his lips together and then says, “Voldemort is attacking Hogwarts within hours. As soon as the sun is down.”

Minerva allows herself a moment to take a deep breath, to absorb not only the fact that this is happening but all other things this drags along; she considers the dangers of it all, of the inevitable fight and pain and blood, coming not only her way but the other professors’ and most importantly the students’ as well.  She has done her fair share of spying in the course of the war, has been on the brink of discovery or even torture more times than she could count but she’s never felt death quite as close as it dallies now. It’s come sooner than she would have preferred.

“Alright,” she says, lifting her chin, straightening her back, and the corners of Sirius’s mouth do turn up imperceptibly now. “We have to let Albus know.”

Sirius’s eyes flick away before they meet hers again. “That’s the bad news,” he says, running a hand along his jawline. A slight stubble covers it. “Dumbledore isn’t here.”

Minerva’s heart stops then continues to beat at twice the pace. Albus’s absence means their chances reduced by half. “Why isn’t he here and why do I not know about it?” Then, after deciding the loss of her friend has to come after the loss of their headmaster, “Is he dead?”

“He’s alive and well, as far as I know.” He moves to stand next to one of the desk chairs, his hand gripping the back of it until it turns white. Now that Minerva takes a proper look at him, she can see that his cheeks, although slightly filled out over the past few months, are as pale as a sheet. “This year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts professor wasn’t whoever you thought he was but Rabastan Lestrange. He led Dumbledore away on a goose chase this morning.” He breathes deep, looks at Minerva with eyes weighted by dark bags. “Dumbledore sent Professor Howe to relay the news, but she was never to make it to you, per Rabastan’s Imperius Curse. She exited Hogwarts through one of the hidden tunnels and relayed all the information to Voldemort. She was then tortured to death.”

Bile rises in Minerva’s throat. It’s not so much the news itself, although they are horrid, as it is the blunt, blank tone of Sirius’s voice, the pure resignation she can read in every part of him.

“Paula,” she whispers. The Muggle Studies professor was young but dedicated and beloved, not to mention incredibly talented. Her loss strikes not only on an academic or personal level but also with the loss of not having her here to fight for Hogwarts.

Before she can let her thoughts wander deeper Minerva forces herself to focus on the matter at hand, which is all the protection she has to ensure for the castle in only a few hours. If she were a woman of curses she wouldn’t have shut up for the past few minutes.

“Is there time to evacuate the students?” she asks instead. She will do anything if only the students get to come out of this unscathed. The young ones, the little ones – oh, Merlin. She can only wish now that they had all gone home when there was time.

Sirius shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek. “All the secret passages are being utilised as we speak,” he says, “and there are no others.” His voice grows quieter when he adds, “I told them about all of them. They wouldn’t have stopped otherwise.”

Coming from a boy who was a part of a group that probably knew Hogwarts better than the backs of their own hands, Minerva doesn’t doubt it. She can’t find it in herself to blame him for telling them either but –

Those children, those bright children. Dumbledore promised – he promised – they would be safe here. Minerva did, too, and she doesn’t like going back on her promises. She’ll have to alert the others, then call on all other residents to fight for Hogwarts and make sure the Order is informed, summoned as soon as possible –

Something scratches against the door, low enough she wouldn’t have even heard it if she wasn’t so focused on every little action around her. It makes her flinch, just the little bit.

“There is another thing, Professor –” Sirius starts but Minerva has already moved to open the door, wand at the ready, trusting him to move out of sight from whatever awaits on the other side.

She blinks down at a black cat that stares back at her with slanting grey eyes. It’s unusually large and has a burst of white fur across its neck and down its chest. An old piece of parchment, torn at the edges, hangs from its mouth. It steps past her and, in the distance between the door and her desk, shifts into Regulus Black, who holds out the parchment to Sirius, saying, “Filch’s bloody cat nearly killed me for it, too.”

Sirius gives a sideways, sheepish look to Minerva, one she hasn’t seen long enough it takes her a moment to readjust. “That would be the other thing,” he says.

Minerva sighs. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” she says as she stores away her wand and moves to sit back at the table. She looks at Regulus, his serious face a pleasant shade of tan, his figure broader than the reed-thin boy she last saw years ago. She knew that he wasn’t dead, although Sirius never really said anything to either confirm or deny and, similarly, she didn’t ask. In a way, she understood he only wanted to save her from knowing things she didn’t need to. Strange, that not knowing could help you in the war. “You did have a couple of years for yourself there.”

The right side of Regulus’s mouth turns up. She never knew him as well as she did Sirius but in their school years, his quiet talent and pride were a welcome contrast to his brother’s boisterous, roundabout way of achieving the necessary. “Good to see you, too, Professor,” he says, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Should I be expecting any other supposedly dead Blacks?” she asks as she reaches for a piece of parchment.

Sirius and Regulus exchange a look, Sirius lifting a shoulder at Regulus’s wide eyes.

“Ted was badly hurt, past full recovery,” Regulus says after a minute, softly, “and Andromeda’s wand will fight against her before it will fight for her. They’re safe.”

Minerva nods. Ted and Andromeda were pleasant students, certainly preferable than anyone else of Andromeda’s relatives, and she never really wanted to know of their fate for sure, no matter how loudly Bellatrix Lestrange pronounced her triumph over the black sheep of her family. She never dared to ask Sirius but she should have known he was brilliant enough to have pulled it off.

Sirius steps forward and puts the old piece of parchment down on her desk. It’s familiar, with its tattered edges and bent corners, lacking only four bright grins around it, and Minerva glances up at Sirius. His face is caught somewhere between reminiscence and deep-seated heartache.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he says, the words soft, tapping his wand to the front of it and both Regulus and Minerva lean closer to look as the parchment unfolds itself, ink bleeding out from the tip of Sirius’s wand, fanning out and crisscrossing into a familiar outline. The words that bloom up at the front are not unfamiliar to Minerva – nor, it seems, to Regulus, whose mouth pulls up in a half-smile.

Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present

THE MARAUDER'S MAP

“Brilliant,” Regulus breathes, looking over the names that mill about the castle. Most of the students and professors are in classrooms, unaware of the attack coming their way, but there are a few individuals scattered throughout the corridors and other rooms. Outside the castle, beyond the students from Professor Kettleburn's class, there are no people – except for the few names, names Minerva has heard too many times in the past few years, slipping through unnoticed.

Sirius runs his finger across seven lines leading out of Hogwarts in what Minerva would call unconventional ways. “These are all viable options for entering,” he says, then settles on a passage on the fourth floor. Little dots are already gathering there, milling about: Amycus Carrow, Alecto Carrow, Barty Crouch, Rodolphus Lestrange. “This one is spacious, makes for good ambush. Watch out here.” He moves his finger to the one underneath the Whomping Willow, one of the few Minerva actually knew of. “They won’t use this one, probably. No one’s too keen on passing through the Shrieking Shack so if you want to get anyone inside this is probably the best option. Not so much for getting out though. He’s had us cast alerting spells on all exits.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Didn’t think about the people wanting in.”

“Your best bet is to keep the students away from precarious places,” Regulus says, eyes flicking over the names of the people he must have once known well, slept and studied beside. “No towers.” He taps the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor common rooms. “These students should be split between Slytherin and Hufflepuff.”

“And put in fail-safes,” Sirius adds. “Change the Slytherin password once everyone’s inside, add protections, make the rebuttal for the Hufflepuff common room worse.”

“We have hours, not days,” Minerva reminds them. “It will take half of that to even get everyone gathered and sorted. And there’s the matter of sympathisers among the students themselves –”

“Evan,” Sirius says, as if it was ripped out of him, almost as if he hadn’t wanted to say it at all. He presses a hand to the side of his face briefly and doesn’t look at Regulus, who has gone pale. “Evan Rosier talked to the students before his death. Voldemort thought it was in his favour.” His other hand touches the side of his neck, the golden chain glittering there. “It was against.”

“The last generation vanished up in smoke when they graduated,” Minerva says, remembering the young, imperious faces that suddenly disappeared, that wanted no part in the fights all previous generations had been so keen to start. It makes much more sense now. “But there weren’t many new Death Eaters.”

“Evan did that?” Regulus breathes. Minerva can’t read the expression on his face but she does remember Regulus by Evan’s side throughout their school years – and Barty Crouch always on the other side.

Sirius nods, pressing his mouth into a thin line momentarily. “There were three generations he talked to – the other two should still be here. Sixth and seventh years by now. Talk to them. They must have sway over the others. Some might even want to fight for Hogwarts.” His grey eyes are firm. “You should let them.”

Sirius had cared for Evan before he died, had watched over him and never uttered his name to Minerva unless it was to tell her that he wasn’t bad. Once, he even asked her to help him but it seems long ago now, longer than the war, and it was too late by then. Evan’s death, and the one that followed it, gouged deep wounds into Sirius, wounds that are barely scabbed over by now and still foaming at the edges. Minerva’s chest hurts. She’s had years to see Sirius lose all that he loved and be slowly stripped of all that he was, bent to the point of breaking, but she only now notices how worn to the bone he is.

She nods, ducking her head lest he sees the pain in her eyes. Now is no time for crying. “Very well.”

Regulus sighs, a bridge between the lost world of yesterday and the crumbling one of today. “There is also the matter of Harry Potter.”

Harry, little Harry. Minerva’s grown attached to him this past year and a half, often playing the role of his minder while James and Lily were busy with either assisting at one of their classes or minor missions Dumbledore allowed them to keep them from going off on a tangent. He’s a bright little boy, rarely fussy and as loving as both of his parents combined. The thought of him being the key to ending the war hasn’t settled in yet – even if it has been over two years since the news – and even less so after Minerva saw him stuff no less than three marbles into his mouth.  

“Voldemort will tear down Hogwarts to find him,” Sirius says, running a hand through his hair. He sounds shaky, nervous for all that Harry means to him – he’s not just the son of his best friend anymore; he loves the boy for himself, probably even more than Minerva does. “If he stays here, no one will be safe. You have to get him out.”

Minerva swallows, giving him a long look. He knows as well as she does that that is easier said than done. “Sirius –”

“Give them the Map. It’s their best chance.” He licks his lips. “There is no other way to get out of Hogwarts but on foot.”

Minerva racks her brain but Sirius must have done his due diligence – there isn’t. The Floo is under Ministry’s supervision and so are Portkeys. Apparating is possible only outside of Hogwarts grounds and that’s only if the Potters make it to there. Hogwarts, the safest place in the world, has now become a prison for those it is supposed to guard.

“James will know the Map came from you. There is no one else that could have given it to me.”

Sirius shrugs. “My affiliation to Voldemort ends tonight, one way or another,” he says, his voice leaving no room for argument, although Minerva wasn’t about to make one. “There is no way he will not suspect me after everything I’ve done today and I won’t live another minute in a world in his chains.”

Minerva glances at Regulus. His face is ashen, eyes focused on Sirius, deep with a pain that she can nearly understand, before they meet hers. They tell her all she needs to know, all she needs to quell nausea gathering up in her; Regulus will not lose Sirius, not again, and neither will she.

“There is an artefact Regulus has to find. It is key to Voldemort’s downfall,” Sirius goes on saying, either oblivious to or ignorant of the exchange between Minerva and Regulus. He moves back from the desk. “It’s here in Hogwarts.”

Minerva gestures with her hand, palm up. She doesn’t expect to find out the story behind it, nor does she have the time for it. “Be my guest,” she says. “We will secure the school in the meantime and try to relay the message to the Order.” She looks back at Sirius, leant against the mantelpiece, inches away from fire. “How many other supporters does he have?”

Arms crossed, Sirius pulls his mouth to the side. “Giants in large part, Dementors in full. They brought those you’ve imprisoned with them.” He pauses, then adds, “Werewolves. But they, with few exceptions, shouldn’t be a problem.”

Minerva raises her eyebrows. The Azkaban outbreak and the giants' affiliation, both conveniently not mentioned in the papers, are not news to her – she heard it from Sirius himself hours after it happened – but the werewolves' cooperation is. Sirius did spend nearly half a year combined with werewolves but she never knew that he got anywhere with them, at least not on the personal loyalty he’s implying.

Regulus looks at him sharply. “What did you do?”

Sirius shrugs. “I made a deal.” His eyes meet Minerva’s. “Hold your fire with them. They won’t harm unless they have to keep up the pretence.”

“Sirius,” Regulus hisses, taking a step towards him. “What did you promise them?”

Sirius sets his jaw, straightening up to stare back at Regulus. “What they deserve.”

“You know that’s risky, Sirius, they –”

“They wanted their voices heard,” Sirius says forcefully enough it makes Regulus pause. “I was in a position to give them that, at least.”

“If this comes back to haunt us, Sirius, I will take it very personally.”

Sirius blinks slowly. “It probably will,” he admits but he there is no trace of apology in his tone. Minerva doesn't know if Remus would be happy to hear what Sirius did or furious with him; when she finds out, she'll follow his lead. “We’ll discuss it then.”

Regulus drags a hand across his face, muttering something about headlong crashing and free rein, but his expression is clear once he looks back up. “Fine.”

“Now that we’ve settled that,” Minerva says, drawing their attention back to herself, “we should get going.” She glances at Sirius. “What will you do?”

“My place is, for the time being, at the Dark Lord’s side. I will try to tear the ranks down from the inside for as long as I can.” He inclines his head. “Then I cross over.”

It’s a bold plan, precarious even, but none of Sirius’s plans throughout the years were ever anything else – it was breath-taking, the brilliance with which he wove every little string through his checkpoints, the most important things in his life. Minerva has to trust that he will make the best of it now, too.

“Very well.” She flicks her wand and four silvery cats jump out of her wand, preening for only a second before Minerva sends them away. The zap of their power is getting to her but it will be better in a moment when they relay messages and disperse; only the one to reach Albus might have a long way to go. He doesn’t know what he’s left behind but that doesn’t mean he can’t find out about it. She stands up, letting the tips of her finger brush across the worn wood of her desk. She takes the Map and folds it over. James and Lily, currently in their quarters on the sixth floor, will know how to properly manage it. Even so, Minerva's heard the hastily whispered Mischief managed over the worn parchment enough times to make her own assumptions about it. “This is it, then.”

“I guess it is,” Sirius says and steps forward, jostling his shoulder against Regulus’s. The look Regulus gives him in return is fond, despite everything, and Minerva’s chest warms at the sight. At least they are on common ground after all these years. “I will exit through the passage leading to Honeydukes. After that, it won’t be safe to use anymore.”

“Understood.”

They leave her office together. The hallway outside is empty, so confirmed by the Map, and filtered with the warmth of the setting sun. It bathes Sirius’s and Regulus’s proud faces in gold but its dispersing warmth mostly reminds her that there is not much time left before the worst comes.

Sirius sketches a half-bow and the expression that crosses his face is almost amused; fond, at the very least, and a little bit scared. This option predicts only my hurting. “Pleasure doing business with you, Professor.”

Regulus, more reserved, bows his head. “Good luck, Professor,” he says, his voice all calm reassurance. “The stars are with you.”

They turn to go, both already several feet away, but Minerva’s heart aches. Through all the years of her and Sirius’s arrangement, he always came when the meeting was arranged, never failed to let her know what was going on and, above all, that he was alright. This is final, in a way that hurts, the stakes so much higher than they have ever been.

“Sirius,” she says and he turns, looks over his shoulder with his hair framing his face, mellowing out the sharpness of his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw. He’s not that much older than he was all those years ago, not where it matters to her, and it still hurts to think that he might not get to live out the rest of his life.

Be careful, she wants to say, or, Don’t do anything stupid, but he knows all those things because he’s gone years with only them as his guidance and it will do no good to tell him again. Thank you for trusting me, perhaps, or, If this is it, I’m glad I got to see you through it, but the words won’t come out. Funny thing, oncoming death and the turmoil it drags along.

“If we get through this, I’m confiscating the Map,” is all that she manages to say.

It feels flat, inadequate compared to everything behind them and all that they have yet to go through but a small smile crosses Sirius’s face. “I would expect nothing less,” he says and pushes Regulus down the hall.

[ghost-town-story]

chazzawrites challenge 26

Day 26. Self promo time! Share a snippet from another project that you’re proud of.

(From Nova, the last chapter of the “intro”. This is so fucking long lol. Like, 4 pages of wall-of-text writing. But I like it so here ya go. Also warning for briefly mentioned/mostly glossed over past torture of a character, if that’s something you’d like to avoid)

Myles Kerrick Lunacen scowled up at the front door of the house. Up until the triplets were five, Myles had been a regular visitor to his childhood home. Of course, that was before the night that changed his life, the night he lost all faith in his parents’ promises to protect him, the night where what had once been a safe place turned into yet another cage. 

One minute he had been stumbling home drunk after a night out, the next he was collapsed in an alleyway, a storm swirling around him and what looked like silver blood dripping from his mouth. He had blacked out, and next thing he knew he was strapped down to a chair as people in masks pressed a branding iron to his forearm. The next time he woke was to his father bandaging his arm as his mother prattled on about some exception being made for him. Myles rubbed his left arm as it ached, the pain of that night never really going away just like the brand they had left on his arm. 

But despite everything, he could never truly stay away. He loved his little siblings too much, and he felt he had to protect them when their parents would inevitably fail. Especially James. Naïve, unsuspecting James. 

Myles assumed his overwhelming urge to be home for breakfast was related to the eldest of his younger siblings, and so as he always did, he sucked up his dislike of his childhood home and let himself in. 

He was immediately greeted with the sight of James sliding down the tail end of the banister, only to trip upon landing and crash into Myles. 

“Oh f—I’m sorry,” James apologized as he got his feet back under him, only to start as he realized who it was. “Myles!” 

“Hey little brother.” Myles ruffled his hair. No wonder this kid had been in so many accidents by the time he was fifteen. Whatever would happen with him, it was bound to be memorable. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I can’t visit my little siblings?” 

James put his hands on his hips. “Whenever you do, you usually go out of your way to avoid being seen by anybody but us. And if Mom does see you, you two always fight.” His voice was a tad accusatory. 

Myles winced. “Take it at face value Jamie, I wanted to be here for breakfast today.” 

James scowled. “Oh, I see what’s happening. You’re in the mood for a fight and decided to pick two. The inevitable with Mom and one with me.” A voice called from the kitchen, and James turned on his heel. 

“Oh, is that what you think Jay Jay?” Myles really didn’t tease James as much as his other siblings. In part, it was because Myles pitied him for what was to come, but today he decided there would be time enough for seriousness later and that James deserved a little bit of teasing. 

James visibly flinched. “Don’t call me that.” All the fight had suddenly left him, and his voice was uncharacteristically quiet. 

“What? Why?” Myles was confused by this sudden change in his brother.

James hesitated for a moment, then turned back to Myles, his signature grin on his face. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” But Myles could see the smile was fake. James was hiding something. 

Before Myles could press him further though, James pushed his way through the door into the kitchen. Myles reluctantly followed, making a note to get James alone later to talk. 

“James!” When their mother noticed him, she left the stove to fuss over him. “You should be in bed!” 

“Mom, I’m fine.” James pushed her away with a grimace. 

“Fever and nausea over the whole weekend is not fine.” 

“No fever, no nausea, I’m fine Mom. Do you think I’d even try if I wasn’t 100% better? I know you and Dad well enough by now I’d say.” 

Myles muffled a snort as James ducked under their mother’s outstretched arm, making a beeline for the fridge. James didn’t even realize how much he didn’t know. 

“I’m worried about you James.” 

Myles raised an eyebrow. Surely, she couldn’t be thinking he was going to activate soon? Even with the current trend, there was still a few more years until they had to worry. The youngest so far had been twenty, and James was only fifteen. 

“Yes, but I’m not a child Mom.” James turned from the fridge with his prize of orange juice. “Plus, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll bring my tech goggles so I have a way to leave if I start to feel worse again. And Will and Bella will be along to watch me too.” 

“Fuck that, I’m not watching James,” Bella snapped as she entered. 

“Language, Belladonna,” their mother scolded 

Myles couldn’t help but wish that James’s fate had landed on Bella instead. She had the name for it at least. 

“Fine then.” James was getting irritated. “Will, then.” 

“What am I doing?” Will asked. 

Myles was amazed he had remained unnoticed thus far, with more people entering the kitchen as James and their mother argued. 

“Watching me today since apparently feeling better doesn’t actually mean shit,” James said. 

“Well there’s one good solution,” Will said, snagging the orange juice from James. “Stay home.” 

“Fuck all y’all,” James snapped, turning on his heel and storming out. 

Myles slipped out after him, ignoring the startled gasp of his name. “What’s got you so peeved off little brother?” 

“Don’t you start.” 

“I’m just asking.” 

There was a pause. 

“I’m tired of being treated like I’m delicate.” 

“If you were you probably wouldn’t be here.” 

James shot him a sidelong glare, and Myles shut his smart mouth. 

“Do I get into a lotta dumb situations? Yes. Am I a lot better prepared to deal with dumb situations? Also yes. Am I gonna fall off the roof of a building again? Probably not, but if I do I can fucking teleport away before I actually hit the ground again. Am I gonna get hit by a car? No because I’m not fucking four and don’t know what the fuck is going on and get caught in a vision in the middle of the fucking road. I’m tired of being treated like a fucking child!” 

“James, you are only fifteen.” 

“I know but I’m smarter than that,” James seethed. “I’m smarter than they fucking think but all they see is the scars left by me learning.” 

Something clicked in Myles’s head. “You had a vision.” 

James jumped as if burned. 

“And that’s why you’re so insistent on going to school today.” 

James shook his head. “No. I mean yes—No, my vision had nothing to do with school today, but I have this feeling I need to go. You get what I’m trying to say?” 

“Your destiny is coming for you.” 

James narrowed his eyes at Myles. “What do you mean by that?” 

But before Myles could say anything, they were interrupted by Alexis flying down the stairs and crying out Myles’s name as she jumped into his arms. 

“Go grab your stuff little brother,” Myles said as he swung her around. “I’ll walk you to school today.” 

James recognized his thinly veiled We’ll talk later, and nodded, disappearing around them back upstairs. 

“You didn’t tell us you were coming to visit,” Alexis complained as Myles set her back down. 

“It was a last-minute decision,” Myles told her. 

“Why did you come home?” It was their mother. 

“Felt like it.” And that was, surprisingly, the truth. “I’m going to walk James to school once he gets back down here.” 

“James—” 

“Is going to go whether you allow him or not, so get over it,” Myles cut her off. Secretly, he was proud that James had almost as much of a rebellious streak as he did. 

“There’s no need for him to put himself at risk.” 

Myles shooed his little sister off to the kitchen. She didn’t need to, couldn’t hear what they were talking about. “You and I both know he’ll be a risk one day,” he said lowly. “Nothing you do to protect him will stop it. One day, something’s gonna set him off and he’s gonna activate. You want it to be here?” 

“There’s less to set it off here,” was his mother’s murmured reply. “And you think I’m not monitoring him whenever he’s home?” 

“But why are you protecting him now?” Myles retorted. “He’s only fifteen, he still has a couple more years before we need to worry.” 

His mother shook her head. 

“No,” Myles said quietly. “No, he’s only fifteen. The youngest so far—” 

“Seventeen or eighteen. A rebel.” 

“But he’s still too young.” 

“Then explain his magic fluctuating more than his visions account for,” his mother hissed. 

“I don’t know, why don’t you try asking him?” Myles spat. “Tell him everything, then maybe he’ll be more honest with you and you can get answers. Stop lying to him Allison.” 

Myles was pleased at his mother’s wince, but he continued. “James will figure out something’s up soon enough if you keep trying to coddle him more than Will or Donna.” 

“You know I can’t Myles.” 

“You’re not chipped. They don’t control you. Not like the others.” 

“They don’t control you either.” 

Myles laughed humorlessly. “I may not have a chip Allison but you still control me. Ever since you fucking tied me down and branded me you’ve controlled me. Don’t fucking try to say otherwise.” 

His mother winced again. “Myles, I’m sorry—” 

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Myles snarled. “Sorry doesn’t excuse the fact you and your people made the decision to brand me, without making sure I’d stay knocked out the whole time, without numbing me up, without anything. Sorry doesn’t excuse the fact that you didn’t give a shit then.” 

Any further conversation was cut off as Myles registered something flying towards him and spun aside. He realized it was a messenger bag as it twirled through the space he had just occupied, and he snagged it out of the air. 

James came sliding down after it. At the bottom he jumped from the railing, tucking into a roll as he landed. He popped up, a wide grin on his face. “That went better than expected,” he chirped before realizing his mother stood there. 

His face fell, but Myles just tossed his bag back at him. “Warn a guy next time you’re about to throw shit at him,” he teased. 

“Gotta test them reflexes,” James retorted. He glanced nervously at their mother, who just sighed. 

“Have fun dear,” she said. “And be careful.” 

“I always try,” James replied, nettled. 

“And Myles.” 

Myles bristled, baring his teeth in the beginnings of a snarl. 

“You know what you’re supposed to do.” 

Myles snarled softly, but to his surprise James tugged him away and out the door. Probably didn’t want to lose his tenuously won freedom. 

“Easy tiger,” James said as they descended the front steps and made their way to the sidewalk. 

Myles meowed, half-heartedly swiping at James, who danced aside. 

“Hey Myles?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I might have overheard a little bit of that conversation.” 

Myles stiffened. “How much?” 

“Not a lot,” James admitted. “Honestly, just your last bit.” He paused. “What did Mom do to you that she’s trying to apologize for now?” 

Myles tugged his brother to a stop and leaned down to look him in the eye. “James, look,” he sighed. “The important thing is to remember that in some ways, you are so much luckier than others.” 

“I know that,” James muttered, trying to tug his arm out of Myles’s grip. “That’s not an answer Myles.” 

“And in others,” Myles continued, not letting go but letting his grip slip so he was holding James’s left forearm, where his brother already bore the same brand, “your fate is worse.” 

James pulled again, and this time Myles let him go. “You’re always so cryptic Myles,” James mumbled, cradling his left arm close. 

“I know,” Myles replied, standing straight again. But as he started to walk off again, James didn’t move. 

Myles slowed and turned around. “Coming little brother?” 

“Myles, can you cut the cryptic bullshit for a minute?” James asked. His voice was quiet, compared to his usual over-the-top antics. 

Myles sighed. “I can’t promise anything James.” 

James sighed. “What did Mom do?” he asked again. “And what do you guys know?” 

Myles decided to avoid that first question. “What do you mean what do we know?” 

“You and Mom know something,” James said. “About me. I want to know what.” 

Myles knew the kid was more perceptive than their mother wanted to believe. “I can’t tell you.” 

“Why not?” James bristled. 

“James, look.” Myles stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I’m being watched. Don’t ask,” he headed off the questions he was sure his little brother had. “But, when the time is right, I’ll be able to tell you more. Ask me then. I promise I’m not keeping secrets just to spite you little brother.” 

James sighed. “You promise you’ll tell me everything?” 

“Promise.” 

James nodded. “Alright,” he murmured. “Let’s get going. Before Will and Bella catch up and wonder what we were doing.” 

“Wise plan,” Myles chuckled as they continued on their way. 

Silence fell for a moment, until James broke it. “I understand if you can’t answer this,” he started. 

“More questions,” Myles sighed with a grin, but as James hissed and turned away, he tugged James back to face him. “I’m only teasing little brother. Go ahead.” 

James turned away sulkily. “I was going to ask,” he said icily, “if you could explain your destiny comment from earlier.” 

“That one I can answer,” Myles said, but as James turned to him hopefully, he scowled. “Don’t get your hopes up kiddo. I was making a guess, that’s all. You’re the one with cryptic prophetic visions and all.” 

“But you know, don’t you. What’s going to happen?” 

“I have an idea,” Myles said carefully. “But after all, the future’s not set in stone little brother. At least from my perspective.” 

“Yeah,” James muttered, his expression subdued as he stared down at his feet. 

After a moment, he spoke again. “Myles, can you keep a secret?” 

“Of course little brother.” 

James kept his eyes down as he spoke. “I don’t think I’m coming home again.” 

Myles felt a sharp stab of panic that he tamped down. “Vision?” 

“Not really.” James absently kicked at a pebble and watched as it rattled down the street. “But Myles, I’ve never seen any of you in my visions.” 

“That doesn’t mean we’re not there James.” 

James just hummed. 

“But that’s not all, is it,” Myles prompted him. 

“I have this… feeling I’m never going to see Mom or Dad or Lexi again.” 

“Something’s going to happen at school today.” 

“I think so.” 

“So why not stay home?” 

“I’m not one to run when I’m scared Myles.” James shot his brother a weak grin. “Like you said, my destiny is coming for me, right? I won’t run from it.” 

They were outside James’s school now, and the brothers paused. “Besides,” James said, facing Myles, “I have the feeling I’ll get answers sooner if I don’t run.” 

Myles caught James’s arm as he started to turn. “Tomorrow. Wherever you end up. Come find me. I’ll be able to explain things more then.” If their mother was right, if James’s visions meant he was going to activate today, then Myles would be free to tell his brother everything after today. 

“I’ll try.” James’s smile was sad. 

Myles hesitated, but as James was not more forthcoming with words, he reluctantly nodded and let go of his little brother. 

James took a few hesitant steps towards the school gate. “Myles?” His voice was quiet and small, so unlike him normally. 

“Yes?” 

“I lied. Earlier.” 

“About?” 

“I will see all of you again. But I won’t be the same.” 

“Of course you won’t be.” 

James’s smile was still sad as he looked at his older brother. “Of course you’d think that.” The scars on his face were thrown in stark relief by the early morning sun, a gruesome reminder of the toll James’s visions had already taken on him. 

“James—” 

“Goodbye Myles.” 

And before Myles could say another word, James turned and dashed into the school.

[nyisles]

Magic In The Hamptons

~ part two, be kind ~ 

part one

Player: Mathew Barzal 

Words: around 3.3k 

Warnings: language?

Notes: wowowow, part one was so well received that I honestly just pray you folks enjoy. Anywho, she’s here and she’s unedited :-) 

Now it was just a game. How long does one wait to text someone back after they disappear for three weeks? You hadn’t thought much of it after week two. The first week you were a little down on yourself, spent a little too much time wondering what exactly was the problem? It was a constant topic of conversation amongst you, your girlfriends, your work friends, and Reese who all seemed to love to talk about your nonexistent love life. They also didn’t quite understand the magnitude of ‘professional hockey player’ who ghosted, it cut a little deeper than your regular ghosting. You felt like maybe the Islander wags’ advice wasn’t even worth it, you should’ve just gone home with him. Maybe he felt rejected, but you never outwardly said no? Right now you wished you had Grace’s number. An SOS text was what you really needed, and she seemed to really be clued in on Mat. This absolutely sucked, he decided after three weeks you were worth the text and it didn’t give your ego a boost at all. Something that Mat didn’t fail to do when you were together at the wedding. You were a big self love, forget about those who don’t want you kinda girl, but God you couldn’t help but want to text him immediately. Your heart sped up and the butterflies in your stomach kicked into overdrive after you saw the text. It wasn’t even a drunk text. It was a casual 3pm text message, which made it hit a little different.          “Maybe you could wait like...a week?” Reese said laying back on the couch in your studio apartment scrolling through his phone, not paying you any mind. He was great at getting you into this whole mess, taking you to a wedding you weren’t even invited to. Now he was here and unable to give you any sort of boy advice. At this point in your friendship you should’ve known, but you had no one else who understood the scenario. He was one of your best friends. His legs hanging over the armrest dangling along as you paced back and forth of the apartment, fuzzy socks sliding along the hardwood floor. “You know, I think this whole thing is dumb. Just answer the guy. He texted you for a reason.” The pout on your face said otherwise, you didn’t find this dumb at all. This was a serious matter. “I need more female friends. You are no help. Yesterday you called me a 6 with a personality!” You exclaimed, pushing his legs off the side of the couch making room for yourself to sit down. Throwing yourself onto the couch you feel into a slumped position. “I need someone well versed in hockey boy, you just aren’t cutting it.”        Within seconds Reese grabbed your phone off of the coffee table in front of you, unlocking your phone with great ease. It was moments like these where you regretted letting him know all of your passwords. The next moment happened in what felt like slow motion, but as soon as he picked up your phone you knew you were doomed. Reese was always like an older brother figure, someone who could embarrass you in less than a minute. Watching his fingers type away, you attempted to lunge for the phone but it was too late, you never thought he’d follow through with the action, but he did, locking the phone throwing it back at you on the couch. “Six’s with personalities deserve love too.. Or at least a hot hookup.”        (Y/N): three weeks and all you got is ‘hey’?        You shrieked reading over the text message Reese had sent to Mat in your honor. “Why would you do that? Are you stupid? Is your brain the size of a literal pea?” With that you saw the beginning and end of your short little fling. This was not part of the advice you got from Grace or any of the other girls. In no way would you ever text any male this, except for maybe Reese because he was an absolute moron. Best friend sabotage is what this would be considered. “Reese, I’m going to close my eyes and when I open them I want you to be out of this apartment, and you can only come back after you’ve bought me lots and lots of apology fries.” Eyes closed you heard footsteps, then your front door open, and close. All of it almost distracted you from the small ding that came from your phone with the screen lighting up to show one new text message. It’d hadn’t even been five minutes from ‘your’ original text. Your eyes sprung open, and that funny feeling in your stomach returned. Heart pounding, you picked the cell phone up off your lap letting out a deep sigh. Facial recognition unlocked it within seconds, but it wasn’t really fast enough. In your head you could only imagine the rude things Mat would say about how it was kind of him to even send you a text, or maybe the text would spring back at you because he decided to block your number.        Mat Barzal: haha, what r u up to?        Mat Barzal: down to chill?        You tried not to be instantaneous with your answer and play it a little bit cooler than his double text, which honestly brought a huge grin upon your face. Suddenly you felt as if your apartment was getting warmer, was it the flush brought upon by the texts or were you just getting more and more nervous? The idea of having to pick out a cute outfit and getting out of this old ratty hoodie seemed nearly impossible which added a special level of stress. Counting down from 60 very slowly you decided you would be able to answer his text, enough time had gone by to not seem overly interested. Internally rolling your eyes at yourself for thinking waiting a whole minute was some sort of accomplishment, slowly typing a reply.        (Y/N): sure, whats the move?        Mat Barzal: finishing up @ the rink, rly craving ice cream if ur cool with that?        (Y/N): lol cheat diet already? Sounds perf.        Mat Barzal: kk cool, drop me a pin. See u in an hour?        After sending Mat your location you liked his message letting him know that worked for you. You felt like you couldn’t really waste time trying to have a conversation through text when you needed to figure out how you were going to go about an ice cream date without flashbacks to any corny and horrible middle school date you had. Just be cool was all you could tell yourself before rummaging through your closet trying not to be the dramatic girl in movies that would say she had nothing to wear with piles and piles of clothes surrounding her. Settling on a pair of your favorite “ass flattering” jeans and a plain white t-shirt. It was only ice cream, you had to remind yourself. There was no reason to do anything more, but you still added a simple necklace and one of those fancy velvet headbands they sell for way too much money after spending a solid 10 minutes scrolling through Sydney Esiason-Martin’s instagram trying to figure out what looked cool.        It was almost scary how perfectly exact Mat’s timing was. Right after an hour on the dot you heard a buzz come through to your apartment, letting you know you had a visitor. “I’ll be right down.” you voiced over the intercom, grabbing your keys and bag. It was a five floor walk up to your apartment and you didn’t want to put this boy through any more torture after a practice. You tried not to keep him waiting too long, but you also went at a slower than normal pace giving yourself enough time to breathe. It was just a boy you’d already been out with. How could this be so bad, you tried to remind yourself. He was just a silly boy dancing around shirtless at a wedding. He stood in the entryway of the apartment building looking around at the paintings on the walls, they were cheap and not well done but it gave the appearance that maybe people with money lived here. He was in a blue and orange islanders hockey t-shirt and sweats, his hair was slicked back and damp, clearly from a post practice shower. Since the last time you saw him, he was clean shaven, no little stubble that had scratched your cheeks during sneaky kisses. His hair was also freshly cut, you liked it, but you also found the long hair to be endearing. To be honest you were just so nervous and excited that you couldn’t even tell which hair you liked better, and you didn’t have time to contemplate it as he called for you. “(Y/N).” Mat said catching your eye, he stepped closer to you, bringing you in for a warm hello hug. He smelt like mint mixed with the kind of bar soap you get at hotels, yet at the same time he smelled familiar and homey. “So I was on yelp and there’s this homemade ice cream spot in and I thought maybe we could go and hang for a little.” A smirk slid upon your face maybe a little too soon, “Yelp?” you joked with Mat. Rolling his eyes, he stuck out his hand for you. “Well are we going or not, (Y/N)?” disregarding your subtle dig. Placing your hand in his you followed his lead out of the apartment lobby. Have you ever been on a first date where someone wanted to hold your hand? Maybe at the end of the date, but this was the beginning. You just silently prayed your hand wouldn’t get sweaty in the meanwhile.        It was a short drive in Mat’s white cadillac, which you had learned was the butt of many jokes. He let you take the aux cord and play whatever you wanted, which was your current September 2019 playlist. Mat was bopping along to it which gave you little butterflies in your tummy. The way his short hair flopped around and the goofy grin on his face just made your heart melt. This was a boy who in such a quick period of time made you feel like you wanted to be near him 24/7. He had an infectious personality. At one point during the car ride you thought he was singing along to Lizzo, but you didn’t want to call him out. Mat was clearly in his element and so comfortable with you that it all just felt fun and exciting. At a red light, he looked over at you and just smiled. He said nothing, but just moved his hand over to yours. Someone needed to let you know how this boy was driving with one hand, while the other was holding onto your own as his thumb traced back and forth. “Alright, I have two rules for us. First being you need to send me this playlist, and any future playlist you make. Second, don’t let me get anything larger than a medium.” You scrunched up your facing almost saying ‘are you really sure about that’ without any words “And I’m now instituting a third rule… Don’t make that face, it reminds me of my mom.” He said letting out a giant cackle. The one you had originally heard at the wedding. It was so stupid, but you liked hearing it and knowing you were the reason for it. You couldn’t help but laugh along with him. - - -        “So I’m thinking two large sugar cones, one for you and one for me. I want cookies and cream, I’m not sure what you plan on having.” You said bumping your hip into Mat as you both stood overlooking the ice cream counter as the teenage girl behind it patiently waited for the official order. “I know you want it and ugh, look.” You said letting out a moan pointing at the barrel of mint chocolate chip. “It’s calling you.”        “Shut up, ice cream whisperer.” Mat chuckled bumping you right back, “We’ll get two large sugar cones. She’ll get cookies and cream, I’ll take...hm.. Buttered pecan.” The girl behind the counter just nodded and went to work as you turned to look at him letting out a small laugh. “Buttered pecan? Grandpa is that you?” you said turning up the banter with Mat. If there was something he seemed to appreciate, it was the way you were able to joke around with him. He was a hockey player for God’s sake, he loved to be chirped. “Oh for sure, I’m the hottest grandpa you’ve ever seen. Have you seen my ass in these pants?” Mat said taking his hands and lightly giving his tush a squeeze for dramatic effect, before being cut off by the now very embarrassed girl serving you ice cream. She mumbled the price and before you could even open your purse to grab your wallet Mat had already paid for it. “I’d say you’ll get it next time, but you’re a bad influence, I don’t know if there will be a next time for ice cream.” You just smiled taking a lick of ice cream, finding a table in the back corner trying to give you both a little bit of privacy so you both wouldn’t embarrass each other any longer. It was like those few weeks with no conversation between you two weren’t a thing, everything flowed naturally between you two. From conversations about your job, to what you’d rather be doing than working and him training, to what you both were currently binging on netflix. “The office is just so good. I end up crying because I’m laughing so hard just about every episode.” Mat said finishing off his ice cream. “I need to show you this episode, you have to come to my apartment.” And with that you were whisked away to the Barzal apartment. - -        It was surprisingly homey, it was all neutral toned except for bits of a royal blue that would peek out in a throw pillow or picture frame. You couldn’t help but wander the apartment (with Mat trailing), looking at the photos he had hung of his family and friends. “I like this one.” you said pointing to a picture of Mat as a kid, making some sort of silly face with who you presumed was his sister, she was practically his twin, but blonde. “You look the same, haven’t changed a bit. Still as goofy looking.” Mat’s face rolled his eyes once more, rubbing his cheeks with the palms of his hands, then reaching out for your arms holding your wrists gently as his eyes pleaded with you, “Why do you hate me?” he gently shook your arms playfully. A small giggle escaped your lips, “Has your mother ever told you when a girl makes fun of you she likes you?” you said quite boldly, taking a step closer to Mat with his hands still wrapped around your arms. He was so much taller than you, and you hadn’t really noticed until just now when you found yourself looking up at him. His eyes were this piercing green you couldn’t look away from, and you just stood for what felt like forever hoping he would get the hint and kiss you again. It only took him a second before leaning in to place a much gentler kiss than those you shared at the wedding and after party, probably because you were completely sober this time. The soft kisses turned into more passionate ones as he moved the both of you from you standing in the hallway of his apartment to lying on his couch in his living room, him gently on top of you careful not to weigh down his whole body’s weight on yours. Maybe you went on kissing him for ten minutes or hours, you couldn’t tell exactly the time. It was kind of mesmerizing, you were totally lost in this boy, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck that wasn’t as long as you had once noted. His hand slowly tracing up your side, slipping underneath your shirt. God it was only the second date, (Y/N), you tried to tell yourself, but you didn’t pull away, nor did you really try.        “Barz? Mat?” was all you heard bringing you two out of your dazed kisses. Pulling your lips away from him as the two of you sat up trying to look as innocent as possible. You didn’t think he had a roommate, but you weren’t quite sure. He really didn’t get that far, and you thought you knew all of his friends, or at least teammates you’d met at the wedding. It was an unfamiliar voice, but a shorter boy with lighter hair walked into the living room with a stupid grin on his face. It would’ve been cute if he hadn’t interrupted. Completely not even noticing you on the couch, he continued to speak, “You’ll never fucking guess who texted me today asking about you...” With that you saw Mat’s face tightened, the happy smiley Mat had disappeared within seconds and you needed to make a mental note of that. Almost as if Mat knew what the boy was going to say. “Tito…” He said distinctly to the boy now standing in front of you two on the couch, it’s like he had seen you with his peripherals but was far too excited to take note of the other human in the room. You couldn’t help, but look down at yourself trying to fix your t-shirt making sure you didn’t look silly… if the boy was to ever take note of the stranger inside Mat's apartment. “No Mat, for real, she said she wanted things to be different, she was thinking of surprising you here.”        “Tito” Mat now spoke a little bit louder and firmer than before. It was almost as if it brought his friend from the cloud of happiness that drifted on. Honestly you could tell this was a conversation you weren’t supposed to hear, and it made you a little sick. Another girl? Surprising Mat? Nothing about this sounded promising in the slightest. And it really only got worse for your feelings. “Whitney clearly fucking wants you back. You sat around all summer practically crying to me and now what…you fucking get her back!”        “Tito, this is my friend, (Y/N).” Mat said bringing this Tito character out of the clouds and back into Mat’s living room where the three of you were. Tito’s eyes just widened, face getting red. “I-uh, Hello.” He said softly unsure of what more to say.          “Mat, this was fun, but uh… I think I’m going to go now.” You said politely standing up, feeling your stomach take a turn. You didn’t even have a ride home. God, it didn’t even matter, you just wanted to leave. Clearly there was some other girl in the picture and it almost disgusted you to know that Mat could act this way with someone when he was clearly interested in some other girl. You reminded yourself once more, boys are disgusting and not to be trusted.        “(Y/N), let me give you a ride home.”        “No. I’m ok.” You said swiftly showing yourself to the door making sure not to look back at the two boys you had left in the apartment. You honestly weren’t sure how you had gotten to your apartment. It would’ve easily been a twenty minute walk, but you were in such a daze that you sat back on the couch somehow back in your own apartment, surrounded by apology fries from Reese as he tried to coax the story of your date. Maybe you should’ve just seen it coming, it was only the second date and it all felt very silly, you were crushing way too hard. You needed something like this to bring you down to earth.  As your thoughts were flying a mile a minute, a ding came from your phone. Your day ending just how it began, with a text from Mat.        Mat Barzal: hey.

[multi-obsessed-fanfic-writer]

It’s For The Best (Zuko x Reader)

Author’s Note: Ah! First fanfic post! I absolutely love Zuko and Sokka so there’s probably going to be a lot of one-shots for them right now haha. This is also set up for a part two if anyone ever wants it! I’m also content leaving it at this as well, though. I’m really excited to be writing again and I can’t wait to post more stories for everyone to read! Thank you so much!

Summary: You adjust to life with Zuko after the war when you realize it may not be everything you’ve ever wanted and more. 

It’s For The Best

Zuko x Reader

Word Count: 3,164

Warnings: Angst

You had never expected to even make it out of the war alive, so how did you end up where you are now?

You’re currently sitting in the courtyard of the Fire Nation palace while feeding small pieces of bread to the floating turtle ducks in the pond. If someone had told you this is where you’d be two years ago, you would have laughed in their face. Oh, how times have changed.

“Hey, (Y/n),” A voice behind you causes you to turn around. You face the one and only Zuko, your ruggedly handsome boyfriend. 

“Well, hello, Firelord Zuko,” You say, smirking slightly. He grimaces at the excessive use of his title. 

“We’ve had this conversation already, (Y/n), I don’t-”

“You don’t want me to use your title all the time, yadda, yadda, I get it.” You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face as you turn back to your previous position facing toward the pond. You toss another piece of bread to the turtle ducks. 

Zuko sits next to you, his hand finding yours. You let him take your hand and rub his calloused fingers across your smooth skin. You stop throwing bread and turn to face him.

“I’m sorry this is so hard for you,” He murmurs, bringing your hand up to his lips as he presses a feather-light kiss to the back of it. Your features soften at this side of him. It’s a special soft side of him that he saves for when the two of you are alone. You love it, though. 

“It’s just...not the life I thought I’d be living, you know? It’s taking some time to adjust.” You look down at your feet, your hand dropping from his grasp.

“It’s been almost a year, (Y/n). How long do you think it’ll take to adjust?” He whispers, his eyes searching your face for an answer when you don’t give him one.

A long silence passes between the two of you before you decide to finally break it.

“I’m starting to get hungry after throwing all this bread at animals. I’m going to go get a snack from the kitchen. I’ll see you later.” You press a chaste kiss to his cheek before abruptly standing and striding off to the kitchen. Zuko stays behind.

You hate to do this to him. You hate to make things so hard on him while you try to adjust to life in the palace. However, as a waterbender from the north pole, you were way out of your element. Quite literally. You were used to freezing cold temperatures, heavy coats, and playing in the snow. Here? You feel...out of place. It’s much too hot for you, you can’t wear any of the clothes that you’re comfortable in, and there’s no place that you can feel at home at. Least of all the palace.

Zuko wants you to feel at home in the palace, he wants you to feel like you fit in. You know why, of course. As his girlfriend, it’s natural that he’d eventually want to marry you, and if that happens, you’d spend your life here. Of course he wants you to feel comfortable at the place you might potentially spend the rest of your life at. However, you just couldn’t. It had been a year and you had yet to relax in the palace. You didn’t want to be the queen of the nation that had ruined your home, not that ruining your home was something you were still upset about. The Fire Nation was better under Zuko’s rule, but you still didn’t want to rule a nation at all. It wasn’t in you. You’re just a regular girl.

“Lady (Y/n)? There are visitors here to see you.” A guard speaks to your right. You jump at his presence, having just reached your hand out for a biscuit. 

“Uh, send them in. Thank you.” Your cheeks flush with embarrassment that the guard had caught you snacking and had seen you jump when he scared you. However, the guard seemed to pay no attention to this fact as he steps aside and three people rush forward to greet you. 

“(Y/n)!” Katara, Aang, and Sokka grin, running toward you with arms open wide. You get enveloped in a bone-crushing bear hug from the three as a warm smile spreads across your face.

“Hey, guys! Long time no see!” You hug them back, a warmth filling your chest. It had been roughly a month since you had visited them at the south pole with Zuko on some ‘external relations’ diplomatic mission Zuko was sent on. You had tagged along to see your friends.

“It’s been too long!” Aang complains, finally breaking the hug to give you a wide smile as he laces his and Katara’s hands together. You smile at them, you’re happy that they’re still doing well together.

“How have you guys been? And where’s Toph?” You ask, looking individually at their faces. None of them have grown up too much which gives you a sense of relief even though it has only been a month since you saw them last. 

“We’ve been great!” Katara grins and squeezes Aang’s hand as he blushes.

“And Toph had some important family issue at home she had to attend to. I’m not entirely convinced she just didn’t feel like traveling. But anyway, we miss you! You should come back to the south pole, we need you there,” Sokka interjects with a pout. You smile sadly at him but don’t answer, fearing you might let something slip out that you don’t necessarily mean.

“Where’s Zuko? Shouldn’t you guys be together?” Katara winks at you, giving you a playful smirk. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that you had just left him sitting alone out in the courtyard. 

“Uh, I think I saw him in the courtyard last.” You feign innocence, pretending to think hard about where your boyfriend might be. They all grin widely.

“Well, let’s go pay him a visit! Come on!” Aang and Katara all-but-drag you over to the courtyard where Zuko is still sitting on the stone bench, a forlorn look on his face. You furrow your brows as you get a pang in your chest. You��put that look on his face. 

“Zuko! My man!” Sokka saunters up to him and sits down, slinging an arm around his shoulders. Zuko’s head shoots up, clearly not hearing the four of you approach. 

“Oh, hey guys.” Zuko waves to everyone, his eyes lingering sadly on you for a moment. You look anywhere but at him.

He knows you’re not happy here and he’s having the same internal debate that you’re having. Do you stay together, hoping that one day you’ll be happy and content in the Fire Nation? Or do the two of you let go and accept that your lives may be taking you in different directions?

You’re not sure where your head was at on that question. On one hand, you love Zuko dearly, and you’re not sure you can give him up. On the other, though, you think about what it would be like to be the queen of the Fire Nation. You’re not cut out for that kind of job, and you rarely get to see Zuko now that he’s Firelord, so what would happen when you both had royal duties to attend to? Would you get to see him at all?

“How are you guys doing over here in the Fire Nation?” Aang pipes up, smiling between you and Zuko. You look over at Zuko and find that he’s already staring at you, waiting for your answer first.

“Things have been...great,” you lie straight through your teeth, “Zuko and I have been having a wonderful time. I’m so excited to be here with him.”

“Really? First you lied to me, now you’re lying to them?” Zuko mutters. Katara, Sokka, and Aang overhear this and turn to you in confusion. Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“I never lied to you, Zuko. I said I needed time and that’s exactly what I’m standing by. Are we seriously going to have this discussion right now? Here, in front of our friends?” You say, your voice quiet as you carefully plan what you’re going to say to stop the argument.

Too late.

“I think this discussion is long overdue, (Y/n). I’ve given you a year in the Fire Nation and you still refuse to call it home, to accept that this might just be where you belong. You refuse to accept me,” He breathes out, having stood up. He now stares at you from a few feet away, a fiery look in his eyes as his anger flares up. You know you’ve put him in a tough position, but this wasn’t easy for you, either.

“Zuko, I don’t want to cause a scene. Please, can we discuss this later? In private?” Your eyes flit over the faces of your friends. They all look shocked, not having known that you and Zuko were not doing well.

“I don’t want to discuss it later! I want to discuss it now! How come you aren’t comfortable with me anymore? Here? Where we belong together?” He asks, taking a few steps forward until he’s only two feet in front of you. You grit your teeth, screwing your eyes shut as he says this.

“Because this isn’t where I belong, Zuko,” you finally let out the words that felt like they were being trapped just beneath your skin for ages, itching to finally get out in the open, “I belong in the north or south pole, with my people. I belong with other waterbenders who can help me hone my waterbending skills. I belong in the cold where I can wear clothes that I’m used to instead of the sweltering heat where I feel like I’m constantly being melted alive. I belong somewhere where I might have the chance to be normal again instead of being exalted to the highest status in the nation. I don’t want to be queen, Zuko, I want to live a normal life without royal duties. I want to be able to see my husband in the future instead of constantly being told that he’s in a meeting. This is where you belong, but I don’t think it’s for me.”

Everyone is speechless. They all gape at you, eyes wide and mouths dangling open at this sudden confession. Zuko’s eyes convey fear, hurt, and betrayal all at once. You want to grab him and pull him close to you, telling him that you still love him and that you want to continue to try to be comfortable here. For him.

But you know it’s too late for that.

“Do you even still love me?” Zuko’s voice comes out barely above a whisper, only loud enough for you to hear. You mull over the question in your head.

Do you?

Before you can answer, Zuko has taken your silence as your answer and he starts to walk off in the direction of the palace, brushing past you on his way through. Your heart breaks as you feel him graze your shoulder as if you aren’t even there. This answers your question immediately.

Yes, you still love him, but you’re not sure that’s enough anymore.

“What...was that?” Sokka interrupts your thoughts, staring in shock at you. You bite your lip.

“I...I don’t know.” You manage to spit out, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes as you think about what you’ve done. You can’t just bounce back from this. You had all but admitted to Zuko that you didn’t want to be here anymore, which meant you didn’t want to be with him anymore.

“We’ll...be in the guest quarters. Come get us when you’re ready, I know you probably need some time to think.” Katara gives you a sad, knowing smile as she grabs the boys and leads them away from you. You sink to the ground, your knees grazing the water of the pond as the turtle ducks wade over to you for food. You sit back on your ankles, your mind reeling as you think over what this could mean and what your possibilities are now.

Could you go back and apologize? After everything you’ve said, would he even accept your apology? Would he want you back?

Would you even want to come back?

“I need to talk to him…” You murmur to yourself, looking over at the baby turtle ducks. 

You stand, still a little numb from the previous interaction, and start to walk toward the palace. You need to sleep things over before you rush into any more tough conversations with Zuko.

You walk to your chambers, falling into the bed and falling asleep on top of the covers almost immediately. Your sleep is fitful and dreamless.

~+~

You wake up, you’re not sure how much time has passed, but it’s still day time. You look down and realize that a blanket has been draped across your body and a hot cup of tea is waiting on your bedside table. You reach over and take a quick sip, kicking the blanket off and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Once you’re standing, Zuko slips into the room quietly. He turns to face you, realizing that you’re already standing there.

“Oh! You’re awake,” He says sheepishly, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck, “I didn’t know. It’s morning, by the way. You slept the whole night.”

“Oh, sorry...Did you do all of this?” You ask, motioning to the hot tea and blanket. He nods. 

“Yeah, I...I did. Um, listen, we need to talk.” He sits down on one of the small couches in your room. You sit on a couch across from him.

“We do.” You nod curtly, sucking in a breath as you prepare for the pending fight.

“I-I know that I was rude yesterday, and I’m sorry. We both said things that I think we didn’t mean…” He trails off, looking up at you. You give him a sad look.

“I’m sorry, Zuko, but I meant what I said,” You say softly. Your eyes hold a tenderness that he knows you only hold for him. Zuko looks down at the carpet, a poorly attempted smile making its way onto his face.

“I know,” he murmurs, “and I understand now. It took me a few hours, but I think I know what you mean. The Fire Nation is only a burden to you, and I’m sorry it took me a year to realize that.” 

His eyes look sadder than you’ve ever seen them before. You know this is hard for him, and it’s equally as hard for you, but you both know that it’s for the best. 

“It’s not your fault. I was hard to decipher sometimes, and even I didn’t really know what I wanted until yesterday. I’m really sorry, I...I didn’t want for this to happen,” You reply truthfully. You didn’t. You wanted to be with him, to love him, to be his queen. But it just wasn’t in the cards for you.

“I know you didn’t. Neither of us planned for this to happen, but I think we both know what’s best for you. You should join Sokka and Katara in the South Pole, they need you there. And I wish that you could need to be here, too, but we both know that you don’t. You most of all. So, go. I want you to be happy, even if that means leaving us behind. I’m...trying really hard to be mature about this,” Zuko rants, running his hands through his hair. You grab one of them and hold it in yours, sitting next to him on the small couch space.

“I love you, Zuko. More than you could ever know. And I don’t think I’ll ever stop truly loving you…” You trail off, leaning in for one last kiss. He complies, pressing his lips to yours softly and lingering there as he soaks in every last moment with you.

“I’ll visit the South Pole soon, yeah? Just because we won’t be together doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends, right?” He rests his forehead against yours and tears slip down both of your cheeks.

“Right. This isn’t goodbye, it’s just a see you later. We’ll be on separate paths in life, but that doesn’t mean that we will never see each other again,” You murmur, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “I’ll see you soon, Zuko. I promise you that.”

“I’ll see you soon, (Y/n/n),” Zuko whispers as he watches you get up and walk away from him, through your door, and into the hallway. 

Once you’re in the hallway, you let out a breath of relief. You can’t believe that conversation went as well as it did. 

First thing’s first, though. You need to find Katara, Aang, and Sokka. 

You run down the hall, newfound freedom running wild within you. You smile and knock on Katara’s door and it swings open in two seconds flat. Inside are Katara, Aang, and Sokka already chatting. They look confused at the smile on your face.

“I’m coming back to the South Pole with you guys,” You say, your smile only growing wider. None of them question you as they break out into wide smiles of their own.

“Heck yeah! Now we can go penguin sledding together!” Aang cheers, pumping his fist in the air. Katara gives you a slightly confused look and you shake your head, motioning that you’ll talk to her about it later. She nods and envelops you in a big hug as the boys join her. You hug back and a few tears slip down your cheek unnoticed. This is a very emotionally torn day for you since you feel happy and sad at the same time. You’re not sure whether it’s tears of joy or sadness leaking out of your eyes right now, but it doesn’t matter. You’re going home with some of the people you love.

“Let’s get going, then!” Sokka links arms with you and Katara as Aang links Katara’s other arm with his. Together, the four of you walk down to Appa and get ready to leave. 

You take one last sad look over your shoulder to the Fire Nation palace and think about Zuko. You know this is the right decision, but you can’t help but feel a sad twang in your heart for leaving the one you truly love.

It’s for the best, though, and you know that. That’s the reason you muster up the courage to turn back around and climb into Appa’s saddle as Aang yells an enthusiastic “yip, yip!” and you’re headed off into the sky.

The palace descends into a small speck as you get further and further away from it on Appa, and you can’t help but shed one more tear for Zuko.

It’s for the best.