#i was lurking. but i was watching the yard every single day and it was actually the only thing i was watching

[livefromtheyard]

someone rbed one of my posts and referred to the current state of yardblr as "the second wave of yardblr" and i've been thinking about it all day

[drabbles-mc]

Language

Neron ‘Creeper’ Vargas x F!Reader

@redpoodlern requested more Dad!Creeper and honestly I was more than happy to deliver on that haha. And thank you to @garbinge for always helping me pull together all of my ideas!

Warnings: language, mentions of alcohol, Creeper being a big ol’ softie with his kiddos

Word Count: 3k

A/N: This definitely takes place in the same universe as Like Father, Like Son because I’m a big fan of the family dynamic that I was sort of starting to build there. If no one has any objections that’s probably going to be my default HC for my future Dad!Creeper fics unless stated otherwise haha. I just love the idea of him with a pack of kids.

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The kids had one week off from school. One week. Seven days. Technically only five if you weren’t counting the weekend. You didn’t want to take the entire week off of work when you would be out on maternity leave in a couple more months, and as much as Creeper wanted you to be taking it easy, he said that if you really wanted save your time off for your leave, he would gladly keep the kids with him for the week.

“You and the guys can’t be doing,” you glanced around to make sure the kids weren’t in the room, “You and the guys can’t be doing serious club shit while they’re there, okay?” you knew that Creeper was always careful, but you also knew that some of the other men in the MC with him weren’t quite as cautious.

“Never, mama,” he leaned in and kissed your cheek, “Don’t worry. We’ll hold it down. It’s been a while since they got some time with their uncles, anyway.”

“Alright,” you nodded, taking a deep breath, “Go round up the gremlins, then,” you laughed, “They should each have their backpack with stuff in it.”

“Givin’ ‘em homework on their week off?” he chuckled.

You shook your head, “No, no. Just stuff to do if they get bored at the clubhouse. Coloring books, matchbox cars, whatever else they can fit in there.”

“Pfft,” he shook his head, “like we’ll ever let them get bored,” he let out a whistle, “Let’s go, homies! Time to roll out.”

Their footsteps thundered through the house as all three if them came booking it down the hall, each with their backpacks either on their shoulders or dangling from their hands. Both you and Creeper laughed at how excited they were to spend some time with their dad and their entire squad of uncles at the clubhouse.

“Which car you taking, baby?” you asked him.

“Just figured I’d take the van. It’s got all their stuff in it already.”

You smiled, nodding as you grabbed the keys off the counter and tossed them to him, “Alright, no doing donuts with it.”

He chuckled, “If they ask I won’t be able to tell them no,” he was about to say something else when his phone started going off in the pocket of his kutte. He reached and took it out, brows furrowing slightly as he answered, “Yea? Yea I’m about to head out. We’ll talk about it when I get there,” he shook his head slightly, “Alright yea,” with a huff he hung up the phone.

“All good?” you arched one eyebrow.

He nodded, “Yea. They act like I’m not gonna see them in twenty minutes. What the fuck is that important that it can’t wait?”

You shot him a glare, “Neron! Language, please.”

“Shit, sorry.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

He smiled sheepishly, stepping in close to give you a kiss, “I’m sorry, I love you, and I’ll call you later, mama.”

“Mhm,” you laughed as you playfully shoved him towards the door, “Tell the kids they gotta keep your boys in line.”

“They don’t even need me to tell ‘em.”

Very few things rivaled the excitement that the guys felt when they saw the minivan rolling into the scrapyard. Seconds after Creeper threw the van in park, all of the kids came sprinting out. His son leapt out of the passenger seat as his little sisters came tumbling out the back. It was quite the scene watching them walk up with their father, looking like quite the entourage all together.

“Wifey let you take the real whip today, huh?” Angel said with a laugh as he pulled Creeper into a hug.

He chuckled, “Anything for the wolfpack,” Creeper watched as his kids made their rounds to say hi and hug each of the men that were outside the clubhouse waiting for them to arrive.

Angel looked over at the minivan, “Still can’t believe she let you put those fuckin’ stickers on there, bro,” he laughed.

“Yo,” he smacked Angel in the chest, “No swearin’ in front of the kids,” he paused, “What do you got against the stickers? I think they’re cool.”

“Guess I just never thought that your soccer mom van needed fake bullet holes.”

“That’s what keeps it from being a soccer mom van,” he tapped the side of his head with a knowing look, like he had cracked some sort of code.

“Right,” Angel laughed and shook his head before turning his attention to the kids, “Brandon! Get over here! Let’s see if you’re taller than me yet, dude.”

Creeper turned and saw that the twins were already trying to take Hank down to the ground—a goal that they’d had ever since they were little toddlers. Every time they saw him, they got closer and closer to being successful but they weren’t quite there yet. He had one hanging off of each arm as he tried to walk across the yard without falling over onto them. Creeper laughed as he watched the shenanigans unfold, and they’d only been there for about two minutes.

“Alex! Ava!” he shook his head slightly with a smile, “Give Uncle Hank a break, alright? The man has work to do.”

“They’ll be taking him to the ground soon enough, man,” EZ laughed as he let Hank struggle with the two little girls.

“Make sure you’re filming it,” Creeper responded with a laugh as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“How’s Y/N?” EZ asked.

“Pregnant,” he looked over at EZ and laughed, “Nah she’s good. Working this week, so we got some extra help around here.”

“She’s still working?”

He nodded, “Oh yea. She’ll work till the baby pops outta her,” he shook his head, “I don’t know how she fu—” he caught himself, “I got no clue how she does it, man.”

“Pregnancy one of those things you get better at the more you do it?”

He laughed, “Why don’t you ask her next time you see her?”

“Hard pass,” he shook his head, laughing.

Creeper was glad that he had an entire team of guys to help him try to tire them all out, because it wasn’t an easy task in the slightest. At one point he was fairly certain that he lost them in the depths of the scrapyard and when he did finally find them, they were running around and playing hide and seek where all the scrapped cars were kept. The only thing that kept him from having a heart attack at the sight of it was knowing that none of the cars had any glass left in them that the kids could cut themselves on. But the three of them had easily turned the scrapyard into their kingdom.

“C’mon, lunch time,” he called out to them and they all hesitated, not quite ready to give up the game. Creeper sighed, “Chucky made lunch for you guys.”

That was all it took. Their eyes lit up and the girls almost pushed their brother to the ground in an attempt to beat him back to the clubhouse. Creeper shook his head as he followed them, egging them all on.

“C’mon, B-Dawg, use those legs!” he called after his son with a laugh.

“Knees to chest, Brandon!” Angel joined in as he watched the three of them race up the steps of the clubhouse.

Soon enough, the three of them were all sat at one of the tables inside the clubhouse. Chucky beamed at them, “The Vargas Trio,” he brought their plates over, “I hear you’re keeping us company for the week.”

“Dad said we get to come every day,” Ava said as she shoveled a spoonful of food into her mouth.

“Eat first, then talk, lil mama,” Creeper chastised her with a small smile as he shook his head.

Creeper sat at the table with them, casually drinking his beer as he watched the three of them tuck into the lunch that Chucky had made for them. He knew that Chucky loved when the kids were around—he became the ultimate chef and babysitter once those kids set foot on the property. There wasn’t a single thing that he wouldn’t do for those kids and Creeper could tell just by the way that Chucky seemed so at peace as he watched them sitting around the table together.

“What d’you guys say?” he asked them as he nodded towards Chucky.

“Thank you, Uncle Chucky,” they all said in unison.

The warmest of smiles spread across Chucky’s face as he nodded, “The pleasure is all mine.”

By late in the afternoon, the kids were finally starting to run out of steam. The girls were sprawled out on the floor of the clubhouse, art supplies strewn everywhere as they worked through entire sketchbooks’ worth of paper with Chucky. Brandon had been lurking at a safe distance as he watched some of the guys work in the scrapyard. The idea of breaking things apart was intriguing for many reasons to an eight-year-old boy, but he always listened if one of the men said to back up or not touch something. Every now and then, though, Creeper would let him take a crack at something with the hammer and the excitement on his son’s face was contagious.

The two of them walked back into the clubhouse to get a couple water bottles for themselves and the rest of the guys outside. Creeper was behind the bar, handing them over to his son while also trying to get a good look at what Alex and Ava were up to with Chucky. He smiled at the way the three of them seemed to exist so peacefully together. He hoped that the twins would always get along as well as they seemed to so far.

There was the quiet snapping sound of a pencil point breaking, followed by Alex tossing it to the side and huffing, “Fuck that.”

The entire clubhouse fell silent. Creeper’s eyes went wide as his jaw dropped slightly and Chucky looked over to him, trying to figure out what he was supposed to say or do. Creeper set one last water bottle down on the surface of the bar before addressing the issue.

“Alex? You good, babygirl?”

“It’s like the bazillionth time my pencil has broken.”

He wanted to be amused but he knew that you’d kill him for not talking about the whole language issue, “Alright. I hear you. But…but you can’t be talkin’ like that. Where’d you even hear that, anyway?”

“You,” all three of his kids replied in unison.

He exhaled sharply through his nose as he pressed his lips together into a thin line, trying to figure out what the right way to go about this was, “Look,” he waved for his son to follow him as he walked over to his daughters, “You can’t be talkin’ like that, okay? Those are grownup words. Whatever you do,” he rested his hand on her shoulder gently, “Don’t say that in front of Mommy,” he looked amongst the three of them, “And if it slips, you tell her that Uncle Angel taught you that, alright?” they all nodded and he let out a tiny sigh of relief, “Good. Okay.”

That was the last thing he said about it as he nudged Brandon’s shoulder and they went back to collect up the water bottles and bring them outside. The girls went back to their drawings and Chucky decided that there was nothing left to do but follow suit.

“Uncle Chucky?” Alex asked without looking up from her paper.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Why don’t you talk like they do?” she continued to fill in the cartoon coloring page, “Daddy says they’re grownup words but I never hear you saying them.”

“Speaking like a grownup doesn’t interest me in the slightest,” he smiled at her before returning to his own paper.

It was a week filled with antics. The clubhouse was covered in coloring pages of every cartoon and Disney character you could possibly think of. All of the guys had gotten their nails painted by the twins at least once. Brandon got his own Romero Brothers work-shirt and now he never wanted to take it off. Every single member of the MC was tired in a way they never remembered being tired before. Nap time was something that everyone partook in, even the adults, because they all needed the rest.

You took a half day on Friday so you could spend some time with all of them at the clubhouse. You liked seeing the kids running around having a good time with the guys, and truthfully you missed the nights you’d stay late with Creeper there. Late-night partying hadn’t been something the two of you had done in a long time, but none of that compared to the sense of joy you felt as you heard your daughters very intensely explaining the entire plot of both Frozen movies to EZ, who sat and nodded along, a very serious look on his face.

You smiled, making your rounds to say hello to the guys before you made your way over to Creeper who was sitting at the bar. He smiled, standing up to place a kiss to your lips and then to your belly before offering you his seat. You took it without hesitation, always happy to be off your feet for a few minutes.

“How’s the week been?” you asked as you glanced around the clubhouse.

He nodded, “Good. The guys will be sleeping for a week straight once the kids go back to school,” he laughed.

You smiled, nodding, “I bet.”

“It’s been nice having them here. Keeps things from getting to serious.”

“Yea,” you chuckled, “I’d imagine that it’s a bit harder to have a serious argument when all of your tables are covered in drawings of Olaf and Moana, and everyone’s nails are painted hot pink.”

“I kinda like it,” he held his hand out for you to inspect, “But I think purple is more my color.”

You laugh, nodding, “Oh, for sure, baby.”

The two of you were chatting when all of a sudden you heard a series of thuds, followed by Ava softly, but very clearly, saying, “Fuck,” as she rubbed her skinned knee.

You looked over at your husband, staring daggers, “Neron, I swear to god if—”

“It wasn’t me, mama, I swear,” he held his hands up in surrender.

With a sigh you rose up from the stool and made your way over to your daughter. You looked at her knee—it was scraped but it wasn’t bleeding. She also wasn’t crying which was a good sign. You asked if she was alright and when she said yes, you asked your follow-up question, “Where’d you hear that word, sweetie? Because those aren’t words that you should be using.”

Creeper held his breath as he waited for her to respond. Ava looked at you, and with no hesitation she responded, “Uncle Angel.”

You whipped your head to look at the biker in question. His eyes were as wide as you’d ever seen them. He tried to sputter out a denial, some kind of defense, but he couldn’t string the words together. He couldn’t believe that he’d just been thrown under the bus like that, especially by the girl who not even an hour beforehand said that he was her favorite uncle.

Calmly, you rose to your feet and smoothed out your dress. Creeper recognized the look in your eye and he knew that Angel was in for it. He felt bad, but not bad enough to step in and tell you the truth of the matter. It was a little deal in the grand scheme of things, really.

“Baby,” Creeper called after you, “Baby I can handle—”

“It’s fine, Neron,” your tone was dangerously even, “I just wanna talk to Uncle Angel for a minute.”

He knew that that meant you did not want to talk, “Mama, really—”

“Bring the kids outside, please. We gotta start heading home anyway.”

At that point he knew that he wasn’t going to convince you. He scooped Alex in one arm and Ava in the other, “Alright, let’s go, babygirls,” he nudged Brandon gently towards the door, “C’mon, lil homie, let’s pack the car up.”

Once the clubhouse door shut behind them, you turned your full attention to Angel. You picked up a stray coloring book and rolled it the same way you would a newspaper, and smacked him with it, “Angel Reyes!”

“Ah,” he held his arms to block your swings, “Y/N, hear me out!”

“You will not,” you smacked him again, “be teaching my six-year-olds how to cuss,” you hit him with the book once more for good measure, “Got it? Pregnant or not I will beat your ass.”

He held his hands up in surrender, “Okay, okay. Sorry, querida. Didn’t realize that they picked things up so quick.”

You pointed the rolled up coloring book at him accusingly, “Better start realizing it.”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded.

You looked at him for a few seconds before giving a nod of approval and dropping the book back onto the table, “Good. Alright then,” you stood on your tip-toes and kissed him on the cheek, “Glad we’re on the same page. I love you.”

“Love you too,” he shook his head slightly as he followed you out of the clubhouse.

He said goodbye to the three kids as they piled into the minivan before pulling Creeper to the side, “Why’d Ava snitch on me like that, bro?”

Creeper chuckled nervously, running his hand over his head, “About that. I…I might’ve told them to blame you if they slipped up in front of their mom.”

“What the fuck, Creep?”

“What? You tellin’ me you wouldn’t do the same shit?”

He paused for a moment before laughing, “Yea, probably. But still,” he gave him a light shove, “Messed up turning my own nieces and nephew against me like that.”

“Technically just turning their mom against you a little bit,” he chuckled.

“I feel like that’s worse.”

“It’s definitely worse,” Creeper clapped him on the shoulder, “Well. Better get ready. Next vacation is gonna be for the whole summer.”

Angel laughed as he hugged Creeper, “Can’t wait.”

[teawaffles]

The Fugitives from the Fire: Chapter 5, Part 1

Note: This is a long chapter too!

Gregson squared his shoulders as he walked.

“I don’t really want to team up with you; but anyway, we have no choice but to solve this quickly. Now it’s time for me to show my stuff after fighting crime day after day in this capital.”

“I’ve thought about it every time we’ve met — but where do you get that confidence from?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he followed behind him. Then, Gregson turned around.

“Oi, that big attitude of yours is probably because the inspector called you in; but I’m the one who messed up here, so I have to take responsibility myself. Don’t butt in unless you’re needed.”

“I know, I know.”

More than anything, the personality of this assistant inspector he’d come to know all too well brought Sherlock a sense of relief. In addition, his words and actions revealed his pride as a police officer, and Sherlock quite liked that.

“Come to think of it, did you really not find out anything during the interrogation?”

Gregson replied without slowing his pace.

“Well, I can’t say that we didn’t learn anything. He told us how he’d come to hide in that building, but refused to say a word on where his accomplice was.”

“So how did he arrive at the inn?”

“From what we heard, after they escaped, the two of them had been moving from place to place in the slums. They first laid low somewhere, but quickly got wind that the Yard was searching the area; hence, they ran off searching for a new place to hide — and ended up at that inn.”

“So does it mean that at the time, the Yard had been able to track them down to some extent?”

Gregson snorted in displeasure.

“Not a whit. It’s disgraceful, but so far, we haven’t been able to trace their whereabouts one bit. Right now, our only lead is that tip-off; in other words, the two of them were just misled by rumours that the police were coming.”

“…………”

Gregson seemed to be pitying the fugitives for the days they’d spent in fear, but Sherlock’s mind was elsewhere.

The criminals had been flushed from their hideout using false information, and ended up at a particular location. At the same time, information had conveniently come the Yard’s way, as if someone had meant for them to arrive at the same place. His intuition told him the situation could not be written off as a mere coincidence.

——Could the Lord of Crime be involved in this case? But if he was, then for what reason?

Sherlock began to think over that question; but before he could reach a satisfactory answer, the two of them had arrived before a different inn, located a short distance from the site of the fire.

“Now, the suspects have been gathered here on the ground floor — please be quiet.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Temporarily switching his focus, Sherlock replied half-heartedly. Then, with his sullen expression still intact, Gregson stepped into the inn.

Inside, there were several police officers, three men with bandaged faces, and a tall middle-aged woman, who stood firm with crossed arms.

Looking over everyone in the room, Gregson cleared his throat, and spoke in a loud voice.

“Well then, I’ll cut to the chase. ——The culprit is among us.”

“…………”

However, not one person reacted. He was simply stating a fact, but perhaps his entrance had been too sudden, and that pronouncement a tad abrupt.

Looking a little embarrassed after his brave proclamation, Gregson cleared his throat once more, and started again.

“……That’s what we’ve concluded after careful discussion. To begin with, let’s start from these three men gathered here.”

“——Hold on, Inspector! Before that, don’t you have something to say to me?”

“Hm?”

The middle-aged woman took a step forward as she raised her voice, and Gregson turned to face her.

“You are… the owner of that inn.”

“The very one that got burned down, yes! My name is Hillary Weaver — you’d best remember it, since it’s the name of the victim who'll eventually charge you people for expensive repairs.” [1]

Her high-pitched voice was almost akin to that of a witch casting spells. Gregson flinched, taking a step back.

“W-……Why do we have to pay for damages?!”

“Of course you do: the moment all of you came along, my inn disappeared.”

“That’s not true! The one at fault here is the arsonist — the Yard had nothing to do with that!”

“What’re you saying? I’m sure you people sparked it all off. Quit whining and give me back that place of comfort!”

“What part of that wretched inn could be called comfortable?! It’d be more pleasant being buried in straw! When we were interrogating the other man, the floorboards were creaking so badly I thought we were going to fall through the floor any moment!"

“That’s because all of you came in at once! Spare a thought for the building capacity!”

“Are you telling me your rooms reach their limit after just a few people step inside?!”

“…………”

As Gregson and Hillary — the inn’s proprietress — were engaged in a row that was completely beside the point, Sherlock turned his attention to the three suspects.

The first was a burly man. The left half of his face was wrapped in bandages, and his long sleeves were rolled up.

The second was a slim young man with short sleeves. The lower half of his face was bandaged down to his neck.

The last was a tall man of indeterminate age. He wore a thick coat, and his entire face was swathed in bandages.

Three men, three suspects. Right as the detective used his powers of observation on them, Gregson signalled his men to get Hillary to back down, forcing the argument to a close.

“……Dammit, was she silver-tongued. Now I’ve wasted energy.”

His shoulders were heaving, and Sherlock flashed him a cold smile.

“If the talk show’s finally over, then let’s get on with the questioning. We’re short on time.”

“I know! ……Well then, let’s start from the big man over there, and proceed in order.”

Gregson addressed the burly man.

“Tell us your name, the room you were staying in, and what you were doing when the fire broke out.”

“My name’s Mike Myers. I was in room 203, on the first floor. When the fire broke out, I was in my room reading a book. It was from one of my favourite authors, but all my belongings were destroyed in the blaze.”

The man answered in a deep voice that matched his appearance.

Gregson took down the information on a notepad, and moved on to the next man.

“Next, the slim man over there.”

The young man promptly sat up straight.

“Y-Yes, um, my name is Bruno Campbell. My room was…… number 301, on the second floor. At the time of the fire, um…… I was sleeping right until it started. Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologise. Next.”

Gregson turned to face the last man.

“……Jerry Dorff. Room 101. I was asleep.”

The man who called himself Jerry murmured that in a low voice, uttering only the minimum number of words.

“101…… The ground floor, huh. So all your rooms were on precisely separate floors.”

Once he’d ascertained the suspects’ rooms, Gregson quickly sketched the inn’s floor plan on his notepad.

According to his diagram, on the ground floor, there was a staircase next to the reception desk, and three rooms in a row behind it. Starting from the one closest to the front desk, the rooms were numbered 101, 102, and 103. Further to the back, there was another set of stairs. The other floors had the same layout; it had been a simply-structured inn.

The reception desk, the front stairs, three rooms in a row, and the rear stairs. All the rooms had their doors on the south side of the building, and their windows on the north side. Sherlock craftily took a peek at his drawing, memorising the layout, and applied the locations of the three suspects to his mental picture.

“It seems all of you were in your own rooms when the fire started; but before that, did you stay in your rooms throughout?”

Mike spoke up.

“I never even took a step outside my room after you bobbies entered the building. After all, one of the criminals from that attack on the department store was lurking inside, right? I wouldn’t be able to bear it if I made a wrong move and ended up getting suspected.”

“I-It was the same for me: I tried to avoid moving around as much as possible.”

“Me too.”

The timid young man, Bruno, and the taciturn Jerry both agreed with Mike.

“So you all didn’t leave your rooms, let alone the inn. ——Is that certain?”

Gregson asked one of the officers standing beside him, and the man responded with vigour.

“Yes; I was standing in front of room 303 at first, and two others were standing watch in the ground and first floor corridors — we didn’t see a single person leave their room.”

Sherlock had been listening from the side, and now he pointed to the officer and Gregson in turn.

“So during the break in the interrogation, Gregson took over from you in standing watch outside the room.”

“Indeed.”

“Oi, Holmes. I told you not to butt in.”

Ignoring Gregson’s complaint, Sherlock made a deduction.

“So no one was moving around during the interrogation. Then during the break, the man was left alone in the room. Since no one heard any suspicious noises, it would be difficult to conclude that there had been movement inside the room. In that case, as I thought, the criminal must’ve made his move after the fire began.”

“A-As I was saying, don’t talk without permission.”

“……We don’t have time for that kind of thing. From what you said earlier, it seems you were standing outside the room until the fire began — were you also standing watch throughout after it started?”

Reluctantly, Gregson revealed his actions at the time.

“……No, when I got news of the fire, I went to the stairs nearer the reception to check out the situation. I climbed down until I could see the ground floor, and saw that the corridor there had already been covered in flames; so I quickly shouted for everyone to evacuate as I went back up to the second floor, in order to free the man we had arrested.”

“Did you go door to door when telling people to evacuate?”

“There wasn’t any time for that: the best I could do was to shout in every corridor as I rushed up the stairs.”

“I see. By the way, do we know where the fire originated?”

One of the officers standing to the side responded.

“I was outside the building at the time, but back then, part of the ground floor’s exterior north wall suddenly burst into flames. Though, I can’t say I had witnessed the moment the fire was set.”

“……Oi.”

The officer had readily given information to the detective he so hated, and Gregson glared at him. But as expected, Sherlock continued as if nothing had happened.

“Even so, the mob had surrounded the inn at the time, didn’t they? Was there really no one who saw exactly what happened?”

“The crowd had been rather large, so we couldn’t interview everyone who was there……” the officer responded briskly. “But we didn’t receive any eyewitness accounts of the arsonist.”

Even as he threw a displeased glance at his subordinate, Gregson thought hard.

“In that case, what if he used a device that automatically ignited the fire after a certain amount of time?” he offered.

“That’s one possibility,” Sherlock added. “It doesn’t have to be automatic either; he could’ve sprinkled flammable oil around the area beforehand, then sneaked out the window, climbed down the wall, and thrown a tiny spark — like the cinders of a match — through a window. Just like this, he’d be able to ignite the fire without drawing attention. It started from the north wall, right?”

“Yes, the wall where all the rooms’ windows are lined up,” the officer replied.

Sherlock gazed at the three men.

“In that case, that means any one of you could be the arsonist himself. But the question remains: after the fire began, how did the culprit manage to kill his accomplice in room 303, and create a locked-room murder case without anyone noticing?”

“…………”

In a way, this was the biggest ‘riddle’ in the case; all the officers, including Gregson, fell silent. In this situation, how should they proceed? Sherlock too pondered that question.

——“Oi, Sherlock. This is just my opinion, but……”

Amidst the long silence, the voice of Sherlock’s partner rang out in his mind.

——“When the fire started, Inspector Gregson went down the stairs until he was almost at the ground floor, right? During that time, there probably wasn’t anyone in the second floor corridor. Since Bruno-kun was also on that floor, I think he’s the most suspicious……. Hold on. If Mr Mike climbed up the rear staircase from the first floor, he would’ve been able to avoid the inspector and reach the second floor. Moreover, Mr Jerry was on the ground floor to begin with, so you could say he was in the most convenient location to start the fire……. Oh my, I’m starting to think all of them are suspicious.”

Sherlock could easily picture John getting confused by his own theories; gently, the corners of his mouth creased into a smile.

Then Gregson flashed Sherlock a bold grin as he spoke.

“Oi, Holmes. When I went down the stairs till I was nearly at the ground floor, there probably wasn’t anyone left in the second floor corridor. In that case, since he was on the same floor, Bruno would be the most suspicious. Fufu, as I thought, there was no need to bring you on this ca…… Hm, hold on. If Mike used the other staircase, he could’ve reached the second floor without me noticing. But Jerry’s room was on the ground floor, so it would’ve been easy to start the fire there…… Dammit, now we can’t narrow it down.”

“…………”

Strangely enough, the assistant inspector had unfortunately put forward the same theory, erasing John’s face from Sherlock’s mind once again.

Then, Mike also put forward his own theory.

“Hey, certainly, it makes sense that any one of us could’ve went up to the victim’s room. But wasn’t the door locked?”

“H-He could’ve been shot or stabbed through the door, but from what I heard, there wasn’t any evidence of that, right? M-Maybe after he killed him, the murderer locked the door again from the outside?”

Bruno also proposed a theory, but Mike was sceptical.

“The fire was going to burn everything down anyway, so why would he bother to do that?”

“I-In that case, maybe the killer opened the door to attack him, b-but the victim suddenly closed the door to try and protect himself?”

“Yeah, that might be possible. So when the wound proved fatal, it ended up looking like a locked-room murder. That makes a fair bit of sense; well, what do you think?”

“……I don’t know.”

Mike’s words had started a frank exchange of theories among the three suspects. Sherlock seemed to be listening with great interest, but Gregson seemed annoyed.

“Oi, don’t talk as you please: this is a matter for the Yard to examine. In the first place, it’s not clear whether it was a stab or shot wound……”

Hearing that, Sherlock spoke up.

“If he’d been done in with a gun, there probably would’ve been the sound of a gunshot. Though with a bit of effort, the sound could’ve been suppressed…… Did anyone hear any strange sounds?”

Bruno, who by chance happened to meet Sherlock’s gaze, responded.

“I heard someone shouting ‘Fire!’ from the outside, then flew out of bed, but I don’t remember anything after that…… Oh right: during the commotion, I think I heard something breaking once or twice.”

The timid young man had given an important testimony, but the burly man disputed that.

“Is that so? I was awake the whole time, but I didn’t hear anything?”

Even Mike’s usual appearance was intimidating; hearing that, Bruno shrank back.

“R-Right. It was probably just the sound of the wood snapping as it burnt.”

“……I can’t say either way. After all, everyone was confused and in chaos.”

Jerry also gave a vague testimony, and Gregson ruffled his hair in frustration.

“We don’t even know if there was a gunshot — it feels like we don’t have a single lead at all.”

“But if the killer had fired a gun in room 303, since he was on the same floor, Bruno probably would’ve heard it — though he himself isn’t clear on that.”

“……I knew that already; you didn’t have to say it.”

“Even though you’re making a face like that was a revelation?”

Sherlock poked a little fun at Gregson, then continued questioning the suspects.

“All of you are bandaged up rather pitifully — are they injuries from the fire earlier?”

“Yeah, I got burned while escaping; It’s not life-threatening, though.”

“It’s the same for me: when I reached the ground floor, it was already covered in flames, and when I tried to escape, I tripped and fell…… It was just my luck that the spot I landed on was aflame, so I ended up getting burned around my neck.”

Two of the suspects had explained how they got their injuries, but only one person remained in silence, his gaze slightly lowered. Of course, the detective probed further.

“Mr Jerry. Is your story the same?”

The man looked up at him. Then, after hesitating a little, he muttered briefly.

“……These are from an accident a long time ago. They have nothing to do with the fire.”

Saying that, he pulled his thick coat closer, obscuring his mouth. That caught Gregson’s attention.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, but only you’ve seemed rather reluctant to speak. It feels like you don’t want to have anything to do with this case.”

Sherlock had also gotten the same impression; in contrast to the other two, who had even made their own deductions, it seemed this man was trying to withhold information about himself.

As both the detective and inspector fixed their gazes on him, eventually, Jerry explained himself in a low voice.

“I don’t like people prying into my affairs. But that’s because of my own personal situation; it has nothing to do with this case.”

“Why’s that? Could you be hiding important evidence from us?”

“…………”

Gregson tried to press him further, but Jerry remained silent, his intentions unreadable.

His actions were clearly suspicious, but Sherlock’s intuition told him the man had definitely been telling the truth. Jerry had answered all their questions properly; in addition, he couldn’t sense any hostility to the police emanating from the man.

However, Gregson tended to interpret such behaviour in the wrong way. Sherlock had to steer the conversation down a different path before the inspector made any needless accusations — so he called out to the inn’s proprietress, who had been waiting silently in a corner.

Footnotes:

[1] No relation to Jackie Weaver, the unexpected star of the Handforth parish council: this book was published end-2020, and that incident was in early-2021. (The Guardian)

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @knyfutureauzine! I’m grumpy we didn’t get any aftermath whump or hurt/comfort in the series.

…

…

…

…

i.

Someone knocked on the door. It was a quiet sound, barely audible in the yard. The rough scrubbing of dirty clothes drowned out any other noise. Arms deep in soapy water, Aoi wasn’t even entirely certain she hadn’t imagined it. No one else seemed to have heard it. Not Kanao as she diligently hung every cleaned shirt. Not Sumi, Kiyo, or Naho as they swept the house, the soft pitter-patter of their feet echoing through the hallways.

Just as Aoi went back to work, she heard a second sharp rap. This time Kanao noticed as well, her blank eyes turning toward the entrance. “Someone’s there,” she murmured, halfway to hanging a pair of pants.

“I’ll get it,” Aoi replied quickly, before Kanao could move. While her now-blind sister could navigate the butterfly estate without help, Aoi didn’t want her to exert herself more than she had to. “It’s probably a pillar.”

Leaping to her feet, she left a trail of droplets as she hurried to the front door. They used to guess, before it all went down, just who’d dropped by. Nine times out of ten, the answer would have been Mitsuri. She had liked to appear for no other reason than to hug and spread her love. Obanai had lurked in her shadow, begrudgingly taking a cup of tea whenever a nervous Kiyo gave it to him. A rarer visit had been a clueless Giyu, who never understood why Shinobu only offered terse replies and sharp smiles.

Aoi’s favourite had been Rengoku, with his sunny smiles and even sunnier disposition. Part of her still expected his golden hair as she yanked open the door.

Instead, a beaming Tanjirou stood at the entrance, and Aoi tried not to let her disappointment show on her face. It had been at least a year since they’d all died. She should have known better than to expect a ghost. “You’re late,” she huffed, letting the irritation wash over her and mask her emotions.

“Sorry about that.” He didn’t look the least bit contrite for that. In his hands was a bouquet of sunflowers and he gently held them out. “Nezuko picked these.”

“It couldn’t have been you,” she muttered half-heartedly, carefully taking the bundle. There’s no flowery scent when she sniffs, just the usual weak smell of leaves and plants. “They’re pretty. Is she coming later?”

“Yep, with Sanemi!” Tanjirou lightly stepped inside, slipping off his shoes and putting on the slippers she pointed at. They were the same ones from when he’d trained here. “He’s really nice to her, but he still doesn’t seem to like me. I wonder if I did something to him?”

“Who knows?” Scratching her chin, Aoi thought about the scarred wind pillar. They didn’t cross paths often, no reason to outside of funerals and memorials, but his sharp edges seemed to have softened. Whatever bark was left in him was brittle, easily cracked. Rumour had it that it was because of his brother’s death. She could believe that. Aoi didn’t feel like the same person she had been before Shinobu’s death, before Kanae’s or her parent’s loss.

Grief had a way of changing a person.

“Inosuke and Zenitsu are coming soon, they’re just getting some more flowers,” Tanjirou added, not sounding too bothered by it. Maybe he knew more than he let on. His burn mark was bright in the morning light and maybe, limited time had a way of making problems less important.

“Then they’ll be on time for once,” she snipped, resting a hand on her hip. Aoi frowned up at him. “Though they weren’t the ones who promised to help clean up.”

“Right, right.” Tanjirou laughed awkwardly, rubbing his neck. His smile was disarming. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry—just don’t do it again.” With that resolved, she led Tanjirou toward the yard, her arm still laden with sunflowers. The bright yellows contrasted with the dreary walls of the compound, their footsteps loud against the silent backdrop. Everything felt unusually muted and the rooms utterly depressing. It was irrational; the décor hadn’t changed since Shinobu’s death and the estate had always been some flavour of quiet. With Shinobu and Kanao often out for missions, Aoi had gotten used to a certain level of absence. Though, there had been one exception, one time that the halls had been filled with noise. The time that those three had studied here, when rooms had been filled with Zenitsu’s cries, Tanjirou’s laughter, and Inosuke’s overconfident roars.

The estate had been full those days. Hopeful, even. Aoi remembered believing that they could make it through with a minimal amount of casualties. Now she had more deaths than she had fingers.

“It’s quiet,” Tanjirou murmured, startling her out of her thoughts.

She glanced at him. Was he thinking of those far gone days too? “Yeah, it is.”

“And peaceful,” he added, smiling fondly. “I’ve always liked that about here. I can just sit and think, without worrying.”

It was strange, really, how the same thing could appear in two different ways at once. How the same observation could lead to two different conclusions. He wasn’t wrong. Neither was she. Before she could reply, they reached the veranda.

“Tanjirou?” Kanao guessed from the clothesline, slowly turning around to greet them.

“Yeah.” His expression softened to the same degree that hers brightened, his voice catching slightly. Aoi wondered if he realized just how much his love showed through him, that love that powered him through to save his sister’s life and now was focused on the single girl in front of him. Even if Kanao couldn’t see it, she must have felt it.

Aoi knew when she was the third wheel. Gently, she pushed him toward her sister. “You two, finish the laundry! We don’t have much time before the others get here!”

“Okay, okay, got it.” Over his shoulder, Tanjirou smiled at her as bright as the sun, as bright as Rengoku, and she felt a familiar lump in her throat.

ii.

Someone knocked on the door. Aoi heard it at the same second Naho walked past, her arms full of blankets. “Someone’s at the door.”

‘Yeah.” Naho nodded.

Aoi rested her hands on her hips. Standing on a stool, she felt marginally tall, though she just made Naho’s height now. Everyone had to grow taller but her. “Is someone going to get it?”

“How?” Nahro gestured at the blankets with her head.

“And the others…” Aoi trailed off, her cheeks puffing slightly. If they hadn’t responded to the door by now, they were either too busy or didn’t hear it, and it’d take longer for her to find them than it would to just open the door herself. Hopping off the stool, she grumbled, “Fine, fine, I got it.”

With Sanemi, Nezuko, and Uzui already in the house, it wasn’t too hard to guess who it was. There were only three people left, after all. Yanking the door open, Aoi wasn’t surprised to find a stoic Giyu on the other side, several white lilies in his hand. “Sorry about the wait.”

As usual, his countenance was as tranquil as a still lake, his mood impossible to read. Was he irritated she’d taken so long? Did he not care at all? She had known him for several years now and was no closer to the answer than she’d been when they’d first met.

“It’s okay,” he answered politely. His expression didn’t change.

After a few minutes, when it was clear he wasn’t going to move, Aoi stepped back and gestured. “You can come in, you know.”

Giyu looked at her, then at the entrance. Hesitantly, he stepped inside, as though he wasn’t certain if he could come. It had been months since she’d last seen him and she’d forgotten how annoying he could be. Even now, as he pulled off his shoes and placed them, they were a whole space away from the others.

“You can put them right next to the others, you know.” When he didn’t move them, Aoi sighed and nudged them closer to the others. Things would get messy enough when Inosuke arrived; she didn’t need more to clean up. Turning around, she led the way to the kitchen now. “The incense sticks are too high for me to grab. Could you help me with those?”

“Yes,” he replied, another monosyllabic response.

“We’ll visit Shinobu after lunch.” Aoi was proud she made it through that entire sentence without wanting to cry. “We just need to finish cleaning up. You can help.”

From the corner of her eyes, she watched him nod silently. Aoi had the urge to apologize—it was insane, that she was giving a pillar an order. But with no demons, there were no pillars, and the people she’d idolized were now just ordinary citizens like her. The thought wasn’t as comforting as she’d hoped. Part of her still expected demons every night, that Shinobu would stumble through the door in the middle of the night, tired and bloody.

Maybe she’d never shake of this feeling of unease whenever the sun set. Forcing herself out of her thoughts, she added, “I think it’s just moping…”

Giyu wasn’t beside her anymore. She spun on her heel. “Giyu?”

Three doors down, he stood at the entrance to Shinobu’s workroom. When he didn’t reply, she quietly approached him. “Is something wrong?”

Still, he kept quiet. Aoi followed his gaze into the room. The blinds were pulled back, letting sunlight in. Shinobu used to keep them drawn, preferring utter darkness for her experiments. Despite her strict organization of her samples, her books had always been scattered around haphazardly, an accident waiting to happen.

“It’s all gone,” Giyu murmured.

“Yeah…” Aoi rubbed her arms awkwardly. She had scrubbed the room clean of Shinobu’s presence, shelved the books, tossed the samples. It was a simple office now.

“She’s gone.” His voice was soft, almost too soft to hear. Despite his teary eyes, Giyu didn’t break down, just stared into the room with the same emotion she had when she’d finally forced herself to clean it.

Resignation. Acceptance. Aoi had always thought of him as a doll, but that hadn’t been fair. Despite how Shinobu ragged on him, she’d often drag him into her workroom. The candles would flicker well into the morning, the two of them quietly sharing a drink as they watched the moon. Whenever Giyu would visit, his shoes used to be on the far end, neatly tucked next to Shinobu’s.

Her throat burned, remembering the sight of Shinobu’s shoes next to his. She’d almost forgotten what they’d look like, what that space used to be for. Reaching down, Aoi grabbed his hand. His skin was warm. “She is.”

Aoi hoped Shinobu had done this once too, reached out and clasped his hand. That she had done something for herself before she died. That Giyu would remember this long after Aoi had forgotten what Shinobu sounded or felt like.

Maybe some part of Shinobu could linger, long after her presence disappeared from the house.

iii.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Got it,” Aoi yelled automatically, used to the drill by now. She yanked open the door. “Everyone’s here already, Shinobu—”

There was no one at the door. Of course, there wasn’t, because Shinobu was dead, because this was Shinobu’s one year anniversary and Aoi should have remembered that by now. It was irrational, really, the way she kept doing that, the way she kept expecting Shinobu whenever candlelight crept out of a room in the middle of the night.

It had been a year. Only a year. As long as a year. It hurt and Aoi thought she knew how it felt to miss someone. She’d forgotten how much it hurt at first, how dull that pain could get. Behind her, she could hear Tanjirou’s laugh, Sanemi’s angry growl, Giyu’s confused squawk. It wouldn’t be long before she lost them too, before she had to go through this all over again.

Death was the constant companion of demon hunters. She didn’t know how she’d forgotten that.

As she stared blankly out onto the dirt pathway, a bright purple butterfly lazily floated by. Shinobu, she thought irrationally. It made no sense. That was a butterfly. Shinobu was happy in the afterlife. Yet Aoi couldn’t stop herself from chasing after it. Its wings looked like Shinobu’s cloak, delicate and ethereal.

What would she do if she caught it? If she didn’t catch it? I miss you, I’m sorry, and are you happy ran through her head in a loop.

Yet the butterfly stayed out of reach, away from her questions. As she ran around the corner, she almost ran into Inosuke as he charged past her.

“I made it first,” he roared, heading straight for the door.

“S-sorry…we’re…late…” Zenitsu panted and she turned back to find him standing in front of her, winded and half-collapsed. He smiled.

“I-it’s fine.” Aoi glanced around but the butterfly was gone.

“W-we got flowers,” Zenitsu gasped, holding out a hand before realizing it was empty. “A-and we dropped them…” He glared over her shoulder at the long-gone Inosuke. “Because someone had to have a race.”

It was utterly like them and Aoi laughed. God, it felt good to let it all out, to just feel without remembering anything else. Maybe this was what she’d needed all this time. As usual, Aoi had been over thinking things.

Her present could be shattered in a blink of an eye. Most of her friends wouldn’t make it past five more years. But she’d lived through loss before, and she’d learned the most important lesson: there was an after.

There was no need to dwell on the past, to chase after ghosts. Better to just embrace what she had, for as long as she could, and prepare herself for the future.

Aoi could almost hear Shinobu’s approving hum.

Shaking herself out of it, Aoi offered Zenitsu an arm. “Come on, let’s get going. There’s plenty of work left.”

[loadingrat]

⿻ 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 → 𝐤. 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠

🏻 ⃟⿻ 𝐠 𝐞 𝐧 𝐫 𝐞  →    angst; retelling; fantasy

🏼 ⃟⿻ 𝐬 𝐮 𝐦 𝐦 𝐚 𝐫 𝐲  →   with the burden of a crown on his head, Hongjoong finds himself forced to get a bride before he turns twenty two, yet he finds himself struck by love with a cursed young woman named Odette, who's body turns to swan at dawn. it all should be as simple as snapping your fingers to break the curse, when all it takes is three little words, yet, when spoken wrongly, they may do more harm then good.

🏽 ⃟⿻ 𝐰 𝐚 𝐫 𝐧 𝐢 𝐧 𝐠 𝐬   →   this awfully written i apologise; based off the ballet, so suicide; dark magic; violence; mention of a curse; the usual swearing; hunting; instant love; drowning; overprotective parents and another shitty ass parent if you ask me; forced marriage; the reader is referred to as "Odette"

🏾 ⃟⿻ 𝐰 𝐨 𝐫 𝐝 𝐬   → + 5.5k

🏿 ⃟⿻ 𝐦 𝐚 𝐬 𝐭 𝐞 𝐫 𝐥 𝐢 𝐬 𝐭 𝐬 →  main masterlist   ⦚   retellings

   Hongjoong always enjoyed watching as the wind bent under the will of his arrows, obeying them and letting the weapons find their way right in the middle of the red target. It brought pride in his chest, and helped him feel more like a boy stuck with a crown on his head than a prince stuck with the future of a kingdom on his back. He loved to see how flour would purr out of the sacks full of the snow like powder that stood in the royal yard, and so did his friends, as they always cheered him on, despite getting their expensive clothes all dirtied up.

   Saying that Kim Hongjoong's life was anything but exiting would've been the understandment of the year, that only if the words wouldn't have reached his mother's ears. However the queen was always aware of anything and everything going on in her kingdom, as if the old woman with her hair like silver had eyes in every corner of the territory. The prince always disliked that in her as he himself was never allowed to even leave the palace without one of his parents following. Of course, he was grateful that the queen and the king were the most understanding royalties he's ever met, and he got to speak to a lot on a daily, however, when it came to actually understanding him, sadly they were left lacking. The prince hated the way he pictured himself in this situation, but he couldn't do much and just accept that he was like a swan trapped in a dove's cage, and it made him feel completely hopeless.

   "You'll try getting out this evening, won't you?" The words slipped prince Wooyoung's lips as if he asked the same thing over and over. The smile on his lips had always faded during previous days, as the answer would've been a sad shake of the head, but the said day it only bloomed as Hongjoong turned his head around, looking at his bow as if it was the most interesting thing he's seen in his lifetime. "Holy shit, he didn't deny it!" Wooyoung spoke, a loud sound like a hyena's laughter ringing from his lungs as he repeatedly slapped his best friend's back. The other prince tried moving away, his abused body protesting with each hit Wooyoung delivered, but deciding that he'd fail anyways, Yeosang resorted to catching the younger's hand and delivering a harsh hit back. "But he did not agree to it either."

   It took only two more hours for the man to find himself sitting at a lavish dinner table, all kind of foods placed before them, yet the anxiety growing inside his heart made it easy for his appetite to stray away. "Hongjoong?" His father's voice was harsh as he demanded the prince to give him his attention. His mother's words followed right after, tone dripping with honey and Hongjoong knew something was in her mind. "The date for your birthday ball is approaching." She stated, and the man couldn't help but try to anticipate what she would've said next. "And we thought that it would be a rather perfect time for you to find a bride."

   The prince sucked in a hard breath, not trusting his voice to speak up his mind as it could've cracked, and he was not a teenager anymore, so he feared the way it could've made him look weak in front of the King. Hongjoong had met many princesses, duchesses, nobilities of all kinds, even country girls with exceptional talents, but none ever intrigued him and he surely wasn't going to choose a bride just yet. Hongjoong liked to believe he was too you for marriage, but his two friends always nagged that if he'll dare pass twenty five by himself, no princess will ever marry him for his heart, but for his crown instead, to which Hongjoong only scoffed as he dispatched another set of arrows. "I don't think anyone's marrying me for my heart now either."

    "So what do you say?" He felt as if his words were stuck in his throat and he was unable to get then out, but even if he would've answered as he truly believed, he knew his pleadings would've fallen on deaf ears. Hongjoong knew this day was going to come sooner or earlier, he just didn't expect it quite yet. "I agree, mother," the prince didn't know what gave him the courage to stretch his words, or to arch his eyebrows upwards, or smile like he did, all the while still looking in his plate. "However i also have a proposal.."

   Truly, Hongjoong doesn't know what came over him that evening, yet it was because of his boldness that he found himself mounting one of the finest mares in the stables. The prince had taken care of the horse since it was barely standing, he himself being only a child, enchanted by the pure white little fur on it. He's called her Zoya, a fitting name for a mount like herself, and despite leaving the palace only a couple of times, alongside of his father or mother, he considered the creature loyal enough to not abandon him when he'll most need her.

   With his bow resting in at his hip, the prince started following a rather small river, which eventually brought him in town and down the valley the palace rested on. Hongjoong wearily adventured himself in the wide forest that spread before him, the darkness of it making him shiver slightly as his mind finally wrapped around all the danger that could've hid around. Wolves, bears, mountain lions, all kind of creatures lurked in the forest, however the silver haired prince advanced nonetheless, clutching his bow tighter as if it could've made him feel secure once more.

   Just as he was about to urge his horse to start running, the sound of rapid wings flapping in the air made his skin crowl and his head shoot back, his eyes snapping rapidly on a flock of birds. Their fathers were as white as you could've imagined and as pure as it could've gotten, their bodies long, majestic and elegant, and Hongjoong couldn't help but let his mouth hang open as he stared at the beautiful swans that took over the sky. Within seconds, the brave prince clutched his bow and aimed skillfully, ready to let his arrow pierce through what he nominated as the prettiest swan, but Hongjoong wasn't as hard hearted as his father believed him to be, his eyes saddening and his chest burning as he asked himself how could he kill such a beautiful creature.

   The prince sighed deeply, putting his bow back and giving the horse a gentle nudge as a sign to follow the flock and Zoya took off obediently, rushing Hongjoong through the woods. He enjoyed the way wind blew through his silver locks, caressing his cheeks harshly and he love the adrenaline that came with riding this fast and thinking about how free one could be, thinking about what he's missed his whole life. Hongjoong knew that where there was a smaller river, there had to be a wider water source near by, and the swans that seemed to start heading down only gave him more reasons to believe he was right. The only problem was that he was not expecting the woods to end so quickly, his horse coming to an abrupt halt as it hooves planted in the mud as harsh as it could.

   He jumped eagerly from his horse and there, right before him and barely at two steps away from where his horse stopped, a grand body of water spread itself so widely that the other side of the lake was barley visible through the thin mist. The water sparkled in the shy sunlight of the evening, the sound of a small cascade barely audible in the back and the prince felt his jaw drop slightly one more time. If his mother would've been with him, she wouldn't even look at the beauty in front of her, but would scold him about how unmannered he looked and how that wasn't suitable for princes like him, not even in a million years, but as he spotted the swans floating happily around, everything about manners felt long forgotten.

   The boy in him had the urgent need to sit down in the slightly damp yet soft grass, eyes wide on the beautiful birds before him, yet the mature side in him wanted to mount back on his horse and move forward. There was so much more to explore and so little time, his mind wrapping around the fact that his father had gave him one single day to ride around the kingdom, with the condition that he'd return the evening before the horologe rang three in the morning. Therefore, the prince clutched on the horse's reins ready to mount, sparing one last glance at the lake, who's water started reflecting the rosy color of the sky.

   Hongjoong sucked in his breath, feeling how air left his lungs as he swore he started imagining things. His head whipped back, the forest remaining the only sight for a while, and he took his time thinking about what came into his sight seconds ago. Not long after, he turned around and came to the horrifying conclusion that he was indeed watching as the small bodies of the swans, that now rested calmly on the shore, morphed and twisted, becoming mere humans. Their build was more than just elegant, bodies long and delicate, nothing short of pure beauty. Each wore long gowns, as white and pure as their dazzling wings were, little silver necklaces with one sapphire gem decorating their necks, yet he quickly took notice of the one swan that stood in the middle of them all, sitted on the old trunk of a tree, her eyes glimming with happiness while a silver tiara rested on the top of her head.

   The prince watched them with amazement, as if they had put him under a thick spell like sirens would do to the poor sailors adventuring in the deep waters. Yet the more he watched, the more he couldn't help but feel like an intruder. The women danced and laughed when younger swans tried to impress them, then ran quickly to hide under an older swan's wing. The innocence of the moment was making his own heart fill with happiness, lips curling upwards gently and eyes turning in crescents as a squeaky giggle rolled off his throat.

   The moment all the laughter stopped and a cutting silence settled in, the prince knew he had done something wrong. He felt the warmth that had built in his chest being stripped away from him, eyes growing wide and startled, just as the swans had became. It didn't take long for Hongjoong to see how every pair of eyes rested on him, making him feel anxious. Should he leave? Or was he supposed to stay now? Either way, the answer would've been to not panic, which he's failed the moment one of the youngest of the creatures approached him, yelling loudly the name of who he supposed was the swan with the tiara.

   "Odette! Odette!" The small girl yelled happily, grabbing the prince's hand and jumping up and down while giggling. "It's prince charming! He's come to save us!" At her words, Hongjoong's cheeks started flaring pink, his heart beating faster as each pair of eyes rested on him, and he completely forgot about his tight grip on the bow in his other hand. The mare let out a loud cry, startled by the poor girl before slamming it's hooves harshly in the ground multiple times. In alert, Hongjoong let go of his bow, grabbing the girl's body in his arms and hurrying further away from the horse, who angrily took off back towards the town.

   "Yuna, dear!" The swan quickly run to the prince, her hands coming to grip Hongjoong's arms, which were still holding tightly onto her. "Are you alright?" His voice sounded unsure as he let the woman gently take her in her own hold, hand placing the younger's head again her chest. When a little laughter came from Yuna's lips, everyone sighed in relief, smiles painted on the swans' lips when the smaller swan jumped back on the grass and began twirling around the royalty as she giggled loudly. "Yuna, where are your manners?" Another swan called out, her lips pulled in a thin line and her eyebrows furrowed, and she most definetly was the oldest of the group, her aura holding a maturity that amazed Hongjoong, despite her youthful features.

   "Don't tense yourself, Yongsun." The youngest girl however rolled her eyes at the authority in Yongsun's voice, her own lips pulled in a pout as she bowed slightly in front of the silver haired man. He gave her a polite smile before bowing right back, sending the women in awe. "Come sit with us." The girl next to him offered, and he couldn't help but let his eyes wander over her striking features. She was an unique type of beauty, something he's never seen in anyone before, not even in all the princesses that's come to court him. He loved her voice as well, her tone being like honey to his ears and he couldn't even bring himself to care about the sudden drop of formalities when his orbs found hers.

   "I would hate to make such beautiful ladies uncomfortable with my presence." He acknowledged humbly, felling a shy smile tug at his lips while hearing how the woman, who he assumed was named Odette, let out a wholehearted laugh, her eyes turning to crescents as one of her hands came to hide her mouth. "Bother us? It would be a crime to not enjoy your presence." She assured, nodding her head towards him like encouraging him to take a step forward, and so he did. One step at a time before he found himself sitting in the grass besides a couple of children, who playfully pulled at his clothes and wowed at the fine material.

   "What's your name, son?" The oldest inquired, making Hongjoong's cheeks become pinker again, however this time, his eyes fell on the ground, where his ring decorated fingers gently pulled at the damb grass. "Kim Hongjoong." He spoke softly, not expecting any grand reactions form the group, who only nodded their heads in adoration. "We'll would you look at that, it really is prince charming." Another swan laughed, making Hongjoong himself let out a shy giggle, his eyes involuntary traveling to the swan with a tiara. It felt like hours that he stood there and just watched her, her skin bathing in the golden light of the sunset, and her eyes glimmering with love as she looked at each swan, before her eyes settled on him as well.

   "Do you like to dance?" One of the younger swans looked at him curiously, her small hand coming to grasp at Hongjoong's with excitement as she awaited a reply, and when the prince nodded his head in agreemen, he girl softly tugged him after her, bringing him to his feet. Together, they marveled at the way the forest started lighting up as soon as the sun went under, mushrooms and strange plants glowing in the dark, along with the moss on the trees, it was absolutely beautiful. However Hongjoong didn't have long to observe the landscape, his attention being brought back to the small girl that began dancing with him as the others started singing along, and it didn't take a while for the swans to join in as well, a chorus of laughter spreading trough the rather dormant forest as they all had their fun.

   Yongsun smiled happily as she took Odette's's hand, bringing her closer to the silver haired prince, who bowed deeply and offered his hand, an invitation, the girl concluded as she accepted happily. Perhaps only for tonight, she could forget about her curse, see herself as an actual princess and lose herself in the idea that Hongjoong would be the one to break the curse. However nothing like that happened as they began dancing, a tough wind starting to pull at their bodies, darkness spreading like a plague. The youngest girls found coverage behind the elders, while Hongjoong placed his arms around Odette and brought her closer to his chest, protecting the swan from whatever danger eas awaiting them.

   "Well well.." the sharp voice of a girl that came with the calmness of the weather startled the prince, who felt reluctant to let go of the swan in his arms, yet still let go of her and watched as disgust painted over Odette's features and anger over the others. Just on the shore stood another woman, her gown way shorter and messier as well as dotted with darker shades of black. Her features were just as graceful and as striking as the others, her own features making her look like a devine, but something about her tone made the prince feel sure that she wasn't just as beautiful on the inside.

   "The swan princess found herself a rescuer." She taunted while getting closer, her thumb and pointer wrapping around Odette's chin and bringing her closer. The princess, as the stranger called her, let out a scoff before pulling away, making the black swan laugh as if she was in hysterics. "Hoping you'll turn human again, little one?" She fumed, letting her eyes fall on Hongjoong, who stood stiff and angered, eyes on her like, if he had his arrows, he wouldn't have hesitated to let one of them pierce her heart.

   "It'll never happen, we'll make sure of that, little Odette." The stranger cocked one of her eyebrows while shaking her head and her fingers glazed over the necklace she was proudly wearing. With a last laugh, the black swan took a couple of steps back before her body quickly morphed in the one of a swan, yet her feathers looked disturbed and unhealthy, her body, small, too weak for a creature that was supposed to look as beautiful as a swan.

   "Who was that?" Hongjoong found himself asking, his own eyebrows arched upwards in confusion. His hand found Odette's and gripped it lightly a reassuring smile tugging at the girl's lips as she found comfort in the prince, who was still a stranger. "Odile.. Her father tried casting a curse on the town, however it did not go as planned and it ended up backfiring." She began explaining, choosing carefully her words as she took a glance at his chocolate warm eyes. The prince himself let his gaze meet hers, observant eyes curiously investigating her for a while before he spoke out loud. "Then why are you trapped as swans as well?" Silence washed over the group, the tension growing so thick that Hongjoong could've cut it with a knife. "I didn't say that it didn't work."

   Not much passed before Hongjoong excused himself, getting up and fetching his bow that stood patiently in the grass. He's dropped it earlier when Zoya took off and completely forgot about it, however, in his favor, his loyal mare had found her way back to the lake, thirst driving it back the way it's come. After the prince found himself back on his mount, thanking all of his lucky stars for bringing it back to him, he finally let his eyes fall on the woman with a little crown on her head. He swore he felt his heart beating faster than ever, swirling with the desire to take her with him and keep her to himself, to make her his, and at that moment he knew that there was no one that could ever become his queen, except her.

   "I must head out, however my family is hosting a ball tomorrow, at dusk, in order to find me a bride. It would be a honor to have you as a guest." He spoke softly, taking in the surprise on Odette's face, who only nodded before waving elegantly. With a polite nod from himself, the prince saw himself off as Zoya started galloping as fast as she could towards the palace.

   "You must go." a cold and harsh voice spoke, making the girl's shoulders fall, she put so much hope that perhaps this time, she'll be able to find love by herself, and hearing her father speak like that made her whole world shatter. With a long sigh, the girl turned her head around, in order to hide her glassy eyes, telling herself that it all starts being unfair the moment even her father had turned against her. "I shall not, father." Was all Odile said before she lifted her chin high, eyes becoming sharp as she told herself that it was time to pull free from his strings, yet she had a feeling that it will not be as easy as denying his orders.

    Rothbart, the black swan's father, smiled triumphally, as if the crown had already been placed on his head. He let himself turn around and face his only daughter and with a hushed voiced he whispered. "You'll go.. oh you'll go." Odile wanted to protest, to yell and say something, but the second her father touched her necklace, the poor girl knew it was too late. It took her a quick moment of thinking, preparing herself for what she might see, before she finally turned to the mirror that stood patiently on a wall. It was then that complete sorrow engulfed her heart, failing to find her own reflection. Instead, a familiar face started back at her, Odette's features looking so beautiful and so graceful, yet so ugly to Odile, as she was left to deal with her pain before she could've stopped it. "You do not have a choice."

   "But what should i wear?" Odette sighed, bringing her hands in her lap as she eyed nervously the ground. Her crown was resting on her head, sapphires sparkling in the gentle moonlight. "I cannot show up to a royal ball in this gown.." as much as she loved her dress, it's material softer than silk and whiter than the pearls found in the ocean's depths, she feared it was nothing short of what noblewomen wore to sleep. The more she thought about it, the more Odette found herself trapped between her own thoughts. What if her hair was was not as elegant as the other princesses', what if her little white slippers were to dirty up the expensive carpets around the castle. Worse, despite knowing how to dance, Odette had little knowledge of etiquette, as she's grown up as a simple village girl. She was going to make a fool out of herself and the prince for inviting her.

   "Worry not, Odette." A soft voice came from behind her, but before she's gotten the chance to turn around, a pair of cold hands rested on her bare shoulders, making her gasp at the sudden feeling of chilliness. Shivers traveled up and down on her back, eyes becoming wide in surprise as the speed she turned her head around could've given her a whiplash. Yongsun giggled softly, amused by the fact that she actually spooked the younger swan. "You look beautiful, and your gown is magnificent. Made with soft material like your wings, pulled together by a thread of magic. My dear, you look breathtaking."

   Odette stood a second just looking at her friend, a long sigh leaving her mouth when she understood that Yongsun was right. All she had to do was to have fun, she'd be dancing and talking to people, nothing she hasn't done before, so why was she worrying now? "You should leave, it's getting late." Was all the older woman said as she bent down to kiss the top of her head like a mother would before sending off her child off. A couple of younger swans insisted of going with her, clinging on her gown and her hands before she agreed in defeat. A chorus of laughter and giggles following her the deeper she walked into the forest and the closer she's gotten to the palace.

        Hongjoong stood sitting on the throne, a crown on his head while his parents stood at both of his sides. His rather small body seemed to shrink more and more with every second and with each nod he gave to the young women that would come to bow before him. They were all wearing beautiful gowns, feminine features painted by a thin layer of makeup, jewelries decorating their necks, ears and hair, he had to admit that they were all beautiful, but none of them where Odette. His Odette. He waited patiently for her to make her appearance, eyes running back to the spiral staircase in hopes that he'd spot her, and his observant mother did not take long to notice. "You're waiting for someone." She announced, a hand resting on her son's shoulder in a way of assuring him that it will all be fine.

    Hongjoong nodded, his lips parting slightly as he pondered on his thoughts, however, before he's even gotten thr chance to speak, a familiar face made his heart beat like it never has, and his breath got stuck in his throat. A wave of heat crossed his cheeks, feeling as a strong blush took over his face. From one of the corners of the grand ballroom, he noticed Yeosang smirking his way, Wooyoung whispering something to him before they both snickered.

    "Your highness.." when she arrived in front of him, Hongjoong quickly has gotten up on his feet, refusing to let her bow before him. One of his hands gently taking one of her own as the other traveled to her side in order to bring her body closer to his own with a shy embrace. At the action, a couple of gasps could be heard throughout the room, everyone surprised at the prince's action, yet he did not care, and it could've been the reason why he completely looked past the vile smile that played on the girl's lips. "Odette.. will you dance with me?"

    "We've arrived too late!" One of the little swans warned as she peeked trough the closest window, huffing in defeat at the sight. Odette waisted no time in following her closely, face crumbling in defeat as he watched how her dear Hongjoong waltzed around the room with no one else but Odile. His eyes were so fixed on her that it seemed like she was his whole world, hands gripping her close like she'd parish if he let go, and everyone around them saw it. How in love he was, how much care he put in every step they made together, and that made Odette's stomach churn in pain. Her eyes began watering, heart screaming at her to do something yet her body remained frozen in place.

    "Odette..?" The little girl asked, her tone wobbling as her own eyes began to water as she watched the princess of the swans. The young woman's skin began morphing, little fluff and white feathers growing from her arms and shoulders at a slow peace, like she was to turn in swan once more. With each second she spent looking at her beloved dance with another woman, looking so smitten by her, the little sapphires on the crown she wore began to crack more and more, and panic took over the three children when their own necklaces followed closely and as Hongjoong's voice rang trough their ears.

    "So, Your Highness, would you say that you love me?" Odile questioned as she made eye contact with the prince, who giggled shyly before sighing deeply. He felt caught red-handed and all he could do now was nod his head slightly before speaking softly. "I love you." Yet something didn't feel right, deead filling his heart as he said his words, like a kid that's done something wrong and waited anxiously for his parents to scold him. It was then that he began to fall out of the spell he had been put under, noticing how the woman in front of him did not wear a crown yet a necklace, amber decorating the gem that rested patiently on her neck. The white gown that the swan once wore was not completed jet black, eyes harsh as a voice so cutting he began feeling dizzy.

    "You're not Odette." He stated, stopping from dancing and taking a couple of harsh steps back. The prince's hand flew to his sword, threatening to take it out and use it, yet Odile's smile never faltered. "Even if you harmed me, my mission here had ended." She explained, giggling once more before turning herself in the same swan she morphed in when they first met and before anyone could do anything, she flew past him, soaring trough the open window where four little figures stood at.

    "Odette..?" He asked, feeling his hear break as he noticed how heartbroken she looked, how her skin began turning in feathers and how tears cascaded over her cheeks like they couldn't be stopped. "Odette!" He yelled louder, rushing to jump over the window, yet failing to do so in time before the woman began running back towards the forest. "Hongjoong!" His father warned, yet the prince was far gone, already chasing after the swan with unshed tears blurring his own vision.

    It didn't take long for the two to reach the lake, scratches from little branches decorating their skin as neither had been careful while running, yet that did not matter to them, the heartache burning every bit of ration they had. "I did not know, Odette!" He tried explaining himself, taking a step forward towards the woman, who only took one back, her feet so close to the shore that it made Hongjoong's heart freeze in place. "I thought it was you.."

    Yet what was done was done and both of them knew it, the sapphires finally shuttering as Odette took her crown off, breaking it in two. Without even thinking about the outcome, the swan threw it into the lake, a muffled sob leaving her mouth as she herself took a step closer to the edge. "No! Odette please! I love you!" He shouted, yet it was all in vain as he knew that the curse will get to her before his words will.

    The second he noticed what she intended, the prince rushed to her side, gripping her waist tightly and pressing a soft kiss to her lips, eyes deeply staring in her own like their hearts spoke to each other, and it all felt more than ethereal as both of their bodies hit the water, sinking slowly as they held each other like not even death could do them apart.

   And perhaps it couldn't, as the second the sun began rising, the women that stood next to the lake and mourned the passing of their princess did not turn back to swans, and their gowns turned back to the clothes they once wore when they were running errands around the village. On the other side of the forest, Rothbart felt his powers leave him, a sudden weakness taking over his body as it slowly began turning to ashes. "No!" He yelled like a mantra, yet it was all in vain as ths moment the shy sunlight peeked trough his window, all that remained of him was an amber ring and his daughter, who only stared at the cracked mirror on the wall, ashamed of herself and mad at the world like never before.

    And even years after, deep down, on the bottom of the lake, the two lovers stood embraced, untouched by the time, as if they were simply sleeping. So perhaps, the curse that once plagued the young women became a blessing, as not only has she found peace, but love as well.

[generalfoolish]

Feel The Heat

Part Two: Something More

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OC Juniper Collins

Rating: 18+ (b/c minors shouldn't lurk, it is illegal and not polite.) But this is big fluff, just more exposition and pining and world building. I do curse, so there's that.

Word Count: 4k+

Summary: June and Frankie are big idiots, and they keep bumping into each other in the wildest of places. Again, and I can't overstate this: they’re both MASSIVE idiots.

A/N: Hey babes! This is going a little slower bc I want to give more with each update, I normally keep around 1K and these are little beasts. But I'm excited with the story, some threads are exposing themselves, and there will be more Frankie X OC time in the next part. For now, enjoy this little taste of yearning and pining and overthinking and general angst over meeting a cute new somebody. 💕

Masterlist | Part One | Part Three

June checked her phone as she stirred the pot, and groaned at the email count. More than half were parents who “couldn’t” make the conference, and the rest were from her principal wanting to reiterate the importance of those meetings. She dropped the phone back to the counter, and focused on her pot. She had googled what to do with Brandywines, and had decided on a slowly simmered tomato sauce. It paired beautifully with the fresh garlic and basil she had picked up, and the whole house smelled like an Italian restaurant.

This was her favorite way to use up produce in the summer. She spent hours simmering and canning, and got to enjoy the fruits of her labor in the dead of winter. She knew she could easily gift the sauce made from those beautiful tomatoes, and she had every intention of doing so.

Sundays passed so quickly, she hardly had time to dwell on the farmer, but when she caught a whiff of her stove she had to find something to do. She worked through the emails, sending reminders that the conferences were mandatory, and that if the parents couldn’t make it during the week before or after school, she was available to meet online. She fought the temptation to open her weekends. She was working on work boundaries with her therapist.

June had an easier time fighting off thoughts of the farmer as the day waned on, and she thought, foolishly, that she could just forget the brown eyed grump she had met.

--

Frankie was having a hard time focusing on anything. Liv was a bundle of energy, and he tried not to snap at her. He had her come help him in the garden, but he ended up sending her to dig for worms after she trampled another vine.

“Ew! Worms are gross.” She argued.

“I know, but didn’t you want to go fishing? Fish eat worms, it’s how we can get them out of the water.” He explained, carefully. She considered him, then bounded off, calling out to the worms. He chuckled watching her, and went back to pulling weeds. With a moment of quiet, his mind flitted back to the woman. He couldn’t help it. He had dreamt of her. She was lounging in the back of his mind, waiting for him to stumble into the memory. Liv was a good distraction, but she only held the woman at bay for so long. He grumbled and wiped his brow. He decided to give it up for now, the woman and the weeding.

“Princess, I think we have some hotdogs. Let’s try those.” He called over to Liv, who excitedly left behind her freshly dug hole.

“Daddy, Mrs. Becka wanted me to remind you about the school stuff.” Liv told him, grabbing his hand as they walked. He exhaled sharply. He had forgotten the meetings. He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through Becka’s texts. She had sent him the teacher’s number at some point, he knew, the trouble was finding it. Finally, he clicked the blue hyper-linked number and called it. Liv ran inside ahead of him, looking for the hot dogs, and he waited at the door as the phone rang.

“Hello?” Ms. Collins answered breathlessly, and he cleared his throat.

“Ms. Collins? It’s Olivia Morales’ dad, calling about the meeting?” He heard something clatter on the other end. “Is now an okay time?”

“Yes, sorry, Mr. Morales, I was just...it doesn’t matter. My schedule is a little tight, when did you have in mind?”

“Something early, maybe before drop-off?”

“Sure, uhm, let me check my calendar,” She sounded distant, he thought, probably on speaker. “Yeah, Tuesday morning? I know that’s quick, it is all I have though.”

“Yeah, I can be there. Like 7am?”

“Yes, that’s great. See you then.” The line disconnected and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d heard her voice before. He rolled his eyes at himself, of course he had. She was his daughter’s teacher. As if on cue, Liv ran out with a hot dog. He smiled brightly and ruffled her hair.

“‘Kay, kiddo, let’s go catch some fish.” She grinned at him brightly, showing off the hole her first lost tooth had made. His heart caught as he realized she was growing up so fast.

--

“Monday’s really are the worst.” June laughed. She had her mom on the phone, connected through Bluetooth. “I’m just leaving the school now!”

“I just don’t see why you’re having to set these meetings up now. The kids have hardly been in school for a couple of weeks.” June sighed as she merged on the highway to head home.

“I know, it's just something my district does. The hard part is wrangling parents.”

“Well, if you had any children, you’d know how much they require of you.” June rolled her eyes and exhaled through her nose. Her mom was always quick to bring up her lack of a partner and children. Not that June didn’t want those things, they just haven't panned out for her yet.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m sure you’re right.” She acquiesced, knowing the argument wasn’t worth the effort.

“Have you met anyone? You’re only getting older, you know.”

“Thanks Mom. Uh, I have a date tomorrow night, actually.”

“Well, what’s his name, do I know him? What does he do for work?” June rolled her eyes, and wondered why she had answered the call.

“I don’t know anything about him. It’s a blind date.”

“Not even a name?” June bit her lip, debating telling her Mom the nickname.

“He’s ex-Army, goes by Fish. That’s all I know. Oh, and he’s single. A new teacher sat it up for me.” June explained, hoping her Mom wouldn’t have much to say.

“Fish? Oh, wow. Terrence really messed you up, huh.”

“I’m getting a call from a parent, I’ll talk to you later.” June lied, ending the call. Terrence had really messed her up. Not that that was of any importance to her dating life, or this blind date’s name. She sighed hard as she pulled into her driveway.

“Monday’s really are the worst.” She told the empty space of her car. She grabbed her bag and hurried inside. It had been a long day, and she was ready to polish off her bottle of wine from the night before. She walked in and let her bag drop to the floor, and crossed to the staircase. She groaned as she climbed the stairs. She was exhausted and still had a ton left to do.

June stripped quickly and threw on her yard work clothes. She stopped by the kitchen and poured some wine into a cup with a lid, before making her way outside. The day before she had started a small garden, and she was determined to make something grow out of it. She had no idea what she was doing, though. The wine wasn’t really helping either.

She had been short with a few parents while she was tending the fragile plants. It was a little late in the season to try and start anything, but she had picked up some discount plants that she wanted to help limp along for a little longer. She hoped she hadn’t put any of the parents off, and tried to remember who all had called.

June wiped her forehead with her gloved hand and tried to sort them out. Steven’s mom, Cynthia, was meeting her during lunch. That would be short, thankfully. Steven was a good kid, quiet. Graham and Ginger’s grandma was coming Wednesday afternoon, the parents were out of the country for something. Mia’s dad was going to call during the planning period. Ashley’s mom was coming Tuesday afternoon. And Olivia’s dad was coming Tuesday morning. June felt her shoulders sag, and she drained her wine. That wasn’t even half of the parents left.

She gave up on the garden and stalked inside. She wanted to scare up something for dinner, but didn’t really feel like making anything. She gave in and called the local Indian place. They knew her order, and said they’d be there soon. She grimaced, wondering how much money she had spent on Vindaloo over the years, and decided not to think about it. She had enough time to slip in the shower to wash the sweat off, before the delivery guy knocked on her door. She tipped him generously, and sat down on the couch.

June clicked the tv on and scrolled through her watch list. She settled on some mind-numbing detective show, and ate half of the curry. She put the rest away, and grabbed her bag by the door. The bag was a mess, but she managed to find her red pen and the papers that needed grading, and she settled back in.

Soon, the mindless task paired with a full stomach and the wine had her falling into a deep sleep.

--

Frankie was pissed. He was giving up the best time of the day for harvesting to meet with Liv’s teacher, and Ms. Collins couldn’t be bothered to show up. His thoughts went back to the phone call the day before, and he gritted his teeth as he realized she had put him off twice. Over something she had wanted to set up. He’d gotten the bundles of paper she had sent home on it. Yet, here he was, and she was nowhere to be found. He pulled his phone out, and considered punching in her number, but stopped himself.

Frankie had to exhale deeply four times before he could lay his phone down. He had gotten here a little early, and it was just now 7 am, and he didn’t have a set schedule. Liv was with Ashley, Becka had insisted on taking them to drop off so he could have plenty of time with Ms. Collins. Not that it mattered now, he thought, dryly. At ten past, he pulled his phone back out, and brought her name up. He was angry again, and had every intention of calling. But before he could press her name, the door swung open, and his heart dropped.

~~

June woke with a start. The birds were singing outside, the light was all wrong, and she was on the couch. Shit, she thought, jumping up. Shit, shit, shit. She had overslept. She hurried up the stairs and threw on something presentable, and didn’t even check herself in the mirror. She could do her makeup in the class. She grabbed up the half graded papers and shoved them in her bag, and ran out the door. She dumped everything in the passenger seat and drove much faster than usual. She was about halfway to the school when she realized she was meeting a student’s parent this morning. She hadn’t had any coffee, and her brain was starting to slow down from the adrenaline of being late, and she could not remember who she was meeting. She parked, and popped her vanity mirror down and grimaced. She looked like she was having a bad morning. She decided to throw her hair up in a messy bun, and grabbed the mess up from her passenger seat.

She basically ran into the building, her flats ricocheting sound off the concrete walls. She swung her door open, apologies already falling from her lips, when she looked at the parent. The apologies died on her lips, and her mouth fell open.

“You?” She asked, dumbly. “Frankie?” He looked like he had seen a ghost, a bitchy ghost, she grimaced.

“You?” He stood now, and started to move to her.

“Uhm, you can’t be here. I’m meeting a student’s parent, and how’d you even know where to find me?” She started rambling, but when the words were out she realized how stupid they were. “Oh my god, you’re the parent?” She barked out a laugh, and dumped her bag on her desk. He grinned, and wiped the back of his neck.

“Liv’s dad. I’m Frankie Morales.” He told her, faltering from shaking her hand.

“Perfect. I’m Juniper Collins, you can call me June, or Ms. Collins, whatever you prefer. I’m sorry I’m late, I...I started a garden yesterday and wore myself out. That’s what I was doing when we spoke on the phone,” She told him, laughing. June had only tried gardening because she wanted a common foot with him. She didn’t want to tell him that yet, though. “Anyway, let’s get to Liv. Liv is a great girl, Mr. Morales.”

“Frankie.” He interrupted, with a small smile.

“Okay, Frankie. Look, Liv is great, she really is. She struggles in class sometimes, though. She is smart as hell, but she seems to struggle. I wanted to give you some information about ADD or ADHD. It presents differently in girls, and is often overlooked. I haven’t known her long, obviously, but I actually was diagnosed much later in life, and I remember doing some of the things she’s doing. Would you be interested in some info on that?” June asked carefully, their relationship was rocky and weird, and she didn’t want to overstep. This was her job, though. It was a little bit not her job, actually. But she always wanted to look out for her girls, especially when they were as smart and incredible as Liv.

“Oh, wow. I had no idea she was struggling.” Frankie muttered, and removed his cap. June sucked in a sharp breath at his light brown, bouncy curls as they spilled out. He was beautiful. She distracted herself by moving behind her desk and grabbing a folder she had laid out for Liv, for this exact reason, and she thanked her past self for being put together. Then she went and sat beside him at the small activity table. She felt comical sitting next to him in the small chairs, he was spilling over his own. She laid down the folder and put a hand on his arm.

“Look, it isn’t a struggle that she notices yet. It’s her recall, her attention span, and her ability to focus. That sounds like a lot, I know, but there’s a simple test, and there are effective alternatives to stimulants. I’m on one, and it really helped me. Life is only going to get harder for her, if she has it and it remains untreated, but she has no idea. She isn’t “different” yet, and she’s doing so, so well in class. She is a model student. I just want to help, that’s all.” She watched his face as she spoke, and by the end, he seemed defeated.

“I should have noticed. I’m her dad. I...I’ve been worried I’m not around enough, and now you drop this on me.” He laughed dryly. She patted his arm.

“Liv talks about you all the time. She loves you, Frankie. She tells us all the time about her pilot dad.” June said it before she had time to think, before she connected “Liv’s Dad” with Frankie, the man before her. And then, her big mouth spit out something she wanted to take back immediately. “But you’re a farmer, right?” He looked up into her eyes, and his face was hard.

“Anything else you wanted to tell me about Liv?” His words were right, but the tone was too harsh. June flinched back from him, and dropped her gaze from his suddenly hard face.

“Liv is a great girl. She’s great to have in class. I have nothing else for you.” June told him monotonically, going on autopilot so as not to cry. She had spent the whole weekend thinking about him, then she had planted a stupid garden to have more in common with him, and then fate brought them back together, and she screwed it up again. She decided it was done, then. Frankie Morales was not in the cards for her. Sure, she might see him again because she taught his daughter, but she was through thinking of him like that.

“Good. I have to get going, next time try to be on time.” He scolded, as he stood abruptly and left without another word. Slowly, June followed and shut the door behind him. Alone, at last, she started crying.

~~~

“Idiot. You fucking idiot.” Frankie berated himself in his truck. He couldn’t believe it when she swept into the room. He had found her. Not her, he thought with a grimace, Juniper. The name felt so appropriate. It was an old name, but it suited her so perfectly. He exhaled roughly and tried to rewrite the scene. She was looking out for Liv. She wanted Liv to be happy and succeed. This woman cared more about his daughter than Liv’s own mother. And as soon as she tried to get to know him, he bit her head off and made her feel bad for being late. Jesus, what a dick. He had found her, and in a single moment, he had managed to ruin it again.

He put the truck in drive and headed home. Nothing left to do here, he thought bitterly. He was pulling up the driveway when he remembered that she had started a garden. It wasn’t a coincidence, he realized. She had started a garden because of him. He parked the truck and laid his head against the steering wheel. He had pushed her away at every turn. The market, the bar, and now at the school. He had seen her face before he left, and knew it was done. He had pushed too far, too fast. Of course, she would want nothing more to do with him. He had done nothing but treat her like shit.

He got out of the truck and threw his hat. It didn’t do much except get his cap dirty, but it was all he could do. He pulled his phone out, and pulled her name up. He typed a long message, and erased it. Then he tried again, and erased it again. His pride was getting in the way. He couldn’t tell her about his piloting years. The army, spec ops, Colombia, the coke, or any of it. She could just hate him, and then he couldn’t hurt her anymore.

~~~~

June paced up and down her classroom. Her face was puffy, still, and she had been struggling to focus all day. She couldn’t meet anyone new for dinner; she wasn’t in the right headspace for a date. Let alone one where she would have to leave a lasting impression. She chewed her thumb nail before heading down the hall.

Samantha's classroom was pretty close to her own, and June was glad for it. If she had had to walk further she would have lost her nerve. June knocked tentatively on the door, before pulling it open. Samantha looked up and grinned.

"Hey girl! Are you excited for your big date tonight?" June’s own smile fell from her face.

"Actually, that's why I'm here. I want to cancel." Samantha's smile pulled down quickly.

"Why?"

"I'm having kind of a bad day for impressions," June told her flatly.

"Well, I couldn't if I wanted to. Santiago is out of town, no reception. I don't have the friend's number." June groaned.

"Okay, alright. Ugh, probably for the best. Do you know anything else about him? I’ve had kind of a rough day. You said, ex-military right?”

“Yeah, Santi doesn’t really talk about that time, and I haven’t pushed it. I met him a while back, Fish. He’s sweet. I think he’ll be your type. You like tan brunettes?” June nodded, laughing and thinking about Frankie Morales again.

“He’ll be perfect. Doesn’t say much and likes beer, that’s all I know.” Samantha gave a small shrug.

“Alright, thanks. I’ll let you finish eating.” June said, excusing herself.

She left feeling defeated. A parent was going to be late this afternoon, she had gotten the email after the Frankie disaster. Which meant that she was going to be late to dinner. She wasn't killing it in the men department so she hoped that despite a military background he wouldn't mind her tardiness. She couldn't handle another horrible scene like the one from this morning.

The rest of the day was uneventful, which she was glad for. Her nerves were on the edge. She tried to ignore how much Liv favored her dad, and how she loudly told the class about their upcoming camping trip. She found herself listening intently, despite herself. And even chuckled at the girl’s memories of the last trip. June’s mood improved with the day, too. She even played a little music in the background while the kids worked on their worksheets.

By the time she had hauled herself into her car, the last thing she wanted to do was go to dinner. But she swiped on her favorite lipstick and drove to the restaurant. If she broke the speed limit, she would only be about five minutes late, and she pushed it. She wanted to drink some wine, and forget about Frankie Morales. Another tan brunette in her life would do her good, she thought happily. She was tired, but she wanted to make the most of it.

---

Frankie was looking back and forth between the menu and his watch. He couldn't believe that another woman was about to be late on him. He was trying hard to get June out of his mind, and his blind date wasn't making it easy on him. He chuckled when he realized what he was doing. Just meeting a total stranger for dinner. He didn't have much choice in the matter, he thought, remembering how Pope had basically told him where and when, without asking if Frankie was even interested.

She had good taste, he conceded. This was his favorite spot. They made amazing, fresh pasta. He was eyeing the cocktail menu, when she rushed in. He couldn't believe he was running into her again.

It was June, because of course it was. She was flushed, probably late again, he huffed, but she had put on a bright red lipstick that made his heart stutter. He lowered his gaze back to the menu. He hoped she wouldn't see him out on a date, even if he saw her. The hope was short lived because she made her way to him, her eyes glinting with an emotion he couldn't place, and she exhaled deeply.

"Let me guess, your call sign is Fish, right?" His eyes snapped to hers and she laughed while nodding. It was her. He had found her again. The waiter walked over and she told him to bring a bottle of red, and a beer for him. He told the waiter his brand, and raked his eyes over her.

"Sorry I'm late, I had a crazy day." She mused once she had taken two deep sips of her wine.

"Yeah? What is it you do?" He asked, hoping beyond hope that this was their start over. Their fourth, or so, start over.

"Teacher. Yeah, I teach. Most days it's easy, but some days there are parents." She told him, her cheeks flushed.

"Hopefully, no jerks?" He asked, quickly taking a sip of his beer. She held her head to the side before she sighed.

"I don't know what's going on here, Frankie. It's kind of exhausting. I think you're pretty handsome, you grow amazing food, you have a beautiful daughter, but I think we just keep messing up. How about, just for now, we enjoy this meal and the company, and tomorrow we can talk about what it means that we can't keep away from each other?" He searched her eyes. She was tired, he could tell, but she was so sincere. He wanted desperately to know why she sat down instead of just leaving. He wanted to know why they were seemingly so connected. He wanted to know if he'd been on her mind too.

"I'm thinking the carbonara." He answered, and she smiled before looking the menu over herself. The rest could wait. He had found her again.”

[magnoliasinbloom]

Crash Course Love

Infinite thanks to @anna-swims​ and @elizabeth-beauchamp​ for being awesome betas.

AO3 :: Previously

17: Bloom [Jamie]

One year later

“Christ, he needs a fresh nappy!”

“So? Do it yourself!”

“Oh, dinna give me that. I changed him last time!” I held the baby away from me, cringing at the pungent smell emanating from the nappy. “He went number two!”

Young Jamie gurgled happily, oblivious to my discomfort. His wee legs pumped in the air excitedly as he tried to stuff his fists into his mouth. He was adorable in the extreme, which was why Claire and I had agreed to watch him for a few hours and give Jenny and Ian some respite from their growing brood.

“Number two? What are you, five? Give him to me,” Claire said, rolling her eyes. She took my nephew, cradling him gently, and pulled a fresh nappy from the diaper bag. “Go watch Young Ian and Maggie, I’ll do it.” She swatted me playfully upside the head with the nappy as she made her way to the guest bathroom.

“I dinna ken how you manage to weasel yer way out of changing Young Jamie’s nappies, a bhalaich,” my da chimed, leaning against the doorframe and wiping his hands on a tea towel. “’Tis good practice for when ye have bairns of yer own.”

“Da!” I hissed, hoping that Claire hadn’t heard. I settled on the floor to help Young Ian and Maggie with a puzzle.

“His own? When will that be? Anytime soon?” Jenny chose that moment to saunter in as well, arm around Ian’s waist. “I’m sure you and Claire are practicing plenty!” I looked around for something to chuck at her head while she, Ian, and Da laughed fit to burst.

“Jamie? Are you all in here?” Claire returned to the living room, Young Jamie nestled in the crook of her neck, eyes drifting closed. Something tugged at my heart to see her so, with a bairn in her arms, the soft smile that played in the corners of her mouth. I threw a meaningful glance at Da, who took the hint.

“Here, I’ll take him, lass,” he said, carefully extricating the baby from Claire’s grasp. “I’ll go fetch William and Mary, and then we can eat.”

I sent Young Ian and Maggie after their parents and I rose from my spot on the floor, grabbing Claire’s helping hand as we made our way to the dining room. She nudged my shoulder with hers, a big smile on her face. The light caught her eyes, making their whiskey depths seem fathomless. I kissed her, catching her by surprise. Sudden inspiration flashed, and I pulled her away from the dining room.

“Och, Sassenach, I would like to, um, step outside for a moment. In Da’s garden, there’s something I’d like to show ye. Do ye mind?”

“Alright. Let me get my coat first, it’s quite cold.” I waited for her in the hall, fidgeting until she reappeared with a dark blue trench coat I’d gotten her last Christmas. She was so lovely; I felt my heart racing and feared she might hear it.

I closed the door behind us, stepping out into the December cold. Our breath trailed away in little white puffs, and Claire’s cheeks turned pink almost immediately. We walked across the yard, gravel crunching under our feet until we reached my father’s wee garden. Despite the cold, the remaining perennials like geraniums and heather dotted the green with color. While I had grown more proficient in identifying certain plants, I was still no expert, unlike my Sassenach lass. She stopped to admire some bright red blooms, before I touched her cheek gently, caressing. She leaned into my hand, smiling.

“What is it, Jamie?”

“Aye, weel… I just wanted to get ye alone for a bit. Before ye’re swamped by the Frasers in there.”

“I’m all yours.” Claire tangled our fingers together, cuddling against my side. We stood in comfortable silence, my arm around her, tracing wee patterns on her shoulder. I could still feel my heart pounding furiously. I thought about her words—she was mine.

I thought back to the year we had shared. Like every relationship, it had its ups and downs, but mostly ups. I remembered that day in the castle car park, where we had finally found each other (again). The first time we made love (many, many times). The day she took me to get a tattoo (a Celtic knot). The night the distillery debuted the new whisky (an event she and Jenny put together, cementing their own relationship). Our first argument (then the riotous making-up). The time we went to Oxford so I could meet her uncle Lamb (the surviving link to her family whom I loved like my own). Each of those events a way to say I love you.

I took a deep breath.

“Sassenach?”

“Hmmm?”

“Just so ye ken, I mean to propose tonight.” I swallowed hard and felt my arm tense around her.

Claire gave a little gasp and turned to look at me. “What?”

“I plan to ask ye to marry me. During lunch. Maybe make a toast, give a speech, I dinna ken exactly. I’m even considering going down on one knee.” My hands were trembling something awful.

Claire gaped for a moment, before seemingly recovering her powers of speech. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Och, weel, I thought I’d give ye a fair warning. In case ye wanted to leave before we ate, and save me a really embarrassing anecdote for future family reunions.” I shrugged, trying hard to seem nonchalant about it, but actually feeling my heart drop in the vicinity of my wame. What if she said no?

“Oh.” Claire bit her lip, a deep flush coloring her petal-smooth skin.

“What do ye think?” I took her left hand in mine, squeezing gently.

She was quiet for a few moments. I think my heart was dangerously close to stopping when she turned to me with a beautiful smile.

“If it helps, I’ll say yes.”

“Ye will?” I felt relief and love—an overwhelming, all-encompassing love for this woman—wash over me. I grinned like an idiot and pressed kisses all over her face.

“Well,” Claire managed between my onslaught of affection and our hands roving everywhere, “I can’t in good conscience just leave you there kneeling, and I certainly can’t go without tasting Ellen’s cooking. I just couldn’t.” Her smile turned playful and she gave my hand a squeeze in return. “Besides, I’m completely in love with you.”

“Aye, that helps.” I kissed her once more, before pulling a velvet box from my coat pocket. I opened it, showing her the ring nestled inside. Claire smiled, tears glistening in her eyes. She traced the delicate carvings on the white gold ring, Scottish thistles and English roses intertwined. No diamond—I knew my Sassenach lass would prefer simple blooms to extravagant stones. I slipped the ring onto her finger.

“I love ye, Claire—Sassenach. I have loved ye from the first moment I saw ye, I think. I will love ye ‘til time itself is done, and so long as ye are by my side, I am well pleased wi’ the world.”

Her arms came around me, and I drew her even closer, my face burrowing in the mad collieshangie of her hair. The chill December wind blew around us, tugging at our coats but we refused to budge, standing fiercely to face whatever might come.

“Do ye trust me, Sassenach?” I asked, pulling away briefly to meet her gaze. Her nose pressed against mine, but her eyes didn’t blink. Neither did mine.

“With my life,” she said softly, and I knew it to be true.

“And with your heart?”

I felt the object in question skip a beat, and knew my answer as well.

“Always,” Claire whispered, as I closed my eyes, and kissed her.

FIN

- - -

A/N: And here we are, at the end! Thank you to everyone who read, liked, commented, reblogged, lurked, sent private messages asking for more... I appreciate every single one of you. Thank you for coming along on this journey with me <3

[kewltie]

i,,, had a thought what if izuku thought he couldn't give kasumi the best kind of future for her so when she had just turned two, izuku met up Katsuki's parents at their house and asked them to take care of her and quietly disappeared so katsuki ends up being a new up and coming hero with a baby girl on the side.

kasumi is raised in the Bakugou household and is love fiercely and spoiled atrociously her grandparents, daddy, and his friends. she got everything a girl can ask for but in the back of her head there's a fuzzy memory of green eyed man and his gentle low voice when he called out her name.  she loves daddy above all even when he's being very annoying and overbearing because Kasumi is Daddy's precious princess and very very much like him as everyone says but when she looks in the mirror she sees blond hair, a perfect face and smile that resembles daddy but her eyes are the color of someone's else. Someone who is long gone from her memories, but they live in each breath she take. Live in the green hue of her eyes.

she doesnt know this person name but she know who he is. her other parent, the one who had abandoned her. she thinks he's a coward and weak for giving her up. she hates him so she wants to find him one day and yell at him and tell him that he's horrible HOW COULD HE LEAVE HER?? DIDNT HE LOVE HER?!

Izuku had carried kasumi in his body for ten months and he had her in his arms, giggling and crying, for only 2yrs but he loves her with all he has. when he had handed Kasumi to mitsuki it felt like he was giving away a part of himself because she is his, his most precious treasure. he broke down crying afterward, like he had just ripped out his heart and given it away but he knows katsuki and his family would give her a better future and a happier life than he could ever do. this is for her, he told himself, but it doesnt stop the agonizing pain he felt. the pain never truly stopped even though he had moved halfway across the country so he doesnt give in to the urge to race back and beg the Bakugou to give Kasumi back to him. he can only watch her grow up in the public eyes as the little princess of the new no. 1 hero, ground zero, like a bystander in her life.

kasumi grew up as the darling of the hero community because she was an enigma to the world. A BABY SUDDENLY appearing out of nowhere and to the HOTTEST upcoming hero?? and he had her while he was in high school?! and WHERE WAS THE OTHER PARENT?! a hero single parenting at his age is absurd. it got the nation scandalized and fixated on katsuki and his baby since day one so kasumi heavily grew up under the spotlight and in the public eye. it didn't help that she was terrifyingly clever, beautiful, blunt, and a natural hellraiser just by being bakugou katsuki's daughter.

the public adore her and she kinda mostly tolerate them back because it can't be help that she's so cute and smart that ppl want to pay attention to her (that bakugou’ss arrogance and confident coming out) lol. every move she make and say is always on the news, she doesnt mind it. really. sometimes when she lets herself think about it, she wonder if HE is watching her on TV somewhere in the world. does he see how much she had grown up now? does he love the dress she's wearing? is he proud of her? is he regretting HOW HE COULD LEAVE SUCH A PERFECT CHILD BEHIND? maybe all her achievements (the best in her class, athletics awards, ballet dancing and extracurricular activities she'd picked up and bested everyone else at) is her way of drawing attention to herself, maybe if she's SHOW EVERYONE SHE'S TRULY THE BEST,,, he'll come back to see her one day. the thing is kasumi is perfectly happy with her life. daddy is the best thing EVER and she loves him so, so much because that she never feels like she's a burden or lacking of anything but even his love isn't enough to fill that empty void in her, the 2yrs that she’d spent with that person.

all the while izuku tunes to the TV everyday in hope of getting a glimpse of her somehow, cut magazines and news clippings of her, and keeps track of her life through pieces of reporting because even if he isn't in her life, he wants to know what's going on in it and if she's happy at all. he'd built an entire shrine devoted to kasumi in his bedroom. there are pictures and news/magazine clippings of her on his walls. any mentions of her from katsuki or others, he'll watch the vid over and over again till his eyes are tired and he can repeat it word for word.  

for several years he had watch her from afar, but on her seven birthday, five years since he'd let her go, he was so WEAK with longing that he bought a plane ticket just to see her. EVEN IF IT'S ONLY A GLIMPSE OF HER WILL DO, TO BREATH THE SAME AIR AND HE'LL LEAVE AGAIN. that's all he wanted. izuku in disguise had lurked around the bakugou's household with hundreds of fans and reporters because it's the birthday of the ground zero's most precious PRINCESS and everybody wants a piece of her. izuku should have been in there with kasumi and the bakugous celebrating  her birthday instead of lurking outside like a creep but maybe that's true in another world. not now though.

in this world, he's just some weirdo stalker who obsessed with bakugou kasumi and her daddy as he waits outside to maybe see a glimpse of her at all. then he heard it, kasumi's boisterous giggles as she loudly proclaims she will magnanimously grace her fans with her presence.

"daddy, these people are obviously here for me," she scoffs, talking to an annoyed katsuki as they stroll out to the front yard. "I'll just say hi then i'll come back. stop worrying. you'll get even more grey hair and what will i do if you become uglier?" SHE'S SO BLUNT AND MEAN and izuku wanna cry because that's HIS BABY

he actually didn't even get to see her in person AT ALL because he ran the fuck away as soon as her heard her footsteps coming outside the bakugou's enormous home because he couldn't endure it. he knows if his eyes fall upon her person even once HE'LL BREAK DOWN AND never let her go again!

he can tell kasumi is lively, healthy, and clearly HAPPY with her life because katsuki had done right by her. izuku knew it was the right choice to leave kasumi to him and to hear that evidence so CLEARLY it was a relief and heartbreaking because it means that he was also right that he couldn't give her this. izuku quietly disappeared back to his life, never stop watching kasumi closely and once kasumi turned nine he decided it been long enough and she probably forgotten all about him and no longer caring about the disappointing parent who had abandoned her in a moment of weakness.

izuku moves closer to them. they're finally in the same city after seven years apart but it's not like kasumi nor katsuki knows that he is here at all. he tries to keep a low unassuming profile and promised to himself that he’ll never approach kasumi or katsuki at all. he manages to keep that promise for a year. then kasumi turns ten and HIJACKS katsuki's press conference to declares in front of hundred flashing cameras that, "my daddy is getting old and lonely and i cant be with him always so i'll be on the look out for good spouse for him :3c!" as katsuki roars in the background lol.

izuku was heartbroken in a diff kind of way compare to when he had given kasumi away because this is katsuki and kasumi, the two people he loves the most, finally moving on without him. katsuki will have a new mate and kasumi will have another parent that isn't HIM. he's happy but also very, very sad.

this is where like FATE OR SOME BULLSHIT because izuku managed to avoid the two of them for an entire year but ~things~ happens and he accidentally bumps into kasumi and KASUMI IS TOTALLY CHARMED by this strange quirkless nervous man who looks at her like she's his entire world. shes like ahh,,, maybe i should introduce him to daddy as a potential mate? not knowing that the man she feels an inexplicably drawn/attached to is actually her papa. bakudeku MEETING AGAIN AFTER 10 YEARS and yea, SHENANIGANS, MISUNDERSTANDING, SO MUCH DRAMA and also KASUMI lol

[punk-tugger]

She really loved it.

The look on the tribes face as she tore them apart, truly using her claws as she never had before. It was the beginning of the end for her.

Trying to speak to her was like talking to an old Sphinx; each sentence laced in riddles and she spoke as if constantly battered by an old wind, out of breath and eerie.

From time to time the kittens would wander into her designated area in the junkyard. A run down even more desolate area than the rest, it looked more like a fight pit than a home, covered in claw marks and blood from previous hunts she had done. Some collars from her owners shredded to pieces and scattered around the area. As the kittens would begin to lurk closer to her she would hiss and snarl and scare them away; a few would pause and stare sadly at her, with their ears drooped down, body low and tail curled into their body. Usually she would just continue, moving closer and closer until they ran away.

This time was different.

She noticed the matching red hue to the young queens fur, aura and attitude radiating that of a confident Tom she loved; she knew her.

She paused, claws still extended and fangs barred. She paced in front of the young queen, mulling over who she could be.

A distant memory, a kittens cry’s, a beautiful toms praises, she paused and stared at her again. The fog she’s been put through from that horrid Tom rattling her mind.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the queen move closer and open her mouth, immediately she tensed and spoke before she could.

“Who are you?”

The young queen lowered her head, a small paw reaching up to her eye to wipe away….something.

“I am yours, my name is Electra.”

It felt like the wind was knocked out of her, her vision swirled as she was reminded of every time she had heard that name.

A dinner surrounded by family, a Tom bigger than all the others sitting in the very middle, gray and weathered but boisterous and full of smiles, surrounded by kittens of all different colors and sizes. Two little queens were play fighting at his paws; she knew now one to be Electra, but there was also another smaller white, orange, and black queen. The patriarch watched the two play together, his eyes creasing at the edges as his smile grew watching Electra pin the small white one to the ground. A booming laugh echoed through the yard as she jumped up, victorious, “Fantastic my girl! I’m sure you will join the ranks amongst our protectors one day, Electra.” She grinned and a bit of her tongue fell past her fangs, “Thank you, Papa Deut!” off to the side an extravagant Tom and a beautiful older red queen stared at her with proud smiles, standing close to each other and both wondering how they got so incredibly lucky to have each other and her.

With that the memory changed;

Rain pouring down, toms and queens frantically running around the junkyard and the few seasoned protectors surveying the outskirts and looking for any sign of the missing kitten. “Electra! Electra!” An older red queen was near inconsolable, the extravagant Tom from earlier was holding her in place, forcing her against him to calm her. His usual large mane was drooping with the rain, an even more visual representation of what was happening. The older queen sobbed against his fur, wailing for her missing daughter.

They searched and searched for her, every single jellicle searching from the oldest Gus to even baby Victoria; the jellicles are not the jellicles without her.

The protectors began to crowd around and peer into the distance, seeing something that they couldn’t quite believe. A large brown and white Tom carrying a small quivering kitten in his mouth by the scruff of her neck. The protectors were wary; if he wanted to, this Tom would easily be a fight for the jellicles to remember.

The unfamiliar tom paused about 15 feet from the protectors and gently placed Electra onto the ground. “I believe you have lost something” a thick accent unheard of by the protectors flowed from the strong toms mouth, “be sure to keep a better eye on young ones; you don’t know what kind of riff raff is about” he said with a slight chuckle, and with that, he walked away from the kitten and the junkyard.

The protectors were momentarily stunned. Should they be worried? Should they tighten up patrols? However he didn’t do anything, he had no threats and even returned a lost kitten unharmed. The Tom that had been consoling the older red queen had made his way up to the other protectors and joined his rightful place among them when he had seen them begin to crowd. Once he peered into the distance and saw what was left and the tom walking away he immediately sprinted towards the small kitten snatching her by the scruff of her neck and returned her to the junkyard.

The older red queen had retreated to her oven, not bearing to know what had happened in case it was something awful. The Tom walked through the torn beaded curtain, clearing his throat and gently placing a shivering Electra against the older red queen. As soon as she was placed against her and they each felt the others presence the older queen looked at the source of the warmth and let out a relieved sob as she curled around Electra, her daughter. The flashy tom breathed for the first time that night. As long as his queens were safe that is all that mattered.

She gasped and panted as the memories twisted and contorted within her mind, she knew them all. The fog was finally starting to lift.

“I am….”

Electras head perked up, her eyes looking into the older queens, and finished for her “My mother; Bombalurina”

[pl-panda]

Of Heaven and Hell

Credits: Miraculous Ladybug team for the elements I take from MLB show. DC for their characters, @ozmav for the AU, @maribat-archive for giving me access to so many different stories to have take inspirations from, @ethelphantom for the cover I use at Wattpad and FF.Net and Me for the plot.

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

Of Heaven and Hell: Part 1

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

Of Heaven and Hell

From Encyclopedia Demonica

[...] and while many people consider angels epitomes of good, they are mistaken. Indeed, this regal beings are more closely connected to order than to goodness. They perceive divine law as imperative and hold little regard to human lives, as long as they serve their goals. And yet, most of the times they chose to not involve themselves in mortal affairs.

Typical angel have two forms. First look very similar to human, but they retain most of their powers. Such form is also much more durable and their physical capabilities exceed everything you could expect from a mortal. Second is close to the first one in appearance, but differs in terms of power and abilities. In this form Angel spreads his wings and feature specific to his sub-species appear. 

Angel’s powers differ on subspecies, but universally include flight, enhanced senses, enhanced agility, strength and durability, large magical potential, access to magic unique to their species and high resistant to other types of magic. Specific subspecies have different additional powers. Each Angel also possess an ability that is unique to him. Usually, it reflects his personality and present itself when it reaches maturity. [...]

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

Six years ago

Damian cursed under his breath. The temple was under attack. His mother told him to get inside. And he did. He ran to his room to grab his sword. A beautifully ornate weapon with guard in shape of two intertwined pairs of angel wings pointing toward the blade. Great for complicated maneuvers. The pommel held a teal pearl also protected by a pair of angel wings. It was a gift from his grandfather for his eighth birthday. The weapon was perfectly balanced and suited Damian’s style perfectly. 

With the sword in hand, Damian unfolded his wings. His tunic had a special holed cut in the back to accomodate for them and he didn’t destroy every shirt he wore. A pair of large white feathered wings appeared and he dashed forward to battle. He couldn’t let his mother die. A small orb of white energy appeared in his hand before he launched it at the wall in front of him. The explosion created enough of a hole for him to pass. 

In front of him opened a large yard. Usually, a new acolytes trained here under careful watch of angelic masters. Now it was simply a blood bath. Bodies were lying everywhere. But what shocked him the most was that angels were fighting one another. Some wore League’s armors, but overwhelming force was dressed in black-and-orange suits. He wanted to dash forward and into the battle, but someone grabbed him and pulled him into the shadows. A slender figure of his mother looked at him sternly.

“I told you to go inside.”

“Mother! I came to fight with you. I must fight with you. By your side. Together. It’s my destiny!”

“Your destiny is to live Damian.” She scolded him. “Now quickly. Let’s move. Some battles can’t be won.”

“But… what about the mission?” He asked confused.

“Mission will live in you and me. Now let’s go join your grandfather in the tunnels.” She started leading him away.

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

Damian woke up from the dream. He instantly grabbed his sword and swung it around. Only then he realized that is was just a memory. He looked around his room, assessing any dangers. Once he was sure that nothing lurked in the darkness he got up. It was still night and quick glance at the electronic clock told him that it was 3:30 AM. Long time before others wake up. But Damian did not want to go to sleep anymore. He never did after this kind of nightmares. 

He got down to the holo-training room and activated the highest setting. A series of ninja shimmered into existence. Without as much as a second of hesitation, Damian dashed forward. His silver sword cut through them as he zoomed through the arena. With each move, he took two of the enemies. A slight golden aura around him intensified as he burned through his anger. Finally, he collapsed, panting heavily from exhaustion. The “kill counter” showed that he was halfway to a thousand vanquished enemies. He was weak. He was useless. He ran away. He was no warrior but a mere coward.

But it was not true. He did the right thing. Because he ran away he met his father. He actually started to protect people instead to only try to control them. He was a nephilim, half angel, half human. He had all the powers of his angelic brethren and yet freedom to choose. He didn’t need to follow orders of higher beings. He could make his own decisions. And he chose to be a hero, not a warrior. Now, each day he reinforced this decision. First as Robin, fighting side by side with his father, now as… still Robin, but as a part of Teen Titans. 

“You okay Demon Spawn?” A voice of Dick Grayson, better known as Nightwing, came from behind. Damian instantly spun around and stopped his blade less than an inch from his neck. 

“Don’t do that if you want your head to remain where it is.” he scowled at the sight of his adopted brother’s patronizing gaze. “And don’t look like that.”

“Like what?” Dick asked confused. 

“Like I am a baby in need of your care. I am sixteen-years-old Nephilim. I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“So that’s why you are awake at five in the morning? Taking care of yourself?”

“Get lost.” Damian barked and started to practice katas with his sword. He had his back turned to dick when suddenly he spun around just in time to block a projectile that was tossed at him. 

“Come on bro. You and me. One on one. First to score three hits.” Dick taunted. 

“I am stronger, faster and more agile. You stand no chance.” Damian said in emotionless expression. He looked at Dick for a moment before taking off his tank-top. “And I can fly.” He grinned at the surprised Nightwing. A pair of white-feathered wings appeared on his back. 

“And yet I kick your rear every time we fight.” Dick smirked and drew his staff. Both ends started to crackle with electricity. 

Damian boosted himself forward with a single flap of his wings. His silver sword met with the staff, but before he could cut it, Nightwing sidestepped and allowed blade to slide down. He used the Angel’s momentum to his disadvantage. Damian’s blade stumbled upon crackling electricity, sending a powerful shock through his arm. Normal humans would be paralyzed by this, but Damian only growled. It hurt, but he could fight. Damian tried several more times, but Dick always reflected or sidestepped before the blade could do any real damage. Finally, the Angel changed tactic. Flapping his wings, Damian rose into air. His off-hand glowed with golden light which next formed a runic circle around his fist before several projectiles flew at various arcs toward Nightwing. The hero had to dodge it quickly, but got caught by the last one and got sent into the wall. Damian didn’t bother to check on him. Instead, he dashed forward. Before Dick managed to get rid of flying stars around his head a silver blade was less than an inch from his neck. 

“I win.” Damian proclaimed, looking smug.

“Nope.” Dick said, popping the ‘p’. He then used his staff to jab Damian’s stomach, then jump on his fit and separate his weapon into two escrima sticks. He then started to barrage the teenager with series of swift hits. While they would not usually hurt given angelic durability, the crackling electricity made it a bit painful. Damian shielded himself with his wings, but Dick found an opening and landed third and final hit that ended the fight.

“That is cheating! I had you!” The teen argued.

“So? You lost me. But good fight D. Maybe next time.”

“tt. That’s unfair! I want rematch!” 

“Boys!” Kori joined the discussion. “As much as watching you fight is… entertaining, I made breakfast.” She said cheerfully while walking to nightwing. “And something special for you later.” She said seductively.

“Bleh.” Damian faked vomiting. “I will never understand humans.”

“You are part-human.” Dick pointed out

“And so is neandertales. Yet he doesn’t understand humans.” The teen deadpanned. 

“I heard someone say breakfast!” Beast Boy barged into training room.

“I made pancakes.” Kori cheered.

“With maple syrup?” Gar asked 

“And ‘love’.” Damian gave a sarcastic remark.

“So the best ones.” Beast Boy said with dreamy face. “I reserve the first batch!” He said while already dashing to the kitchen. 

“Scarab said he detected pancakes!” Beetle said while zooming past the room in his full armor. Damian, Dick and Kori walked in normal pace, only to find Gar and Jaime staring wide-eyed at Rachel sitting there and calmly eating her breakfast. 

“Took you long enough.” She said with a small smile. The red gem on her forehead pulsed weakly, but it was ignored in favor of consuming inhuman amounts of pancakes. Damian himself didn’t even realize that he finished three plates before Dick pointed it out to him. He turned pink for a moment before jumping away and claiming the remote for the day. 

After the morning of cartoons Titans spent rest of the day on the beach near the island. Half-way through Dick and Kori disappeared and when the sun started to set Rachel and Garfield also went somewhere. Jami, Damian and their newest addition to the team: Cyborg, were completely obvious to this as their discussion came to sport. 

“I’m just saying. Futball is the best game. Soccer is cool, but it’s for kids.” Victor argued.

“You say that, but last I checked Soccer was much more popular around the world.” Jami pointed out proudly. “Besides it requires much more skill and finesse. Futball is about pure muscle mass.”

“As if! Have you got any idea how important tactics, positioning, territorial awareness and condition are in Futball?”

“tt. The best sport is sword-fighting anyway.” Damian grinned at them. Inwardly, he loved this family. Sure, living with his father was great, but here he finally had one thing he missed so much: friends. They weren’t patronizing like Todd. They weren’t constantly trying to prove something to him like Drake and Grayson was even bearable here. That is if he didn’t act all sugar-eyes for Starfire. Is he even aware she is an alien princess and he is a peasant acrobat? 

As the sun was finally down, the titans made a giant bonfire on the beach and roasted marshmallows. As Damian was about to eat his, suddenly a large yellow balloon sailed toward him. He tried to catch it, but his enhanced strength made him accidentally squash it instead. A wave of water assaulted him and made him wet to the very bones. 

“Beast Boy!” He roared in anger. One thing he hated in the Titans were the constant prank wars that lasted for weeks. 

*gulp* “Will it help when I say that I aimed at Jaime?” Garfield asked weakly. 

“No hermano. It will only make it worse.” Blue Beetle looked practically offended, but he had a small smirk on his face. 

Damian took off his t-shirt and tossed it at Beast Boy. His hand then glowed and a runic circle materialized around it. Garfield tried to run, but a golden beam hit him in his rear and suddenly his fur turned completely gold. He looked like some some hardcore sports fan supporting his favorite team.

“That’s not fair! I only tossed a small water balloon. You could cool off a bit bro!” Garfield tried to argue weakly while massaging his rear.

“Suck it up like a man and stop whining like little girl…” Damian said, but then looked at Rachel who sent him a death glare. “Not that I have anything against little girls?” He added quickly.

After that the atmosphere were great. Garfield was still a bit sore on the subject of his new color and decided that he will appreciate his green from now on. Finally, Damian excused himself and went to the tower to go to sleep earlier. As he entered his room, he felt a breeze of air going on. He distinctly remembered that his window was closed and nobody would enter without his permission. A glyph on the doors made sure of that. His sword appeared in his and and a glowing runic circle formed above his head. A less known fact about Angels was that their Halo was in fact a spell that allowed them to sense other Angels in close proximity. It also gave enough light to serve as convenient source of light. Not that they needed it as they saw in anything but perfect darkness. Damian would never admit out loud that he used it when he wanted to draw something in the middle of the night. 

“Hello… Mother.” He said with disdain in his voice. 

“It’s good to see you too Damian.” She responded with sarcasm. 

“Why do you grace me with your presence?” If Talia’s voice was dipped in sarcasm, Damian drowned in it. 

“I need your help.” She said, ignoring the obvious disrespect. “There are several demons in Paris.”

“So?”

“The city is warded against all things celestial. And magic hides it from your precious Justice League. Had any Angel tired to go there, he would not be able to enter the city. Should anyone else hear about the situation, they would forget it as soon as the discussion ended.”

“So? From what you are saying is true, Mother, then I am twice as locked out as anyone else. I will forget about it the moment you leave.”

“That’s why I need you.” She said with almost pleading voice. “You aren’t a full angel, but your mind is protected from the spell. You should be able to enter the city and remember everything.”

Damian pondered it for a moment. It did seem like something serious. If what she said was true, the whole city was at the mercy of those vile monsters and couldn’t even hope for any external help. “Fine. I will go there.”

“Good. I already enrolled you at Collège Françoise Dupont” She said with a wicked grin. With a flap of her two pairs of wings she was gone, leaving only a thin folder on his desk. Damian cursed under his breath. 

“Looks like I’m going to school. tt. I hate teenagers.”

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

Taglist: Open

[awkwardpenguinproductions]

Melee

Part 3 of the Dragon of the Yuyan

Read on AO3 | Series Masterpost

Zuko has been living in Pohuai Stronghold for two months, and would very much like winter to be over now, please.

It had snowed a few weeks ago, just enough to cover the top of one's foot when one stepped in it, and Zuko had hated it at first sight. There was just something unnatural about how Koh-damned cold it was, forcing his inner flame to burn hotter in his chest to compensate. Most of the snow is gone now, only little piles of dirty slush left in the corners of the yards where the weak winter sun doesn't quite reach, but it is now somehow colder than it had been when the snow had first arrived. None of the other Archers are firebenders, and Zuko honestly has no idea how they cope—Kai actually seems to like it, but Kai is also mildly insane and not to be trusted.

Zuko is now triply glad that he took the Commander's deal. He gets three meals a day (plus access to all the snacks he could ever want—all he has to do is blink and people shove food at him), he'll be learning from the most badass soldiers in the entire world (although he has yet to actually start training—Dr. Atsuko says he needs to gain more weight before she'll let him even touch a bow, and Dr. Atsuko is really scary so he doesn't want to cross her), and he gets Agni-blessed warm clothes (Zuko will bite anyone who touches his koala-sheep wool cloak—Zheng and the twins make fun of him for his attachment to it, but Zuko ignores them with the ease of someone who literally couldn’t care less). And all Zuko has to do is figure out new and interesting ways of getting past the Stronghold’s security, like the voyage through the ventilation system he’d taken last week that had allowed him to access the single most secure prisoner holding cell in the entire complex without even Captain Katsuro, leader of Banli Squad and the oldest and most experienced member of the Troop, knowing where he was.

Considering that two months ago he’d been staring starvation in the face, Zuko feels that maybe the luck that he’d used up just by being born is starting to come back.

Now if only winter would end.

Zuko is sitting with Kai and Jiyoti at breakfast in the mess, watching with increasing skepticism as Kai discourses the merits of arrows made out of ice, of all things. He’s neglecting his bao, and Zuko waits until Jiyoti distracts him with a salient point—how would one make ice arrows without waterbenders?—before swiping one. Mmm, sweet bean paste.

Kai pouts at him when he realizes what has happened, but Zuko is distracted by Commander Toshiaki coming their way.

Privates, Zuko, good morning, he greets them.

Good morning, Commander, they sign in unison.

Zuko, you need to report to Dr. Atsuko in the medical wing when you finish breakfast, the Commander informs him.

Zuko nods. Yes, sir.

Commander Toshiaki nods, the faintest trace of a smile playing at his stern expression, and Zuko feels like a million gold pieces. The Commander had been impressed with his breaking into the secure cell, and Zuko can’t wait to impress him again on his next “mission” to test the Stronghold’s security. He can only hope that nobody’s too disappointed when he inevitably proves how much of a failure he is at archery and non-bending hand-to-hand. He’s already resigned himself to never completing his firebending training, since the Yuyan are all non-benders. He’ll just have to hope that he never gets into a situation where firebending is his only weapon. He wonders if the Commander will let him continue learning the dao, since it’s a non-bending form of combat.

He still needs to be cleared by Dr. Atsuko though, so after Commander Toshiaki signs for them to carry on, and he steals Kai’s other bao (and ducks the listless protesting swipe the older boy aims at his head), Zuko heads over to the medical wing.

For once, the CMO seems pleased to see him, and within moments Zuko is stripped to his underwear and standing on a scale. He tucks his hands in his armpits and shivers in the chilly air of the medical wing.

“Good news, you’re just on the right side of healthy weight for a boy your age and height,” Dr. Atsuko declares briskly. She allows him to step down and get dressed while she scribbles on the scroll that contains his medical information.

Does that mean I can start training? He asks, smiling hopefully.

Dr. Atsuko rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes, you can start training, put that look away, you brat,” she grouses. “But don’t overdo it, understand? If I see you in here because you did something stupid, I’ll have Toshiaki triple the time you spend on the bench for recovery.”

Zuko nods rapidly as Dr. Atsuko scribbles on a small square of paper and rolls it up. “Take this to Toshiaki,” she orders, handing the note to him. “And tell the Commander that I’ll have his hide if he breaks you in ways I can’t fix.”

Zuko has absolutely no intention of telling the Commander that; he’s not a complete idiot, no matter how stupid Father and Azula and his tutors and combat instructors thought he was. He knows perfectly well that he’s exactly one screw-up away from being tossed out of the Stronghold on his ass, Zheng and the twins never let him forget it. Better to keep his mouth shut and his hands still unless spoken to directly—he’ll likely have fewer bruises for doing so when they do finally get sick of him and kick him out.

The sentiment is appreciated, though. Dr. Atsuko is scary (not quite as scary as Azula—it’s doubtful that anyone’s as scary as Azula except maybe Father—but Dr. Atsuko is close), but she cares in her own way. Zuko forms the Flame and bows, she scoffs and waves him off, and he departs.

His grin hurts his face, especially where the muscle of his cheek wrinkles the stiffened scar tissue of his burn. He doesn’t care, though—he can finally start training with the Troop, instead of watching from the side like someone’s useless kid brother! He can’t wait to tell Kai!

But first he has to find Commander Toshiaki. At this time of the morning, the Troop is usually on the target range, working on speed drills.

Commander Toshiaki is exactly where Zuko thought he would be, along with the rest of the Troop. He presents the scroll to the Commander, who favors him with a quietly pleased expression.

This is excellent news, he declares. He then assigns Zuko to Chihese Squad for PT and weapons training. Zuko and Kai exchange grins, and Zuko ignores the ferocious glare Zheng sends him.

Captain Hiroki, Chihese Squad’s leader, looks Zuko up and down. Ever touch a weapon before, kid? He asks, and Zuko can see the sarcasm in the way his hip is cocked, his half-lidded eyes, and the smirk lurking just below the surface of his stoically flat mouth.

Something about him reminds Zuko of Azula when she was fishing for something to torment him with, and his spine snaps straight. I studied the dual dao for three years with Master Piandao before my father demanded I stop, he answers, keeping his hands and expression tightly under control. Father forbidding him from continuing his studies with the Master is a memory almost as painful as that of the Agni Kai, but he powers through it, refusing to let this potential Azula-replacement have any kind of ammunition against him. My Uncle helped me continue learning, as well as helping me learn other blade techniques. Such as this.

As fast as thought, Zuko draws his pearl dagger, flips it to grasp by the tip of the blade, and throws it handle-first at the closest archery target. It hits a fraction of an inch off of dead center, buried to the hilt. The target is at least twenty feet away.

Kai looks like Summer Solstice has come early. Mika and Jiyoti are smirking. Zheng is audibly grinding his teeth, dark eyes narrow and furious. Captain Hiroki looks… impressed.

The Captain walks over to the target, pulls out the dagger, and examines it as he walks back. Zuko watches like an eagle-hawk, but all Captain Hiroki does is look it over, shine the blade on the sleeve of his tunic, and hand it back to Zuko, who immediately tucks it into the sheath in his belt.

Very nicely done, he signs, all traces of sarcasm gone from his face and body. And quick, that’ll serve you well with a good set of real throwing knives. Why did your father make you stop learning from Piandao? I thought he was supposed to be the best swordmaster in the Fire Nation.

My father didn't like Piandao, and believed that weapons were beneath a firebender's dignity, Zuko replies, and doesn't miss the sneer that crosses Zheng's face. Annoyance churns in his gut, but Zuko's been ignoring Zheng's sneers and jibes since he was able to understand the Yuyan hand-language, and he's not about to break that streak.

A firebender, Captain Hiroki signs, almost absentmindedly, hairless eyebrows furrowed in thought.

I'm not very good, Zuko shrugs.

It seems as though Zheng can no longer hold his peace. You can't possibly be going through with this, Cap! He signs, fury in every line of his body, his hands flying so fast that Zuko can just barely keep up. He's a thief! He should be shipped back to the Home Islands in chains, not be trained in our ways like he's actually one of us!

Shut up, Zheng! Kai's hands snap out. Don't pretend you're not just jealous that Zuko's better at shadow walking at fourteen than you are at twenty!

Why would I be jealous of a spirits-damned street rat? Zheng replies, sneering. He's obviously lying about studying under Piandao, wanting the Captain to fawn over him the way the Commander does, while all he's doing is using his ridiculous street rat tricks to make it seem like he's actually useful and not planning on selling us all out to the closest dirt-eater forces––

Zuko can't take it anymore. He's many things: a failure, a soft-hearted weakling, a useless embarrassment to his father and family. But he is here now in this new life because he believed, and still believes, that it is wrong to sacrifice loyal subjects of the Fire Nation as battle fodder. The idea that he could be a traitor to his people burns even worse than Father's fire-whips, or the handful of flames he'd held to Zuko's face.

He breathes, and exhales fire. The force of his rage produces a plume of reddish gold flame that roars toward Zheng like a stampeding komodo-rhino, causing everyone to jump back to avoid being burned.  

Zheng is white under his Yuyan tan. Kai once again looks like the Summer Solstice has come early, with his birthday next. Mika's eyes are wide, and Jiyoti is practically hiding behind the older woman. Captain Hiroki looks thunderous, but before he can even move his hands, Zuko is already signing.

You don't know a damn thing about me, you giant piece of shit. His entire body is trembling, he’s so angry he feels like he’ll actually burst into flames. He doesn't even care that he might get kicked out for this. Zheng's been a boarcupine quill in his side since Commander Toshiaki and Chihese Squad had pinned him to the storeroom wall, and Zuko is done. I stole so that I wouldn't starve, because I was dumped in the middle of Koh-damned nowhere with the clothes on my back and a single useless knife, and I didn't even make it out of the Stronghold before I got caught anyway. I was going to die. I was supposed to die, but the Commander decided to let me live because he thought I would be useful. And I will never be able to repay him for that, for giving me a home and a new life, so I will stay here and learn everything I can and be as useful as I can possibly be, and you can shut up and stay the fuck out of my way!

He can feel the force of his glare in the pressure on his temples and the ache in his scar where his left eyebrow used to be, and the expression must be something because even Captain Hiroki seems reluctant to get close to him.

A hand lands gently on his shoulder, and Zuko flinches hard before whirling around to face the new threat, which is—

Kai, with an easy smile on his face, though his dark eyes are pained. Come on, he signs, let’s go to Master Arata and get you kitted out. Cap can deal with Zheng.

Kai leads him away, and Zuko glances back to see Captain Hiroki turning on a still white-faced Zheng.

Master Arata, the bowmaker for the Yuyan Archers, takes one look at Zuko and gives him the one bow with the single lightest draw weight in the entire Stronghold. Kai laughs himself sick as Zuko tries and fails to draw the bowstring back to his chin.

The Commander finds them in one of the training areas used by the regular Army companies that are stationed at the Stronghold. Kai is showing Zuko the strengthening and conditioning exercises the Yuyan use as part of their archery training, and Zuko recognizes many of them from both firebending and sword training, so they're in the middle of a planking contest when boots appear in Zuko's vision. He falls flat on his face when he realizes just who those boots belong to.

He and Kai both snap to attention, but Zuko can't look anywhere but at the ground, shaking as he awaits the Commander's punishment for firebending at Zheng. His shoulders ache with tension. He wishes the Commander would just hit him and get it over with.

Boots reappear in his vision, and Zuko squeezes his eyes shut and braces for the impact.

And nothing happens. Slowly, the fuzzy buzz of panic enveloping Zuko like a suffocating blanket falls away, and after a few moments he gathers every scrap of courage he possesses and opens his eyes.

The Commander is crouching in front of him, his head level with Zuko's chest, looking up at him with calm dark gray eyes. In this position, Zuko is head and shoulders taller, instead of the Commander looming over him, and he can't understand why the Commander would do this because it has to be absolutely demeaning for the leader of one of the world's best strike forces to take such a position before a useless idiot child like him––

Peace, Cadet Zuko, Commander Toshiaki signs slowly, expression serene.

Oh. Duh. As if Zuko needed another reminder that he's an idiot.

Captain Hiroki has informed me of your altercation with Private Zheng, the Commander continues. As the instigator of the incident, Private Zheng has been reprimanded and assigned a punishment detail. He has also been transferred to Banli Squad, per recommendation from Captain Hiroki and Sergeant Mika. However, firebending at someone outside of training scenarios or active combat is forbidden here in the Stronghold, by order of Colonel Shinu, and I'm afraid that means that I need to give you a punishment detail as well.

I understand, sir, Zuko signs haltingly.

You are to report to the komodo-rhino barn half an hour after dawn for the next two weeks, where you will perform tasks assigned by Stablemaster Guo until the mess opens for breakfast, the Commander declares.

Zuko blinks. He can't have understood that correctly. The Commander wants him to help take care of the komodo-rhinos… as a punishment?

But he has definitely learned to hold his tongue in front of superiors, and has probably pushed his luck enough for the next year, so he simply signs Understood, sir, and bows with the Flame.

I have also spoken to the Stronghold's firebending master, and he is happy to take you on as a student, Commander Toshiaki adds. You will report to him at dawn every day after your punishment detail is complete. He wished me to inform you that he understands if you have gotten lax in your meditations in the recent past, but he expects you to resume them immediately, so that you are well in the habit once your training resumes.

For the second time in as many moments, Zuko is shocked. He honestly hadn't expected to be allowed to continue his firebending training, and he could admit that a small part of himself had been just a tiny bit relieved. Before, even with Uncle's intervention, firebending training had not been a pleasant activity. No one had dared to physically harm the Fire Prince, but Zuko knew full well how the palace masters compared him to Father, to Uncle Iroh, to Azula, and never really seemed to care if he hurt himself in the process of trying to prove himself worthy of them.

But now, there's no one to compare himself to other than the soldiers who bend, and the master who oversees them. Anyone to whom he might try to prove himself wouldn't care about his firebending, because they don't bend themselves. Zuko isn't the Fire Prince, the Crown Prince, anymore, he doesn't have anyone's boots to fill but his own.

And that is a very exciting prospect.

So he grins widely at the Commander and signs Yes sir!

Previous | Next

[feral-ella-flynn]

PAYING THE TOLL - Teaser | Troll

Male Troll + Female Human

SFW (so far)

tagging @feralprose (please comment if you want to be tagged in updates)

Escaping a goblin raid on your village leads you to a bridge...

The day had begun commonplace enough–the fires to be lit and oatmeal to be boiled, eggs to gather and pigs to feed. Chores, the same as yesterday and the day before, so that it seemed you could look back at your life and see an unbroken chain of monotonous labor. You’d jumped at the opportunity to take a basket into the brambles lurking at the edge of the woods. A few scratches seemed a fair exchange for sweet jam for the winter and an afternoon to yourself in the fresh air. You’d even promised your nicest pair of stockings (not new, but with only one small darn) to Mathilde if she traded tasks and let you go.

She’d rolled her eyes as she dumped the berry basket into your arms. "Oh very well, if you want to get sliced to ribbons on the thorns, who am I to stop you? I’d just as soon keep the church yard between me and that wood, anyway."

You’d laughed at her exaggerated shudders and almost danced up the path, lifting your face to the cool breeze. Except now the air was choked with smoke, great black clouds bringing the smell of death and the shrill, uncanny cries of the invading barbarians--goblins, their skin sickly pale like the underside of a mushroom, their teeth black and sharp. They came to plunder and destroy, burning villages to the ground and leaving no one to bury the dead. You’d heard stories, but all of them were from far away, and you never imagined that your quiet inland town could be in danger. It is only when you come dawdling down the path, a full basket on your arm, that the distant screams reach you, and you see them. Four goblins, laughing in high, snorting bursts as they chase a terrified goat around its pen.

You turn on your heel, sprinting toward the trees, but it's too late. Over the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears you hear a snarling yell and know that they've seen you, that they will catch you, and then--it's better to die than let them catch  you, that was what the women of the village said in hushed whispers.

So despite every instinct, every memorized skipping rhyme, every superstition, you plunge into the shadows of the uncanny wood without hesitation.

Unfortunately the goblins don’t know the reputation of the gnarled trees, and they don’t hesitate to follow. Their mocking laughter gets closer. It makes the skin at the base of your neck itch with gooseflesh, makes your stomach twist as you push your aching legs to run a little faster and your burning lungs to take in ragged gasps of air.

The cold mist you inhale tastes like bitter memories on your tongue, before something tugs at your skirt and your mouth fills with the acid bile of panic. You twist, trying to yank free of the goblin claws–but it's a thorny branch snagged in your hem. You curse the close-woven linen for refusing to tear as you fight to pull free. Your heart pounds so loudly in your ears that you can't hear your pursuers. Every moment you expect them to emerge from the inky dark shadows where no light penetrates the dense leaves above, baring yellow teeth in awful, lustful grins as they laugh--and there it was again, a sniggering giggle that echoes from the tree trunks and sounds far too close.

Your skirt comes free and you stumble, slipping on the damp leaf mold underfoot and landing on your backside, your head jolting up--and your eyes meeting the eerie green gaze of the goblin crouched in the tree above you.

You scramble up, running, looking over your shoulder, seeing the laughing creature launch itself out of the branches to follow--and then there is no earth under your feet.

The world tilts, spinning in jerky, uneven revolutions as you half roll, half slide down the muddy hillside. Only an obstinate sapling saves you from plunging into the black currents of the river below.

Dizzy, your palms scraped raw and cold mud coating your dress, you find your feet. The goblin is still above you, hooting, but he hasn't followed you down yet. As you watch, he tries a step and his foot slides out from under him, but he pulls it back before it can send him down the way you’d gone. He turns away–not back toward the town, where black smoke is staining the sky like funeral ash, but along the top edge of the slope, toward a place where it levels out and he can descend at his leisure. He walks like a gentleman out for a stroll, glancing over to smirk, and your heart sinks as you realize you're trapped between the slope--too steep and slick to climb--and the swiftly moving water. It's impossible to run. You can only trip and scramble between rocky outcrops and treacherous mudslides.

If there were a bridge--the goblin is not far behind you, but far enough that if there were a bridge, or a fallen tree, anything that could take you across the river, you would have a chance to escape into the trees and find a hiding place before he caught up. If only, you wish numbly, fighting to keep moving one foot ahead of the other (the mud is so cold your toes ache with it, and you barely even register that you’d lost your shoes), if only there was a bridge.

And then there it is. Rough gray stone, stacked tightly like an ancient fence without mortar, and yet arching up in an impossibly high, impossibly narrow curve. Staring at it, you half expect it to collapse in on itself at any moment--but you scramble toward it just the same. Maybe it will last long enough for you to reach the far bank, and then fall apart under the goblin’s feet when he follows. Or maybe it will plunge you into the water, frothing angrily where the river narrows between the stone feet of the bridge. They seem as good a pair of options as any you are likely to get. 

No matter what happens, you decide, the bridge will decide your fate. 

You reach the first stone step. There is no rail, no wall of any kind between you and the edge. The belly of the bridge is so high that you drop to your knees, crawling, the stone below you barely wider than your shoulders. It's impossible to tell if the bridge actually shudders in the wind or if it's just belfry-giddiness making everything dip and sway. You dig shaking fingers into the pitted stone beneath you and risk a glance back.

The goblin isn’t laughing anymore. The black fangs are bared in a snarl as it picks its way toward the bridge–and it isn’t alone. The others that had helped chase you out of the brambles and into the forest are making their way down the slope from the treeline, guttural voices raised in outrage when one of them slips, rolling in the mud.

You didn’t mean to laugh. In fact the noise startles you, and only the raw raspe in your throat as the peals of laughter tears themselves out of you makes you realize that sound comes from you. But the closest goblin hears, and snarls at you. Clawed fingers grasp obscenely at his loincloth, waggling the bulging shape beneath, while the short spear in his other hand makes jabbing motions. This is what I’ll do to you, the gesture says, as clearly as if the goblin’s foul breath was in your ear. We’ll see you impaled, in more ways than you can imagine.

The sight is enough to make you get to your feet, ready to run across the second half of the bridge–

–but you hit a wall instead.

The wall grasps your arm and glares down at you. The eyes are blue, shockingly brilliant, sapphire blue, but the face around them is grey and rough, blunt features with hard angles the color of stone.

"Toll," it says.

You step back, stumbling a little, torn between terror and fascination. "Please," you gasp. "Help me."

"Pay toll. Toll for the bridge."

"What?" Patting helplessly at your pockets with your free hand, you search for something. Anything. But your handkerchief is gone, your little purse of coins was left behind at the house, and even your basket of berries was abandoned long again. There’s not a single ring on your fingers. "I don’t have anything, but please–"

"No toll? No bridge."

"Please!" Your whole body hurts, your stomach is knotted with fear and anger. "Please, I have to get to the other side of the bridge. They’ll kill me when they catch up!"

"Toll."

"I don’t have anything!" Hot tears spill down your face as you struggle against the grip on your arm. "I was only supposed to gather berries," you sob, "and I have nothing, nothing except myself."

A huge hand cups your chin. For a horrible moment you think that he intends to crush your jaw. It would be just like cracking an egg for him, you think. Barely any effort, just a squeeze, and then--

"That will have to do," the troll rumbles, and flings you over the side of the bridge.

The rest of Part 1 is now posted here!

[alirhi]

more WF

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 12/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable.

WARNINGS: nothing, really. This chapter's pretty tame Notes: I almost had Loki bang Darcy. XD almost. The temptation was so strong lol

"You need to go." Darcy's voice was oddly gentle as she traced little invisible patterns across the back of Loki's pale hand. Lacing her fingers with his, she murmured, "Absolutely everyone who's a danger to your little girl is going to come after you, and I've got a feeling you're way too tired to use whatever nifty little magic tricks might normally be up your sleeves, here."

He nodded, glancing at the door as if someone was going to come bursting through it at that very second. "I'm exhausted," he admitted with a wry twist of his lips that was supposed to be a smile. "It's been a long year."

Eira had fallen asleep in his lap. Delicately lifting her limp little body and shifting her into Darcy's waiting arms was almost physically painful. Darcy smiled, cradling the little girl against her shoulder and rocking her when she started to stir.

"Thank you, Darcy," Loki whispered as he stood, reaching out to stroke his daughter's soft black hair one last time, "for being so good to her."

"It hasn't been easy hiding her; Jane wanted me to come with her to Australia but I told her it was too short-notice."

"I'm sorry," he told her softly but quite sincerely. "We were hostages and there was no time to plan-"

"Loki?" He stopped and looked at her, unnerved by how direct her cool blue gaze was. "Why me? What made you think to send her here? You don't even know me."

This time he managed the ironic smile he was trying for. "That's why. She's only safe somewhere no one would think to look for her. And I trust you, my dear." When she shook her head and opened her mouth to ask why, he cut her off with a wave of his hand. "When I was watching my brother last year, I saw how fiercely you protected your friends. Gods were warring in your back yard, and you had the good sense to stay the hell out of the way."

"I tazed one of them," she reminded him, proud.

Loki chuckled. "Yes. Thank you for that. Sadly I missed it, but even knowing it happened, well... That's why I like you."

"That's how it goes." She grinned. "You freak me out, you meet the business end of my taser."

"I'm not sure that will always serve you so well, but please don't lose that instinct." As he turned toward the door, he paused and glanced back at her over his shoulder. "And thank you, for not using it on me."

With an odd little half-shrug as she did her best to avoid waking the sleeping demi goddess on her other shoulder, she said, "You literally dropped out of nowhere in the middle of my house. I wasn't sure it would affect you."

He laughed at that, and there was a long, awkward silence until Darcy shook her head and pointed at the door. "Alright, go! Cuz you're freakin' hot, and it feels like we're playing House, here. It's getting weird. Also, that whole... You being here puts me and your daughter in mortal danger thing. Come back when there aren't as many people with superpowers trying to kill you, okay?"

"If I wait for that day, I may never get her back," he pointed out. He'd meant it as a joke, but the sad fact was, it was true. Then he thought of Bucky, and he added, "The best I may be able to do is get backup."

As he thanked her and finally got around to opening the door, Darcy called out, "Hey, Loki?" She stood and stared him down, arms curled protectively around Eira's peacefully sleeping form. "I know you're her mother, but whether I wanted to be or not, I've been her mom for a year and I love this little worm. She's not leaving my side until I know for sure you're not gonna get her killed or deeply traumatized."

"Perhaps her father and I could simply move in here."

"Get out."

Laughing, he waved and finally left. He was still exhausted and aching all over, but at least his ears had stopped ringing and he was no longer seeing double. He wanted to say that Banner would pay for what he'd done, but as angry as he was, Loki wasn't stupid enough to think he could actually kill the beast, even at full power.

Using what little energy he had left, he teleported in a few random directions just to create as confusing a trail as possible. Then he landed in Siberia, buried himself under a snow bank – blessed his Jotun heritage for the first time since discovering it, since at least he wasn't cold – and relaxed his desperate death grip on consciousness.

Just before he passed out, he closed his eyes and whispered, "Heimdall, I know you can hear me. I know you know where I am. What I don't know is if you know or care what brought me here. If you do... Tell no one where to find me. I'm too tired for another fight."

He wasn't expecting an answer, so the shock nearly jolted him awake when he heard a familiar deep voice in his ear. "Rest, my Prince. If Odin asks, I must tell him. You will need your strength." There was a soft chuckle, and then Heimdall quipped, "Not your usual opulence, I see. Too tired to conjure a palace of ice?"

"I'm too tired to even turn the snow around me into an igloo," Loki grumbled, fidgeting. The cold didn't bother him, but a makeshift cave of snow didn't exactly make for the softest of beds. Thankfully, his bone-weariness caught up to him, and he was unconscious only a few seconds later.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he woke, but aside from a few cramped muscles from sleeping curled up on the ground, he felt fine. Bruises healed, mind sharp and alert, he cloaked himself and stood, shaking off the snow. Ugh. He'd slept in his leather armor. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a clean, far more comfortable outfit and glanced around.

So, this was Siberia. Somewhere in this frozen wasteland was the bunker where HYDRA stored Bucky until they needed him. After all Loki had been through in the past few years, and all Bucky had suffered for decades, there was no way he was leaving this place without his beloved. And he sure as hell wasn't leaving without ensuring that every single HYDRA operative in the area, down to the bloody janitor, was dead. He'd deal with the ones lurking in SHIELD's ranks later.

"You know," came Heimdall's amused, rumbling voice in his ear again, "if you told your brother why you're there, what you've been fighting for all this time, you might just have an ally for once."

Loki stopped dead in his tracks. "You know-"

"About James Barnes, yes. You're very cunning, Loki, you always have been. But you're easily distracted when he's near." There was a pause, and then the all-seeing watcher sounded distinctly uncomfortable. "I learned rather quickly when to look away."

"Well, thank you for that, I suppose," he grumbled, hands on his hips. "And just what is it you think that oaf can accomplish that I can't do more easily without him underfoot?"

A low chuckle made his skin crawl, just for how near it seemed to be coming from. He hadn't actually known Heimdall could communicate telepathically like this; it was unsettling. Then Heimdall said four words that made him forget his discomfort, and his distaste for Thor's company:

"Burn it all down."

_____________________________________________________

Next Masterlist

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Kira Vol 2 (1)

The Mistress

CHAPTER 1: Where The Heart Heals

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: A new chapter begins in Kira’s life. Old secrets, new confessions, surprising allies and unexpected meetings. All of them have one name in common. Loki.

Chapter content: soft feels

Warnings: none

Word count: Okay. I’m putting it out there. I wrote this for myself. And that’s what I am trying to do right now. I don’t know how regular I will be with this but I will be writing when I feel it.

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

If I could feel this again... The heaviness of your eyes feels like a blessing even when the warmth of the sun is gently stroking your forehead, delicately whispering sweet nothings to wake you up. You know your mother has already woken up for she is the reason the door is open and that chilled winter air is nudging the sun rays to get as much of the playfield over your exposed skin as it can. The teasing play going between the two forces becomes a soothing episode for your nerves, enjoying the lazy winter morning with the sparrows chirping on that one malacca tree still standing in your front yard. The chill draft that swirls to lands on your unaware fingertips, brings with it the familiar dissatisfied woof and one rage-filled yelp, making you smile even with your eyes closed. You can even hear the disgruntled remarks of some boomers out on their morning stroll cursing your poor babies for growing so big and healthy and barking at any stranger that was not welcome in their territory. If I could feel this every single day...

Your eyes finally open from a dreamless sleep, ready to bask in the lukewarm light directly hitting your eyes. The bliss is incomprehensible; to wake up to the sight of the green that is surviving the winter chill in the garden right outside your room. A few sparrows are looking for an early grub in the pots kept right outside your door, seeming to catch a glance or two in your direction when you stir and let your head rest on your hands to watch the life of winter make you grateful for this morning. More grateful when a familiar spotted figure jumps down from the neighbour's wall and passes by your door with the quietest yet graceful gait. "Kitty!" you exclaim without any voice escaping your hoarse throat, making you chuckle at your own failed display of excitement. A long stretch that cracks a few knots and makes you squirm while you squeeze your eyes shut; that is what it takes to finally convince you to get out of the cosiest quilt on this entire planet. It is a task to find your socks under the huge green buffed up fabric but you do not want to step down till you are sure your sensitive feet are secure. Once the pair is found after a round of tossing and turning the poor quilt, you are ready to open your door and step into the garden. And what a sight it is! The balmy morning sun is bringing life out into the streets. Children fresh out of school for their Christmas holidays are riding their colourful bikes around while their parents or guardians spew caution at them. Vendors are out with their carts and wagons, bringing about fresh produce while the riveting bark of the bike that brings the fresh milk for some households waits for the man of that particular house to bring out their vessels. The air has the perfect crispiness of winter twirling all around you. There is no doubt that the sun has colluded with the sweet-smelling chilly breeze to bring the blood to your cheeks and fingertips. The bliss that this simple day can be for an entire lifetime... A whine followed by a protest-filled howl catches your attention in the moment you are taking in this rare morning. Turning your head to look across the fence, you watch those familiar sharp blue eyes looking you with a sour expression. Right. This drama queen. The protest does not stop. "I'm coming," you groan, "I'm coming," you stress as you walk across the garden to open the gate and walk barely five steps across the narrow road to greet the fluffy boy pretending to be mad at you while vigorously wagging his tail. "We literally met last night, you dumb husky!" you coo through your teeth while scratching Ghost behind his ear. "You stoopid loving boi. My best floofy boi." You call out as many names as you can to the huge beast that wants to lick you clean but isn't getting the chance to. So, instead, he decides to take your wrist into his mouth, continuing to whine at the same time, wanting to keep you there till he loses interest in you. "I blame your mother for not training you to respect me, you dumb floof," you state as you make him look you in the eyes, "I fed you and bathed you and played with you when you hadn't even opened your eyes. And this is how you repay me? By giving me scratches and sticking drool all over my elbows?" Growing uncomfortable- and a double chin, the way you are holding his face- he huffs and jumps away from his fence to let you know he is done with you for the day. "Ungrateful bitch," you mutter in his direction while he looks for more leaves to chomp on, "I still love you." Ghost does not even side-eye you. He knows you stand there smiling at him while he goes about eating anything green in his sight, only bothered when he hears the rev of a car pass by. The attention span to that little distraction is short-lived too. "Okay," you sing in a way you think might get on his nerves, "I'm going back then. You won't get to see me till our late night walk." Any little hope that this dog with an attitude would actually look up at you is gone when the same car comes back. Let's see if that car can feed you pancakes. Still looking at the white-furred beast, you are hurt right in your feels to watch his huge paws go up on the fence again to judge whoever sits in the car that has stopped right by the side of your house, the panting paused to scrutinise the strangers in the SUV with tinted glasses. "Really," you nudge his lower jaw as you address him with a simmering gaze, "I get a howl and yank on my hand but some stranger gets a full minute of silence?" You nudge his jaw again, not really liking the point-blank stare he is giving to whosoever is getting out of the car behind you. You are about to nudge him the third time when a voice freezes your hand mid-air. "I guess he does not like my presence that much." The heaviness of the voice with a gravity of its own stops everything around it for an elongated moment. Even with the cold surrounding you, the warmth that engulfs your chest is far more evident over your skin once all the nerves light up at the thought of turning around and finding him standing there. So, you do. And the smile that escapes you is far brighter than this December sun. "Heimdall."

 It is heavenly to hear his name from you after what seems like months stretched into ages. What acts as a balm to his heart is watching your face with carrying the same perfection it did the first day he met you; maybe even lovelier. If he had a sister... "Kira," he sweetly announces into the air before wrapping his arms around you for a hug; something that you gladly welcome, and embrace him back. "I missed you," you squirm into his coat, smelling the mildly spicy cologne he is wearing. Heimdall chuckles. "Who's bothering you? Just point me and I'll take care of the rest." You giggle and draw yourself back to look at those warm honey eyes. "I missed you because I hadn't felt like someone was spying on me for the last two months. Almost felt weird." You shrug, pressing your lips to stop the smile from pouring out while Heimdall groans. "I'm never ever going to hear the end of, am I?" he closes his eyes and sighs. You shake your head before snickering. The pleasant meet-up makes you forget about the prying neighbourhood that has eyes everywhere, lurking behind every curtain to look at this strange, well-built man coming out the blue in an expensive vehicle to hug you- a single woman who should have been married by now instead of meeting strange men, according to them. From the rooftop to the eyes that are pretending to buy vegetables and groceries, everyone is centred on this tall dark and handsome man putting all their sons and husbands to shame. "So-" you poke him in his abdomen- still surprised it's hard as a rock- "what brings you here?" A knowing nod and a deep inhale is all Heimdall gives you for a moment, his habit making his eyes wander everywhere to look for anything unusual. "I...uhh...well-" he inhales through his teeth this time- "we wanted to check in on you. Wanted to see how you were doing. Because everyone misses you back home." "Oh." You feel your breath stuck in your throat. Your inner voice is already elbowing the corner of your nerves, wanting to hear you speak the name for yourself. But you just shove her back into the sleepy comfy corner for the moment. "Yeah," Heimdall smiles, "Zair misses you because he, and I quote, 'cannot even with this new temp some boomer hired in Kira's place'." You snicker. Typical Zair. "Yigrette misses you because it's mundane living with men in the house after a while." "Aww," you feel for your sweet keeper. "Fenrir misses you too, obviously. He has made your bedroom his bedroom. And it has been hard getting him to come out of there now." That floofly baby. I miss him too. Ghost hears that thought and the very next moment, his paw comes to tap on your shoulder and look at you with every ounce of judgment his blue eyes can hold towards you. "And Robert too, now that he is all healed and is ready to take more bullets." "Noooo," you groan into your palms. That idiot. You wait and watch Heimdall smile at you, standing there as your inner voice is wondering- with her face resting in her palms and legs in the air- if there is anyone else who is missing you. "Soooo...-" your voice trails away as you wipe your thoughts by rubbing your hands on your pyjamas- "everyone misses me, huh." Heimdall is about to nod before he stops and creases his brows, forcing you to furrow your own brows in return. "Mm...not everyone though." You can feel the little sinking feeling before your heart has even taken a dive from the board it currently stands on. "Hm?" is all you can bear to say. "Oh, it's Loki. I was talking about Loki. He doesn't miss you," Heimdall shakes his head. And your heart doesn't even do a routine; it just takes a sad plunge into whatever waits for it down in the pits of unwelcoming sadness. "Oh," you inhale the cold air to soothe your insides that are simmering now for some reason, "that's...good. That's good. He isn't missing on work. Or cursing me for not being there to do my work." And just like that, you are trailing into a long train of afterthoughts to console yourself. "That means he is doing pretty well in my absence...which is good...for uhh...for the company. Hmm." Heimdall cannot help but smile at the sorry look on your face to think that your boss does not care about your presence- or absence in this matter. Those y/e/c eyes are at the verge of questioning some major emotions as they let the Watcher's words sink in. It takes a lot more than a dig at lips by his perfect teeth to stop him from giving it away. "No," he finally blurts out, grabbing your attention while internally cursing himself to put you through that for a few seconds of entertainment, "you are thinking in the wrong direction." This time you look at him in confusion. "Heimdall, what are you tryin-" "He does not miss you," he continues, still looking at you when his arm extends by his side to open the door to the back seat of the SUV and relish the two-second delayed reaction, "because 'missing' would be an understatement."

 The last thing he remembers is the blur of the days that have gone by till he is once more standing at the single path of stone decorated with everything that he declares too delicate for this world. Deep inside he has nothing but love for them. Everything too pure for this universe resides in this little ecosystem at the edge of where his world begins. From the ferns and creepers to the fishes and flowers- every little cell has a story of surviving all those perils to come down the path of evolution as much more beautiful. He stands right there and stares straight down the path that leads to the corner that he had begun to cherish some time ago. He pauses his day there, before every break of dawn and every splay of dusk, waiting. What exactly he waits for, no one knows. Some onlookers think he has gone much more insane after the brawl he barely crawled out alive from. They wonder what he keeps looking at in that corner, watching the sun both rise and set there. Some feel empathy for him. Yigrette walks by the lounge every single day to witness this little ritual of her master. Her soft heart aches a little for she knows somewhere he feels the absence of the one little alum that settled all the dirt inside him till it was present in the murky waters. But she does not know the depth of that emotion, neither does she want to insult her master by trying to measure it somehow. And the last time she sees him, he walks towards that edge in the night. He remembers stepping barefoot on that cold stones carrying the chilly impression of the foggy weather outside that has shrouded the vastness of his estate into one quiet graveyard where even the lights of the city do not reach. The distance- thought not much- feels worth an eternity for him as his heart accelerates. The only thought riding the unstoppable train inside his mind is the ghost of a chance of seeing you there. The lights turn on once he enters the space- they turn on for him to stare at the empty space that was once thought of as a decent wing to match the rest of the house, not really knowing what weight it would hold in the future. And here he stands, contemplating whether this part of his house had ever felt so bland before. So...hollow. He is slowly killing himself on the inside to refrain himself from touching anything for the fear of diluting your essence- or whatever is left of it- and instead, he does what he has watched you do a hundred times over. The tiles are cooler than they were the last time he laid down on them. The only time he entered your abode. That time when he watched over you for endless nights till he has to be forced to sleep for his health and yours. But how could he? You were surrounded by wires and tubes, and beeping machines that scared him even at the slightest beep. He rose up to look at you for any movement of discomfort when he himself was experiencing pain that would have bedridden any other ordinary man. Not wanting to get away from your side, he laid himself down out in the lounge. And then he found out why you did this after a long day. It feels nice to let the cold floor take away all the unnecessary thoughts swinging inside his head. Little fears that crowd his mind dissolve and drain down into the ground. Then, for the first time in the past few weeks, he lets his conscience paint a picture of you drowning in happiness. Even as the fear erodes the edges of his heart- that you are happy somewhere other than here- he finds comfort in your smile that is still fresh in his mind. Even though the dark clouds loom on those waves- the thoughts that tell him you have forgotten him- he still lets your laughter roar through his existence. A delicate experience in the cold of December.

Today sleep comes earlier than he anticipates. His eyes are heavier than they usually are. He wants to give in to the arms of slumber because the last time he slept like a baby was when you were healing. He wants to walk towards the lullaby of this pretty siren till he notices it is the first time he has felt such sleep take over him ever since you have been gone. Hold on a second... He opens his eyes- barely- and gets up on his elbow. "Yigrette," he wants to shout but the name is just a questionable statement as he feels his limbs get heavy. There is a silhouette of a figure patiently walking towards the lounge that is a hazy picture to his eyes. But his brain still works enough to realise he has been somehow made a victim of forced unconsciousness. Feeling his face touch the cold tile of the floor, he vows to take them by the throat- whoever spiked his drinks or meal and made the terrible decision of knocking him out cold. And everything goes dark. Dark...till he can hear a familiar giggle somewhere in the void. Along with a sweet aroma that brings to the surface memories that were feared lost. His heart wants him to reach out for that voice that is beginning to clear the fog inside the dense forest that is his mind. And so the heart does what he does best, it slows down too much to let the brain jerk him awake. The sun shines right over his face when a door opens somewhere, flooding his being with brightness through and through. He has to make an effort to open his eyes after a much-needed sleep, watching the rays hit his smaragdines till they are filtered and washed away by the one face he longs to see for the rest of his life. "Loki?" you call out with the softest emotion on your face as the sun rays reflecting inside the car lets your features shine for him. He blinks; still trying to figure out if it is a dream or if you do stand in front of him.  "....Kira?" That voice wants to give all its strength to call out your name, wanting to bring you into existence if you are a figment of his imagination- something that is his worst fear of all. And there you stand with a smile painting your lips for him, taking his first conscious breath in this new morning away. And all he wants is to pray to some force to not let this be a twisted nightmare. "It's good to see you...sir." And that full-toothed smile melts him- front, back and sideways- while the world watches from windows and roofs, questioning Fate and her strings, for better or worse.  If I could feel this again...I would want to feel it with you.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 7: Hush, Hush, Hush •

    The children walk single file as they descended from the brush from where they had escaped, Eddie in the lead, Richie taking up the caboose. Y/n had helped Mike up the rocks, and shortly after found herself in the middle behind him. Mike cast a glance in her direction as well as the others.

    "Thanks, guys," He said, redirecting his gaze to the ground. "But you shouldn't have done that, they'll be after you too, now."

    Eddie was the first to chime in. "Oh, no, no, no, Bowers? He's always after us."

    "I guess that's one t-t-thing we all have in common," Bill added.

    "Yeah, homeschool!" Richie chirped. "Welcome to the Losers Club!"

    Y/n smiled at the boy's remark, shaking her head lightly. It was then that Y/n was reminded of the fleeting thoughts from the night before that bounced around her tired, foggy brain. And a familiar feeling bubbled back up to the surface along with it; a sense of belonging. Y/n did not have much luck when it came to getting close to people, aside from Beverly of course. Until that day at the quarry, she had never truly felt at home. And now that they had a new member - the last piece of the puzzle - she knew as long as she had them, she would be whole.

    In fact, they would never say it aloud, but each and every member of the Losers Club shared these same feelings. That day marked the beginning of a beautiful and powerful bond that would last a lifetime. Each and every one was just as important as the next and if you were to pluck any from the line, they would never quite be the same. Each of the eight children felt immediately at home with one another, a comfort so deep and profound it could quiet any lurking anxieties or fears.

    For a short while, no one said anything, just a peaceful ambiance blanketed the atmosphere as they descended the small hill of grass. Each of them could feel the tall green blades brush their legs, and the silence was filled with the low yet loud rumble of the train traveling along the tracks, yards behind them. When they reached the bottom of the small hill, Y/n  scurried up to the front and joined Eddie by his side. Everyone else disperses, scattering amongst one another, Ben silently taking the lead.

    "Hey Kaspbrak" Eddie looked to her, a little taken aback but attentive. "I'm counting on you,"

    Eddie blushed uncomfortably until he realized what she had been implying. She had been holding her left arm, just below the shoulder, and gestured to it with her eyes. She blushed herself and played it off with a weak laugh.

    "My arm?" She wiggled her eyebrows playfully. "If you anyone has a band-aid it's you."

    He laughed nervously as well, as he reached into one of his fanny packs, careful to watch his step as he was still walking. He pulled out a bandaid and handed it to her, she smiled in thanks. She wished she could have said she was surprised when he continued to pull supplies out one by one. And she'd be lying if she said she didn't find that a least a little impressive. It reminded her of clowns packed into a clown car. Ugh, she shivered slightly, bad analogy, nevermind.

    "Here you go. Also, here's some ointment, it's a special disinfectant - who the fuck knows all the germs that were on that rock, you'll need all the help you can get. I also have gauze, normally I don't carry gauze but since your leg is still pretty bad, I figured I should carry some, just in case. Here you take it, I think I have some more, also, I kept a small wrap of ace bandages, you really need to - wait you have been changing them frequently, right? You always, always change bandages, the bigger the wound the more important it is you change it. Seriously, this is really important because-!"

    "BEEP BEEP BEEEP!" Richie shouted suddenly, strolling up and walking between the pair. "Hear that sound, Doctor K? That's the sound of her flat-lining. You took too fucking long, genius, if you were a real doctor she would have bled out on your table already!"

    Y/n snickered under her breath, several of the Losers smiled as well. Eddie felt his face grow hot, and he turned angrily to Richie, his face contorted in an angry pout. He was struggling for words, but before he could form a proper sentence, Richie continued.

    "Quick tip, Doc, don't talk your patients to death!"

    Stan laughed dryly, "Yeah, you're one to talk."

    "Hey there, woah, woah, woah!" He threw his arms up in defense. "I'm just givin' the people what they want!"

    "Great!" Y/n said excitedly, her face lighting up briefly before falling. "How bout some silence? Beep beep, Richie."

    Mike, who had blended into the group so effortlessly and had been silently processing - still adjusting to the group dynamic - laughed suddenly and loudly. Everyone looked to him, taken slightly aback by his sudden, but infectious laugh. And it wasn't long until that laughter spread, everyone had cracked a smile and there was scattered laughter that melted away any previous tension.

    By now, Y/n had applied the ointment and the band-aid easily. She handed the tube of disinfectant back to Eddie as well as the gauze.

    "Thanks, but the band-aid will do just fine. Luckily, this one is only just a little cut."

    Eddie nearly tripped, he had been so lost in thought as he stared anxiously at the gauze outstretched in her hand. He licked his lips nervously, and his eyes flickered to hers. She noted his tentativeness and waited expectantly, but he could hold his tongue no longer, crush or not.

    "...Seriously, have you been changing those bandages, you never answered me and I'm sorry but that's disgusting if you haven't changed them cause the wound really needs to air out and if it doesn't you could end up-"

    "Christ, Eddie! I've changed them!" Y/n blurted, falling into a small fit of chuckles to show she wasn't truly mad.

    He tried to conceal his blush, but he played it off with a vigorous shake of the head and change of topic.

    "Hey, where are we going anyway? I can't be out too long or my mom will kill me. One time, I was like, two minutes late for curfew and she had a panic attack."

    Ben looked over his shoulder, he had taken the lead and while no one had mentioned it yet, everyone had instinctively followed him.

    "Well, I was hoping to show you guys something."

    Everyone gave one another an odd, questioning look but they followed Ben into the trees, nevertheless.

×××

    Night had fallen the day of the rock fight and another day began. The group of misfits had found themselves in town, where the annual parade was taking place. Wracked with guilt and the unpleasant feeling of being pitied, Y/n was trying to talk Eddie out of buying her the delicious frozen treat she had been ogling. Eddie had noticed the longing in her eyes when she spotted a young child with one of their own, and it was then that he really noticed the effects the sun had on her. Her baggy clothes were sticking to her arms and legs, and he could see beads of sweat percolating above her brow.

    Once again, their previous exchange on the fire escape popped into his head and he was reminded once more of how fortunate he was that he could afford such little things he took for granted. The power of suggestion had already gotten to him as well when he saw a frustrated father shoving an ice cream cone at his crying child, and although the sight made him cringe he couldn't quite shake the sudden craving of the sweet treat. Hence their detour to the ice cream cart, he could practically hear Richie ragging on him for getting her something with the audacity to leave him out - What, you skimping out on me now, Eds? - Eddie opted for a vanilla cone for Rich, just to be safe. But none of that stopped Y/n from protesting against it.

    "Eddie, you really don't have to do this,"

    The young L/n girl looked between the hypochondriac kid and the disgruntled teenager behind the cart, slinging ice cream. Ignoring her protests, he dropped the small pile of coins he had retrieved from his fanny pack onto the metal counter of the cart. The overheated employee slid it towards himself to the end of the counter, plucking the quarters from the surface and handed Eddie two vanilla cones. Eddie gladly took them in each napkin-clad hand - he had already grabbed several napkins so as to not spill or drip anything. Y/n watched defeated, albeit a bit excited, as the young man behind the counter opened another compartment and retrieved the y/f/f popsicle and handed it to her.

    She hesitantly took the popsicle, trying her best to mask the ravenous look in her eye.

    "Eddie-"

    "Look, it's best you have that anyway, it's supposed to get like, really hot out today so it's best you keep cool or you could be one step closer to heatstroke. And let me tell you, that is not fun, not fun at all! Did you know that-"

    A loud burst of noise disrupted their conversation and they turned to see the cause. Richie had gotten his hands on one of the marching bands instruments - a tuba by the looks, and sound of it. The owner of the tuba was angrily reaching for it but Richie managed to keep it out of his reach. His cheeks puffed and his face turned pink as a few short bursts of noise came from the instrument.

    Eddie and Y/n shared an amused look and Y/n's eyes fell to the popsicle. She sighed lightly, trying to tame the pit in her stomach that always occurred when she was pitied. Now Y/n appreciated the gesture, she really did. It was awfully sweet of the boy, and she would be lying if she said it didn't make her stomach do a small flip, but all that was easily drowned out by how small she felt. She hated being a charity case, it was bad enough Beverly had basically kept her fed all these years but Y/n reminded herself that their friendship was symbiotic - they each had something to offer the other. But this made her feel like she owed Eddie, and she didn't like that.

    The two left the cart and walked along the sidewalk at a steady pace. Nervously, she looked at the boy.

    "Eddie, I appreciate it, but I don't want to owe you or anything. I-"

    Eddie's face contorted into a confused frown. He chuckled weakly before taking a quick lick of his ice cream. He shook his head.

    "You don't owe me! It's just a popsicle, it's no big deal."

    Words failed her and she looked at the popsicle tentatively. Eddie noticed this and was scrambling to put out the small fire he had caused.

    "Think of it as a favor to me,"

    Y/n showed no efforts to hide her confusion. "A favor?"

    "Yeah, you stay cool, and I don't have to take care of you when you suffer from heatstroke."

    Her frown stayed cemented to her face as she stared at the boy, and Eddie feared his message was lost in translation. For fuck's sake, he didn't mean it like that! Great, now he sounded like a total ass.

    Y/n broke out into chuckles and Eddie felt the enormous weight leave his shoulders. He chuckled with her, though they came out more strained and nervous. She shook her head, eyebrows raised.

    "Man, you must care if you're willing to make up that load of horse shit." Y/n's tempted eye fell to the popsicle in her hand. "Thanks, shrimp, I appreciate it. But just this one time, okay? I always end up feeling like I owe people whenever they do stuff like this. Even if it's small things, cause a lot of stuff that might seem small to you, are kind of a big deal to me, does that make any sense?"

    Eddie nodded.

    "To tell you the truth, I've never tried one before."

    Eddie's eyes widened and he looked frantically between her and her dessert.

    "You gotta try it! They're really good!"

    Y/n smiled weakly.

    "Eddie, I mean it. Do you get what I'm saying?"

    Eddie nodded eagerly, his eyes frequently falling to the popsicle.

    "I get it, won't happen again. I promise. But seriously, you gotta try it! Really though, before it melts."

    Y/n examined the frozen y/f/f pop and noticed the ice was thinning. She shrugged at Eddie and tried the popsicle. Her eyes widened and she gaped at the boy.

    "Holy shit."

    Eddie grinned eagerly, and by now the two were approaching Richie.

    "Right?"

    "Dammit, Eddie! You really shouldn't have done this, I'm gonna want another one!" She whined, though her voice held a twinge of humor.

    She switched the popsicle to the other hand to lick the melted residue that had made it on her fingers. Eddie was quick to supply her with an extra napkin which she thanked him for.

    Eddie laughed at her words and he noticed he had caught Richie's eye. More specifically, the extra ice cream cone did. Richie abandoned the tuba and waltzed over to the boy, gladly accepting the treat and the trio found themselves joining the rest of the group just inside the alley. They were all somber, Y/n couldn't help but notice.

    "What's wrong?" She asked, drawing all eyes to her. "What are guys talking about?"

    "What they always talk about," Richie said simply.

    "I actually think it will end," Ben said, ignoring the interruption. "For a little while, at least."

    "What do you mean?" Mike asked.

    "So I was going over all my Derry research and I charted out all the big events. The Ironworks explosion in 1908, the Bradley Gang in '35, and the Black Spot in '62. And now kids being... I realized this stuff seems to happen-"

    "Every 27 years," Bill and Ben finished.

    Y/n looked up from her frozen pop and licked her lips, for some reason feeling silly for enjoying such a thing during this discussion. She found her stomach was twisted in knots, though at least, she thought, Eddie was right. She was feeling cooled down. But none of that seemed to matter now. Like it was all a matter of time before all of these fleeting feelings, these little moments, were being packed and stored away for a long time. It was a strange feeling that she couldn't quite identify, a feeling each of the Losers Club was experiencing: that while everyone around them was laughing and playing, enjoying the blissful moments of summer, they themselves each felt as if they were enjoying their last day on earth.

×××

    "So let me get this straight," Eddie began, fingers drumming nervously on his right knee. "It comes out from wherever to eat kids for, like, a year? And then what? It just goes into hibernation?"

    The Losers found themselves in the park, frozen treats long gone, the pits in their stomachs however still very much present. Bev, Stan, Mike, and Ben were splayed put on the bench, backs to the infamous statue of Paul Bunyan. Richie sat on his parked bike, unfortunate enough to be facing said statue - he never said it but the thing always creeped him out, just something about it. Bill and Eddie each found a seat of their own on the long back of Silver and Y/n laid in the grass before them in between the two bikes. She was propping herself up with her arms and legs splayed out before her. Her leg was healing fast but she didn't want to risk sitting on it and making it worse.

    So here the Losers sat, lost in discussion and despite the hot weather, there was a chill in the air that only these eight misfits could feel. Looming over them, watching them, much like It did their own town.

    "Maybe, it's like-- What do you call it?" Stan paused, searching for the word. "Cicadas. You know, the bug that only comes out once every seventeen years."

    "My grandfather thinks this town is cursed," Mike said. "He says that all the bad things that happen in this town are because of one thing. An evil thing that feeds off the people of Derry."

    An evil thing.

    The three words that lurked in the back of Y/n's mind all her life. She could feel herself falling back into the pit, the black hole that swallowed her up every time she thought of the looming threat. She could feel herself disconnecting from the world again, watching herself being ripped away from this moment in time and tossed back to that awful night, though she could still hear the worried voices of her friends speaking. Completely unaware of her state of mind. The words were fuzzy and distant, background noise as she felt herself being transported to that day.

    "I ain't got much time left, but at least I'm safer than you. I'm old, I've lived my life but you? Well, you're closer to death's door than I am."

    "But it can't be one thing. We all saw something different." Stan said, his voice now began to fade out.

     The voices were now blending together as memories of her past became her present reality.

    "Cause this town, I tell you, this town... There's an evil, evil thing in this world," the man said.

    She could hear her younger self whimper in fear, her own voice was squeaky and very frightened. The old voice continued, it shook with fear and the terror was as ripe as his memory, like only seconds had passed, not decades.

    "monsters are all too real my child, I've seen 'em with my own two eyes."

     Mike's voice found a way through her skull, echoing softly as all the details of the day she worked so hard to forget, came flooding back.

    "Maybe. Or maybe it knows what scares us most and that's what we see."

   "The Devil himself lives here, right here in this very shit hole and I've waited a very long time for this moment; to be free."

    There was a moment of tension-filled silence as the young h/c girl looked up at the slouching figure. The girl clutches her teddy bear tightly to her chest - the sad old thing nearly worn down to threads - tears pooling in her e/c eyes as she stares on in horror at the distant relative. Old and senile he was, why her mother brought her here she didn't know. Y/n would later figure out that it was a final visit of sorts. A last chance to meet some of her family. And while her mother stepped out of the room to retrieve a simple glass of water for the man, he turned unexpectedly to his grandniece and imparted the words she would never forget.

    "He's in your closet, under your bed. He's everywhere, always, watchin' you. Waiting for the right moment to snatch you up. And he will get you. He always gets you... he got her, I told her not to go, but she was adventurous you see, much like you kids are these days, and mother didn't like that and she always told us; 'you mind yourself or I'll tell him. I'll tell him...'"

    The old man's glossy eyes drifted away, his voice trailing as he was lost in the memory; reliving it all over again.

    "Tell who? Who is he?" The young girl asked tearfully?"

    He broke from his trance and he looked at her with cold and fearful eyes.

    "The Boogeyman." Y/n croaked, breaking from her stupor.

    The Losers all looked to their friend in the grass. The color was drained from her [s/c] skin, and her eyes were distant and glassy. Her left leg had inched gradually up and was now clutched tightly against her chest protectively. Seven pairs of eyes were now fixed on her and she gulped.

    "My great uncle Henry, I only met him once when I was about five or six, but he- he told me about how he saw the Boogeyman. Not much else, but the way he described It... I don't know, it always stuck with me. I've been afraid of It ever since and then-" Her eyes met Beverly's and she knew she had connected the dots.

    "Your ankle." She finished.

    Y/n nodded. She shifted in the grass uncomfortably before looking around at her friends. Some of them confused, others connecting dots of their own, but still intrigued and listening.

    "When school got out, Bev slept over." Y/n began, filling in Mike especially. "We both fell asleep with the TV on, it woke me up so I got up to turn it off, and then, just as I started to drift off I felt Bev pull on my leg several times. But, I woke up and realized she was fast asleep."

    She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the nerves that came crawling back even now. She fixed her eyes on the grass below her, and her fingers worked themselves into the ground. Y/n began fiddling with eh blades of grass, twirling them and ripping some from the ground as she continued.

    "Next thing I know, It's pulling me across the carpet and my leg is torn to shreds. It looked like what I always imagined the Boogeyman to be, but... but it also looked like-"

    "A clown."

    She had to turn her body slightly to look at Eddie, but she nodded, confirming everyone's suspicions from the day before.

    "Yeah, I saw a clown too. But It was also a leper." Eddie saw the confused looks scattered across his friends. "He was like a walking infection."

    Eddie felt himself fighting his bodily instincts to vomit, still repulsed by the vivid memory. Stan, who had been squirming in his seat the entire exchange, fought desperately to deny the gory truth that lay before them. Trying to convince everyone, himself especially, that this thing couldn't exist. Cause if It did, it would be all too terrible.

    "But you didn't," his voice trembled. "Because It isn't real. None of this is. Not Eddie's leper. Or Bill seeing Georgie, or-or woman I keep seeing." His voice broke, he looked down at his feet and the others knew.

    He was trying to convince himself.

    "She hot?" Richie asked with a half-smirk.

    Stan gave Richie an incredulous look, and his voice rose.

    "No Richie! She's not hot! Her face is all messed up. None of this makes any sense. They're all like bad dreams."

    Mike spoke up, unable to tiptoe around him any longer.

    "I don't think so. I know the difference between a bad dream, and real life, okay? Besides, look at Y/n's leg! How do you explain that?"

    Y/n gave Mike a thankful nod, and Eddie asked the question she had at the end of her tongue.

    "What'd you see? You saw something, too?"

    "Yes," Mike answered somberly, and he took a deep breath. "Do you guys know that burned-down house on Harris Avenue?"

    Y/n nodded, encouraging Mike to continue.

    "I was inside when it burned down." Mike began fiddling with his hands nervously, and Bill could feel his heartache. "Before I was rescued, my mom and dad were trapped in the next room over from me. They were... pushing and pounding on the door, trying to get to me."

    Mike's voice broke and he fought hard against the tears that threatened to spill. His heart was breaking in two all over again, he rarely spoke of the incident, always much too saddened by it and each time he did he could hear their frightened screams and the scratches against the door.

    "trying to get to me." There was a pause, and Mike swallowed the swollen lump in his throat. "But it was too hot. When the firemen finally found them, the skin on their hands had melted down to the bone."

    "Mike," Y/n felt at a loss for words, but all she could manage was a simple few. "I'm so sorry."

    He shrugged, and everyone could tell he was already beginning to rebury the memory.

    "We're all afraid of something."

    "You got that right." Richie quipped.

    Everyone looked to the boy and Y/n asked gently.

    "What about you, Rich? What are you afraid of?"

    His eyes flickered to Eddie against his will, and he ignored the spike in his heart rate when he did so. Everyone was staring at him now and he gulped, looking over his shoulder to see a clown on the stage across the field, staring at him. He returned his gaze to the group, and swallowed nervously, adjusting his bulky glasses.

    "Clowns."

×××

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[maxparkhurst]

Crimson

“In the quiet I sit and wonder,

If the image I had were real

Or just that…

An image crafted by my own desire.”

Two years ago

Max stood hidden in the shadowy depths of a Mariner’s Row alley. She watched as tentative raindrops crescendoed from a light drizzle to a full downpour. Rats scurried and took shelter from the storm in open rubbish bins. She only turned her collar to the cold and damp; this cold couldn’t penetrate the frigid numbness she already felt under the black tide’s pull. Her fingers stroked the vials tucked in the folds of her coat, the smooth glass grounding her in the moment.

Are you always going to be a victim?

A man separated from the throng of by-passers and descended into the alley. He walked with a hunch, shivering uncontrollably as he clawed at his neck. Max met him half-way, her myopic gaze drifting up to meet his shifting eyes. They only focused long enough for her to see the bright, desperate light glimmering in his dilated pupils. A cordial smile touched her lips.

“Fifty gold.”

The man bristled as his wild gaze narrowed in on Max. “You’re fucking with me…” he breathed in disbelief. “It was thirty last week!”

“Supply and demand.” Max shrugged. “Fifty. Unless you don’t want it.”

“How ‘bout I take that supply and demand bullshit and shove it up ya’ass!” His hands fell to his sides- revealing the angry, red blisters from where he’d been scratching- and flexed his fingers.

“You’re welcomed to.” Max kept her voice leveled as she procured a vial from her pocket. Its crimson contents stuck out against the gray-scale backdrop, drawing the man’s attention. “But,” she said with an enticing wave, “You’d get none of this.”

He stared long and hard at the vial. His expression darkened as he dropped his head, a hand untying the coin pouch from his belt. “Damn you,” he spat, tossing her the pouch, “And your price gouging.”

Max palmed the pouch and offered the vial out to the vagrant. He snatched it up and yanked the cork with his teeth, shooting down the crimson concoction. A sense of composure seemed to wash over him as his shoulders slackened and his breath evened. She held out the other three vials for him, watching with a measured smile as he pocketed them. “Same time next week?” she inquired.

“Fuck you.”

The vagrant turned briskly on a heel and charged out the alley. Max didn’t need an answer. She already knew he’d be back next week- they always came back for more.

*** Max laid sprawled out on her couch. It’d been here when she moved into the single room apartment, a relic from the previous owners. She made no plans to replace it, despite the pungent scent of tobacco and brine wafting from the futons. This wasn't a permanent domicile. She was only going to stay here long enough to settle Augustine’s custody papers. At least, that’d been her initial intent. Months since her release had passed in a blur. Finding an executor to authenticate their father’s will and write up Max’s legal guardianship over Auggie  proved far more difficult than she could’ve imagined- and far more expensive.

She picked her head up and looked over to her poor excuse for an alchemist’s lab. Vials and alembics crowded a “refurbished” table she found in a back alley, a fresh batch of Crimson simmering over an old burner. The sight of its volatile contents made Max’s stomach turn sour. She collapsed back onto the couch and draped an arm over her eyes.

Crimson had been Vallory’s best kept secret; a secret not even her late husband knew existed. It was a secret she whispered in Max’s ear over a cigarette they shared. The memory still laid fresh in her mind. She could almost feel the cool night air; the heat radiating off of Vallory’s skin; the tenderness of her lips. She shared with Max a secret she’d given no one else and sealed it with a kiss. Her heart ached as she remembered how easily she caved under the woman’s will, allowing all of her vile secrets in.

“You love her...Don’t you?”

Max’s lips pressed into a thin line as the memory shifted. His voice, hoarse and cracked, echoed in the chambers of her mind. She could still see him on the backs of her eyelids, his bulging eyes staring up as he labored for breath. He smiled up at her through a froth of bile.

“She doesn’t love you… She loves no one but herself.”

She knew that now.

Vallory akinned Crimson to prison shackles. Users who typically sought it were looking for a bolster in strength. The poppy extract in it suppressed the flow of glutamate in the brain, blocking the sensation of pain. It was popular amongst brawler rings. But its suppressant properties wasn’t what kept people buying. It was the withdrawal symptoms which followed. Hives, chills, nausea, and fevers were only some of the physical components. Users would experience spells of paranoia, rage, and sometimes suicidal tendencies.

Max witnessed it all through her clients. She found most of them through the underground brawlers ring. While vaguely aware of Crimson’s backlash, Max hadn’t a clue of how potent it really was. She watched over the next several months as these hardy men dissolved into decrepit husks. They quaked and begged at her feet for their fixes, tethered to her bloated prices like rabid dogs. But just as they were shackled to Crimson, so was she.

The executor explained to Max that she’d need to prove her capability as a guardian. She needed to be able to provide a safe home, warm food, and clean clothes for Augustine before they’d let her touch custody papers. Without those said papers, she wasn’t allowed any near her brother. Their Aunt had made sure of it. When news of Max’s release arrived, she’d placed a restraining order which prevented Max from coming within sixty yards of Augustine. She hadn’t even gotten to see him when she found the notice nailed to her apartment door.

They stayed in touch through letters exchanged by way of bottles tucked in the bushes outside the library. Augustine said he found the idea appealing in one of his letters, drawing references to pirates. She had smiled at that one. His letters were what kept Max going most days. She’d read and reread them long into the nights, committing them to memory in case they should ever stop. Some made her laugh and others made her cry. He wrote about his studies; about him and Joseph at the shipyards; about the children from school; about Auntie’s unreasonable requests; about the heaviness in his heart. He wrote that he felt cold and empty; that people were cruel and this world was unfair; that sometimes he wished to go to sleep and never wake up. But mostly, he wrote about how he wanted her to come get him; how he wanted them to sail far away and start a new life; how he really just needed to see her again. In all of her letters, she promised him they would and that it was only a matter of time. She asked him to be patient.

Max’s savings had grown exponentially since she started dealing. A few more transactions and she’d be able to afford the executor and the process of their father’s will could begin. Ruining a few lives along the way seemed like an affordable price. While it’d be one she’d keep paying to ensure her brother’s happiness, it wasn’t one she took exceptional pleasure in. Self loathing sprouted in her chest.  It took root not from guilt but from the fear. At first she thought this fear was of Augustine. What would he think about his murderous sister? She not only took the life of one man, but robbed many of theirs. They’d never know reprieve from their hunger for crimson, suffering long after she and her supply left the Kul’tiran Kingdom. He’d have nothing to think, though, because he’d never find out. Max hid her foot prints well and took every precaution to keep off suspicion. Her secret could die here in Boralus and no one would be the wiser. No, the only thing she feared was herself.

She’d broken a seal- made a decision which could never be undone. If she could kill once then she could again. If she could distribute Crimson in Boralus, what was to stop her from distributing in Stormwind? Temptation would always lurk in the back of her mind.  She realized at that moment what a horrible thing Vallory had done. She hadn’t shared her secret out of love. No, it was out of malice towards her husband. All of it revenge for his treachery. She hadn’t cared about Max as a person. She’d only used her as a means to an end.  Now, just as Max’s clients would never be free of Crimson, she’d never be free of Vallory. Every day she’d have to fight off these temptations; she’d have to fight to be better.

“I have to be better,” Max whispered into the dark room. The alembic simmered. Crimson replied with a bubbling boil. She bit down on her lip and ignored its tempting call. This would be the final batch, she vowed, and no more. No more back alley deals, no more drugs, no more drinking benders, no more shifty people, nothing. She needed to be better.

“I’ll be better tomorrow,” she promised to herself, “I have to be better. I have to be better for him. Better for Auggie.”

Better for Auggie.

Her new mantra. She recited it to herself, whispering it over and over again until she couldn’t recognise her own voice. To obtain anything something of equal value must be lost. She knew this to be her one and only truth.

She forfeited her ties with Vallory

And in return…

She’d be better for Auggie.