#i’m like a little baby deer falling to its knees in fear in front of a moving car. incapacitated by my own inconvenient brain chemistry
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I know marcus aurelius said we should remember that we are going to die so that we will use our time on earth wisely, but, personally, thinking about the inevitability and possible untimeliness of my own death every time i open my eyes upon waking, then sporadically throughout the day, and then also as i lay my head down to rest has been, let’s just say, not great for me
#i guess there’s just not a one to one correlation between remembering death and spending your time well#especially if you kinda suck#he had no idea how much time i could waste in the face of mortal dread#i’d probably benefit immensely from letting it tf go. sorry mr aurelius#kennapost#i’m like a little baby deer falling to its knees in fear in front of a moving car. incapacitated by my own inconvenient brain chemistry#also i know that i am having these thoughts BECUZ i am wasting time and i’m unhappy#i think marcus aurelius and i both have like. chronic anxiety. he was just better at managing it cuz he never had to go on linkedin
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don’t say maybe (cause i’m not a little boy)
summary: jeongin just wants to be your man.
genre: slight angst. | word count: 2540.
warnings: sensual themes & mentions of alcohol consumption.
Jeongin suspires, leaning back against the couch as you leave a trail of open-mouthed, sloppy kisses along the side of his outstretched neck. You’re straddling him, knees on each side of his hips, and he clutches your waist like you’re going to disappear into thin air at any given moment. You smile, lifting your face to connect your lips to his once more, he almost whimpers; you taste sweet and smell even sweeter, and the way your tongue glides over his lip makes his insides burst into flames. Jeongin stares at you, entranced, as you lean back on his lap, your bottom lip caught between your teeth and a playful glint adorning your gaze. You run your hands down the expanse of his torso and halt to a stop once you reach his hips, your thumbs drawing circles against the exposed skin right above his belt buckle; he shivers, anticipating your next move, and then – he wakes up.
Jeongin awakens, clammy and disoriented, the movie he’d been watching still playing on the tv. He looks around the room in a daze, glad to find his roommate nowhere in sight, he’s not in the mood to deal with Hyunjin’s teasing right now. Jeongin runs a hand through his hair, sighs and leans back onto the couch – the same couch, yet the way he feels now is a sharp contrast to what he’d been feeling just minutes prior; he feels cold, embittered and palpably uncomfortable. He wallows in his misery for a few more minutes before he decides to hop into the shower.
To say that Jeongin is grouchy this morning would be an enormous understatement, his exasperated state obvious to anyone who’s looking; he hasn’t been getting much rest lately, thoughts of you occupying his mind till ungodly hours, images of your eyes, your lips, engrained deep into his brain – it keeps him awake at night, you keep him awake at night.
His ears perk up at the sound of your laugh, he looks up just in time to catch a glimpse of your wide, toothy smile before your hand shoots up to cover it; he hadn’t been paying attention in the least to what Hyunjin had been saying but judging by your reaction it’d been something incredibly funny.
Jeongin has to muster every ounce of strength in his body to not let the jealousy, rising up his throat like bile, spill out of his mouth; he yearns to make you laugh like that. He wishes he could tell you, unabashedly, how he feels – how much he covets your attention, your affection, and how badly he craves your touch. But, alas, he lays his head back down onto the table, pushing the untouched tray of food next to him further away.
“Are you tired, Innie?” You ask him, your fingers spreading over his own. He wants to tell you it’s your fault, and that you should either apologize or start paying rent for living in his head day-and-night, but your beauty leaves him mesmerized; the way you’re looking at him – eyes bright and focused on him, and a slight grin on your lips – makes him go a bit lightheaded.
Jeongin sighs and fantasizes about kissing that look off your face, replacing it with one of shock, of newfound awareness and passion. He’s so enraptured by his reverie, he doesn’t notice you pulling your hand away from his and getting up from your seat; only the tapping of your feet against the ground makes him look up at your retreating form, and his heart sinks to his stomach.
“How do I look?” Jeongin asks you, before proceeding to strike a pose – head tilted up and towards the side slightly, showing off his jawline, and his arm flexed over his head; he hopes you don’t notice how calculated his moves are. You giggle and walk closer to him, your hand reaching out to pat his head.
“You look cute Jeonginnie.” You tell him, melodiously, and he hates it. He straightens his back and his jaw tenses almost imperceptibly; here he was, in his tightest pair of jeans and with a sleeveless shirt cladding at his body and all you can say is he’s cute? He can’t help the scoff that escapes him; he had asked you for help picking an outfit for a date – a date he’d only agreed to go on because Hyunjin kept on pestering him about his love life, or the lack thereof rather. A date he fully knew he would spend thinking of nothing else but you.
He had asked for your help in hopes of getting some alone time and maybe even some compliments from you, but, really, he should have known better – you always treated him as a child. He despises it; it makes his blood boil, how you would ruffle his hair and smile fondly at him, the way you would pinch and squish his cheeks while talking to him in the best baby voice you could muster, even the manner in which you would hold his hand sometimes, like you were holding a toddler. He wishes he could make you see him, really see him for what he is – a man, who’d like nothing more than to hold you tight and hard.
“Don’t I look hot, though?” He questions you with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk on his lips. Your hand falls from his head and onto his arm as you take a step back; you look him up and down a few times, before finally gazing back into his eyes with a smug grin of your own.
“Maybe.” You reply, most tauntingly, as you lick your lips.
Sometimes, Jeongin feels hopeful; he’s not dumb nor blind, he sees the way you every-so-often check him out, biting your lip, he feels the way your hand lingers on his bicep for just a second too long, and he is not oblivious to the flirtatious comments you throw his way from time to time. Most days, he’d consider this just friendly banter, but at times like these, he feels confident, buoyant even.
The two of you had been teasing each other all day, relentless sneers and mocking remarks coming swiftly from both ends; it was all light-hearted, of course, but the nature of this exchanges leaves him feeling electric.
“Seriously Innie,” you say loftily, hands on your hips. “You can’t even make popcorn by yourself, what would you without me?”
“Oh, shut up.” He retaliates as you pour the popcorn into a bowl.
“Make me.” You turn around to face him, leaning back against the counter with a mischievous glint in your eyes.
Before he can even begin to comprehend what he’s doing, Jeongin feels something bursting inside of him; he strides up to you, his hands falling onto the counter behind you. He’s so close, you can just about hear his heart pounding; he’s so close, you can feel your own heart hammering against your chest. You mutter his name, so faintly, he almost doesn’t catch it.
“What is it, Y/N?” The smug look on his face makes you shiver. “Didn’t you want me to shut you up?” He presses himself flush against you, his arm encompassing your waist.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” He challenges you, his breath fanning over your face as he speaks.
“Maybe.” You mumble, eyes not leaving his lips for a second. And, with that, he pulls his body away from yours and reaches for the bowl of popcorn behind you before strutting his way back to the living room, leaving you reeling.
Oh yes, at times like these, Jeongin feels on top of the heap.
Love is dead – Jeongin concludes – and he is doomed to live a life of silent heartache and unspoken longing. The fear settles itself in the pit of his stomach, slowly crawling its way up; he feels like he’s choking, like every word he so desperately wants to tell you is fighting to come out at once, still, they all stick to the back of his throat like a thick coating of honey.
He thinks he could laugh right now, burst into a fit of loud, manic cackles, if only he wasn’t so close to crying. Of course – of course you’d be into Hyunjin, of all people; of course, he’d walk into the living room just in time to see you, bleary-eyed and rosy-cheeked, laying a kiss on his roommate’s lips.
Jeongin remains still under the doorframe, jaw clenched tightly and arms crossed over his chest; he clears his throat, not making any effort to conceal his distaste. You turn around first, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights.
“Innie-” You stammer, standing up. You dodge the sofa blocking your path, steps wobbly as you approach him.
“I’m heading out.” He interjects, voice low and steady, and you stop in your tracks. His stare feels like it’s piercing through you even after he leaves the apartment.
Jeongin relaxes the instant his phone stops ringing in his hand; he’s been avoiding you like the plague for the past few weeks – but honestly, what did you expect? That he would just be fine? That he would just smile and nod, and pretend like he doesn’t have all these feelings for you? No, he couldn’t do that – he can’t do that, so he sighs and deletes your name, once more, from his missed call log.
Jeongin gets up from his bed, looking at himself in the mirror – he looks pretty good, if he does say so himself. He tousles his hair a bit and puts his things in his pockets before beginning to make his way to the front door. As he steps into the living room, he nearly lets out a curse; he’d been doing a pretty good job of evading Hyunjin as well, however, it seems, luck’s not on his side today.
“Hey,” Hyunjin says apprehensively, turning his head in Jeongin’s direction but not quite looking at him. “You going out?” Jeongin nods.
He resumes walking, stopping before the door to grab his keys.
“Hey,” Hyunjin calls out again, Jeongin spins back around, a little irked. “Have you spoken to Y/N lately?” He questions, and Jeongin is left with a raised eyebrow and a whole lot of questions – did he mean he hadn’t spoken to you lately? Or was he just testing the waters? Is there something he’s supposed to know? Something you have to tell him?
“No.” Jeongin shakes his head.
He doesn’t spare Hyunjin another glance before heading out the door; he arrives at the club and sees his date waiting for him outside.
Jeongin lets out a humourless chuckle – it’s just his luck, truly, running into you at the nightclub. He can’t really remember when or where his date seemed to disappear from his side, but, if he’s being honest, he can’t really muster up enough will to care.
He makes his way over to the bar and asks for a drink; the bartender hands him his glass and he takes a swig, his face contorting as soon as the alcohol makes contact with his tastebuds. He sets his drink down and turns around to face the dancefloor.
Jeongin looks through the hordes of people until he finally spots you, and then he scoffs; he scowls brazenly at the unknown person grinding their body against yours. Just as though you can feel his gaze on you, you look up straight into his eyes; you disjoin yourself from the stranger and march up to Jeongin. Coming to a halt in front of him, you greet him, eyes still staring deeply into his.
“You’re here without Hyunjin?” He chides, reaching for his glass. You laugh, and the sound makes his stomach churn slightly – Jeongin tries his best to convince himself it’s not you, but the alcohol that’s making him feel so skittish.
“Why should I be here with him?” You question, a smirk finding its way to your lips and leaving him in a state of stark bewilderment.
There’s a lot of things Jeongin doesn’t understand – he doesn’t understand why he agreed to this, he doesn’t understand what it is about you that makes him unable to ever deny you; he doesn’t understand how you don’t realize that he would do anything for you if you gave him the chance, that he would pull the moon and each of the starts down from the sky and give them all to you. He sighs and sinks into the couch, sneaking a glance at your profile as you browse through the catalogue of movies, searching for one that piques your interest.
Hyunjin plops down onto the sofa, tossing a bag of snacks in Jeongin’s direction. He truly doesn’t get it – how can you and Hyunjin act so nonchalant? How can you pretend that he didn’t catch you two kissing on this very same settee? How are you not getting the picture when his heart is quite literally on his sleeve? When his feelings are so blatantly obvious? He spends the entire duration of the movie brooding, a mopey look etched onto his features.
No sooner do the credits start rolling through the screen, Hyunjin jumps to his feet and sends a subtle albeit conniving grin in your direction.
“Well, it’s time for me to head out.” He announces, arms lifting over his head as he stretches. “I’m gonna be late for my date.” Jeongin is, once again, left perplexed, although in a whole different way now – Hyunjin was going? On a date? With someone other than you?
He can’t believe it; he watches, dumbfoundedly, as his roommate gathers his things and begins to head out the door, he listens as you bid Hyunjin goodbye with an animated ‘have fun!’ and a wave of the hand, and he sits there, in astonished silence, as you turn your body to face him.
“What’s the matter Innie, cat got your tongue?” There’s something in the way you’re looking at him that Jeongin just can’t quite put his finger on; it leaves him feeling sort of feather-brained.
“Shut up.” He forces a scoff, although it comes out so gently it nearly passes as a breath.
“Make me.” You tell him, dauntlessly, and in one swift move you straddle him, knees on each side of his body; you hover over him, not quite sitting on his lap, hands settling on his shoulders for balance.
You’re so close he forgets to breathe, and, for a second, Jeongin fears that this is nothing but another one of his dreams, that he’ll wake up, high and dry, alone on the couch yet again. But you repeat yourself, tone more demanding this time, and the way his skin tingles, goosebumps rising as you trail your fingers down his arms, lets him know he’s awake.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” He asks almost tauntingly, eyes turning hazy. He stares you down, as if daring you to say the one word he loathes the most – maybe.
You get even closer to him, setting yourself down on his thighs at long last, his hands reach for your hips and he feels the warmth of your breath fanning over his lips as you say: “Yes.”
#skz scenarios#skz imagines#stray kids imagines#stray kids scenarios#i.n scenarios#i.n imagines#skz scenario#skz imagine#stray kids imagine#stray kids scenario#bibi 🔞 content
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Killan Josta: The Rabbit
Listen. Exactly one conversation with @wildfaewhump and this boy found himself nearly fully formed, and he wanted his backstory and who am I to deny an OC who technically doesn’t exist their moment?
Exists in the same world as @wildfaewhump‘s Iesin and Talvos, and this is in no way relevant and should definitely not fill you with hope for his future. He is a sad boy. No hope for him.
CW: Suicidal ideation (of the ‘would be better than this’ variety, is brief, happens twice), debt slavery, beating and violent abuse, kicking, blood, death threats, emotional and financial manipulation, referenced purposeful malnourishment
“Where d’you think you’re gonna go, Matti?”
Killan’s thin shoulders hunched up somewhere near his chin and he drew his knees up to his chest. He could see a bit of red soaking into the rough woven cloth in his pants where he’d hit the ground and scraped hard along a bit of tree root sticking up out of the dirt.
Under the hollow created by the lifted root, he could just see the glitter of an eye, some kind of bitty rabbit or chipmunk or other tiny prey animal hiding.
He wished he had somewhere to hide, too.
Show me how to escape, he thought to the creature. Teach me how to run or fly fast and far enough next time. Are there really woodgods like my mother used to say? Are there really monsters who sometimes save people like in the stories?
“Hey. Matti.” Ren snapped his fingers before Killan’s face.
“My name’s not Matti,” He said in a half-whisper, then flinched instinctively against the blow he knew was coming.
He threw his hands up just in time to take the brunt of Ren’s heavy-handed slap meant for his face.
“Your name’s what I say ‘tis,” Ren snarled down at him. He leaned over Killan like a great big tree giving off shade and Killan shrunk even more under the baleful look in his eyes. The other hunters and sometime bandits that worked with Ren had settled in a circle around the two of them, four more. Beron, Vanya, Tinch, and Pylko were all as broad and terrifying as Ren ever was, but they deferred to Ren - which made Ren, the holder of Killan’s debt and the one he was starting to think might never let it be paid, the scariest of them all.
“If I say you’re Matthias and call you Matti, that’s what you are. Isn’t that right?” The hand was threatening again, held high in the air and Killan kept his arms up to protect himself, curling them over his dirty brownish hair. They took baths once a week, the group did, and Killan always got last turn at the bathwater and he never felt clean unless he dipped into the river when sent to get water and took the time to scrub himself and took his punishment for dawdling when he returned.
Except this time, he’d tried not returning.
They hunted him down anyway, rubbed his head in the dirt to punish him for putting on airs of cleanliness, and worse was coming. He knew worse was coming. There was a sick pit of fear in his stomach marrying with the hunger that chased him through days and nights. He was worked too hard for little in return, but if he ate too much...
“Y-yes, Ren,” Killan tried from behind the dubious security of his own thin wrists and arms. “I-I’m Matti if you want, ‘til I pay off the money. When… when will I-”
“Not for you to know, debt-slave.” That wasn’t Ren but Beron, who aimed a kick to his side he wasn’t ready for, a crack into his ribs that sent Killan sprawling sidelong into the dirt with a cry.
Once that dam was opened, all their violence burst forth, and it was all he could do to curl into a ball and take the kicks from their good leather shoes. All five of them had their go, laughing and having fun with him, just like always.
Each cry, every whimper or whine, was a mark added to his debt. Ren counted cries as more he owed them for the inconvenience of having to hear ‘Matti’ be a weak little mess who couldn’t even take a hit like a man.
He counted all the food that Killan ate on a little list, marked the wine he drank from the wineskins on occasion, too. Killan owed him for the little tin cup and plate they let him keep, owed him the nights they made stew and let him have a spoon, owed him for the clothes on his back that had gone worn and threadbare, for the needle and thread Killan used to mend every bit torn open by their fists and their boots.
He owed them for the second set of clothes they’d gotten him so he might be clean, just for a day, now and then when he did the washing.
He owed and owed and owed.
He’d been thankful when they saved him. He was still thankful, but part of him had started wishing they had just let the other ones throw him in the river in town after they stole all his coins, just let them toss him like a pebble with weights tied to his feet force him down.
It would probably hurt less to be dead, at least. It would hurt less than this.
But… but there were beautiful days, too.
There were days when Killan walked beside the horses just so he could fall back a little and look around at the sun dappling through the trees along the path, or other days when they kept camp instead of moving on when Killan could race himself to the river for water, or dive into a deep forest pool and get himself clean, blessed blissful clean, and sun himself naked on a rock until he was dry, feeling like one of the wild beasts who could have come and gone as he pleased.
There were days when they were nice to him, cuffed him lightly instead of harsh, pulled him to sit with them around the fire to tell their old stories of fae stealing babies away until Killan shivered and went pale and they laughed, but it was good-natured laughing. Not mean, not really. Not the way they usually were.
There were days during his watch with Beron where Beron would show him how to make tiny little animals out of wood, carving this way or that until he made a tiny fox, a wolf, one time a bird that whistled if you blew into its beak.
They didn’t mark his debt up some days, when they were happy with him, and he could sing their drinking songs by heart and get rewarded with a grin and a clap to the back.
So there were good days, too, and he leaped desperately from good day to good day like a squirrel jumping between trees.
But after a few bad days, he’d had enough, and thought he could run even though they were hunters and bandits.
He’d been wrong.
“Y’know what this means, Matti,” Ren said heavily, as though Killan were a grand disappointment. “Don’t you?”
Killan’s whole body ached, and all he could do was groan on his side on the forest floor, feeling old leaves soft beneath him, smashed into his hair, dirt and mossy green smeared along his face. He throbbed with pain every place their boots had gotten him, and hated his own thin leather shoes cut badly and bought cheap that sometimes wore his skin raw and bloody along the sides of his feet.
He’d get boots when he earned them, he was told.
What else could he do to be worth good boots? What more was there that Killan had not already done?
“I-I’m sorry, Ren, I d-d-don’t-”
“It means we’ve got to tie you behind my horse again,” Ren said. The others clicked their tongues against their teeth, disappointed sounds. Killan slowly pushed himself up, hissing through his teeth at the flare of pain just about everywhere.
“You… you d-don’t, I didn’t-”
“No, we do. If you’re going to try and steal your debt from me, Matti, then you’re going to have to be kept close. Where would you be if I hadn’t saved you, Matti, huh?”
Killan looked back down at the ground. “Dead, Ren.”
“That’s right. You’d be dead if it weren’t for us taking pity on you. And what do you think it tells me when you try to run off and steal my bread?”
Killan’s chin jerked up at that, jaw set in a faded hint of stubbornness. “I baked the bread!”
Ren backhanded him, sending him back down to the dirt, like he lived there. Like he belonged in the decaying leaves where mushrooms sometimes came up in the spring and Killan would pick them by the basketful to cook in oil for dinner, back home, back before. “It’s my bread whether you bake it or not. Stealing bread’s a crime, ain’t it?”
Killan wiped at his mouth with his arm, spat into the dirt and ignored the blood in it. “Yes, Ren.”
“Right. And runnin’ from a debt is a crime, too. You’re lucky we caught you first - show your face in a town and they’d lock you up ‘til I came for you, wouldn’t they?”
Not if they didn’t know I was a debt-slave.
Killan wisely kept that to himself.
“Should’ve let him run,” Beron said, ruffling Killan’s hair as he cringed away from the unwanted touch. “Let the fae eat him.”
“They don’t come down from their stupid mountains,” Vanya drawled.
“Sure they do,” Beron said, but offered no detail or proof. “Where else would they get humans to eat?” He was the one who told the best stories about fae, stealing babies from mothers and taking the children in a village as thralls and leading them away with song, making men kill themselves in front of their horrified true love. They were spooky stories that left the hair on Killan’s arms standing up but kept him leaning forward towards the fire, waiting for more.
Killan liked Beron’s stories, even if he didn’t like Beron.
Even if Beron always kicked him hardest.
“Hey.” Ren hit him across the face again to get his attention, and Killan’s teeth came down too hard on his lower lip, a burst of salt-sweet coppery taste against his tongue as his lip busted and he coughed, gagging at the overwhelming taste. “You listening, Matti?”
My name's not-
“Yes, Ren,” Killan muttered, trying to speak around his lip, so it came out more like Yeh, -ehn. “I-... listenin’.”
“Good. Next time I catch you running from me, I’m going to tie half a raw deer to your back and have Beron use his fae whistle to call one down to tear you apart. And if a fae doesn’t make quick work of your scrawny arse, trust that everything else that smells it on you will.”
Killan shuddered. Beron’s stories made the fae monstrous, rows of sharp teeth and feathers that could cut like a blade, big claws on their hands instead of proper fingers. It wouldn’t be a good death, but at least it would be one. “Unner-... unnerstan’, Ren.”
“Good. And I don’t want any of your mopery no more, either. All you do is mope around actin’ like you don’t have a perfectly good lot in life compared to your bones restin’ in the river where we found you. I’ll take a happier face from here on out and anything less will make it worse for you. Now get on your feet.”
Killan swallowed blood, felt his stomach spin and lurch and threaten to make him bring up his meager breakfast all over the forest floor. He nodded and pushed himself to his feet, falling into line with the men who owned him as they headed back to camp, the occasional smack or kick or curse urging him on even as he limped and dragged one foot a little behind the other.
Ren owned his life until his debt was repaid, but the debt was higher with every breath he took, and he was starting to understand that Ren would never let him go.
He spat blood on the ground as he limped, and wondered if maybe a fae would eat him, if ever he could find one and politely ask it to.
Killan tried to take a breath and winced at the sharp spike of pain from his side. “I th-think you cracked my rib,” he mumbled to Beron, who had come up on his right. The tall, older man glanced sideways at him and shifted, elbowing him sharply right in the side.
Beron, who was sometimes the nicest of them all, right now grinned at Killan’s answering hoarse whimper.
“That’s another mark,” Ren said from up at the front, and Killan made another hopeless sound that only brought Beron’s smile wider.
“Don’t worry, cracked ribs heal fast enough,” Beron said, suddenly jovial and friendly, clapping Killan on the back just to watch him stumble and hiss through his teeth to hold back the sounds as he got his balance back. “I’ll cook tonight, lad. You can lie down early.”
Unsettled by the sudden switch from cruelty to kindness, Killan looked up, only to stumble over a tree root he would’ve seen if his eyes had still been down, falling to his hands and knees on the forest floor, palms scraping dirt and the just-closed cuts across his knee opening up to bleed again.
Killan sniffed back the heat that was building behind his eyes and set his jaw as he forced himself back to his feet, trying to ignore Beron’s booming laughter at his back as he hurried to catch up to Ren.
By the time the leader looked back at him, he had set an empty but vaguely cheerful expression on his face, despite the bloodied lower lip, despite the bruising already starting up across his face on both sides, despite cracked rib and hurting back and aching legs.
Ren didn’t want to see him being sad about his lot in life anymore, and Killan was so tired of getting hurt. Lying wasn’t all that hard. It would be easy enough to lie, with the right reasons, and if I look right they won’t hurt me so much seemed as good a reason to smile as any.
He set himself to look as happy as he could, and hoped that Beron had really meant it about letting him get into his bedroll early.
Ahead of them, the sun came down in dappled yellow through the canopies of the tallest trees, and Killan fixed his eyes on the sight, forced the slightest smile to stretch his split lip until he winced.
The smile wasn’t really all that hard to force, if he was honest with himself. He might be hurt, and bloody, and dirty and downtrodden, but… but you could live for the forest, if you really wanted to, not just live off of it.
Killan could’ve been happy in the woods forever, on his own. In the deeper woods like this he could almost swear the air felt like magic.
#whump#fantasy whump#wildfaewhump's world#just an oc who doesn't exist nobody pay attention ssshhhh nothing to see here#beating#violence tw#emotional manipulation#brief suicidal ideation#blood tw#cracked rib#captivity#debt slavery#recaptured whumpee#whumpee#forced to smile#violent whumper#sadistic whumper#multiple whumpers#fantasy setting#they definitely did not rescue him from that river#not exactly#just pointing that out#Ren is an unreliable narrator at best#and he is definitely lying to Killan about this#referenced near drowning#drowning tw#oc moodboard#whump moodboard#whump oc#killan is babey and saddest boy
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when dusk falls {2}
DYING LIGHT
pairing: bucky barnes x reader | royal au
warnings: mentions of death, angst — reader is in her sad hours :/
summary: As you arrive in Hydra, you reluctantly begin to adjust to your new life.
a/n: i can’t express how excited i am to get into this story. i’m so impatient i was mad that this is only chapter 2 bc i want to get deep into the plot so bad :( for now, i offer you a part that should be titled ‘rambling about random story aspects that add nothing to the plot’..... enjoy !!
series masterlist
The journey from Taria was everything but pleasant.
As the carriage was pulled further and further away from your beloved palace, you made sure to consume every ounce of green expanse before you reached the land borders, refusing to let the gorgeous greenery of your home fade from your mind in years to come.
Brock nattered endlessly in his seat beside you, almost pressed against you in the small space. You didn’t hear a word of it, tuning out the unnerving rasp of his voice, only focusing on the vibrancy through the window.
Passing cosy villages, and brilliant gardens, and glimmering lakes, you concluded that Taria would be a hard place for anyone to forget, nevermind it’s own princess. You noticed the smiling faces and giggling children as you passed through the Roseleaf village, one of the larger residential areas on the east of the land. The carefully tended front gardens filled with an array of rainbow hues, the young couples walking hand in hand along the paved road, the little red robins flitting from tree to tree — you took it all in.
You were sitting in that carriage for Taria; its people, its nature, its values. Being sent away to a bitter nightmare of a land for the sake of your kingdom’s safety and happiness. Because that’s what a princess would do for her land. Protect it with her life.
The promise of its safety was the sole thing stopping you from breaking down into sobs next to Brock. There was no choice, there never would be between your freedom and your people.
The last bearable moment of your journey ended when the carriage reached the end of Taria, and the beginning of the Heartlen Ocean — the body of water that connected Taria and Hydra.
You’d been transferred onto a large sailing boat, one significantly bigger than the rowing boats scattered along the docks. In a tiny cabin below the main deck of the ship, you were escorted to and told to rest, as the voyage across the sea would be long and the waters would only be calm for another few hours. Of course, the seas around Hydra were vicious and rough, but you refused to sleep under their watch. You couldn’t if you wanted to. Every emotion under the sun was coursing through your veins; fear, anger, despair. Putting your mind at rest was impossible. It was as if they’d disregarded the fact they’d practically kidnapped you, and were complicit in the agreement that was forcing you into sudden marriage with the son of a cruel dictator.
You feared you’d never sleep peacefully again.
It took seven hours to arrive at Hydra. During that time, you’d remained under the deck, quiet as a mouse. Staring at the divots in the dark wood of the ship, knees tucked tightly to your chest, bare feet almost numb from the drop in temperature as you entered Hydra’s vicinity.
Thinking about Sharon, how adamant she was on getting you out of Taria before you could be taken. About Steve, who’d been burdened with the knowledge of the agreement and sworn to secrecy. About your parents, who entirely blamed themselves for the ordeal, even while having no other choice.
Perhaps if they’d sailed back a little earlier, noticed the signs of early labour quicker, or just not been so foolish as to seek help from the most selfish man on the planet, their daughter would be safe at home. Their princess. And she’d be free, happy.
But it was too late. It’d been too late from the moment their little rowing boat left the docks twenty years prior.
Seven hours, and you’d ended up in the bitter Kingdom of Hydra. Two soldiers escorted you off the boat, rushing you towards another black carriage identical to the one you’d been taken in at the palace. The sky had fallen significantly darker, a thick grey mist shielding the ground below from the sun’s warmth. Icy air bit at your skin, had your teeth chattering and lips numb the second you rose from below the ship’s deck.
Those around you remained unfazed, used to the freezing climate. To the dull skies and unsaturated expanse. Taria was to them what Hydra was to you — an entirely different reality.
Brock noticed you shivering in the carriage beside him, chuckling mockingly at your discomfort. Ignoring him, your eyes burned holes in the fabric of your dress in your lap. You didn’t want to let your gaze wander outside, seeing a cold, monotonous space rather than the colourful liveliness you adored back home.
Again, you passed through villages. Villages that were anything but reflections of those in Taria. The houses were much smaller, more compact than cozy. No quaint plants and shrubs complimenting the open front of the house, no bouncing children or chirping birds. Each house appeared identical, and not a soul was in sight. Likely huddling up in their homes, out of the cutting wind that’d soon transform into a bustling blizzard.
You caught sight of a figure in the window of the last home along the lane, only for a moment. A child, a boy. His high cheekbones and pin-straight nose stuck out to you. A frown played on his lips as he observed the carriage travel by, the same one he’d seen the day before, led by the same dark horses that sent shivers down his spine.
Cheering up the children back home seemed to be a gift you possessed. Not that they often weren’t baring toothy smiles, but when they wandered the palace garden and the markets with a solemn expression for whatever reason that day, it was instinct for you to lift their spirits. A box of red velvet cupcakes or some children’s books that’d been sitting in your library for years seemed to do the trick, and each and every time, it was heartwarming to watch the light reappear in their doe eyes.
Yet that boy, along with the thousands of other children living day-to-day under King Alexander’s rule — their happiness wasn’t something you could provide them with. Not when the man was stripping you of your own joy. When you were losing the light you were always eager to share with those who needed it.
If Taria was the planet’s garden, then Hydra was it’s graveyard. A place where dreams died before they could even begin to flourish. Where nobody desired to live, where too many people were forced into a meagre existence. And you were simply another soul Hydra had stolen for itself.
Another couple of hours passed again until the castle finally came into sight, only barely among the cloudiness of the night. The castle you’d only heard horror stories about, where too much blood had been shed and lives lost. And it was where you were going to live for the rest of your days. The thought alone put a deep frown on your lips.
You were exhausted. It’d been an early rise for you that morning; up and ready by eight o’clock, you took a trip to the markets before it was busy and stock was selling fast. You were to be back by nine for breakfast with your parents, but one of the merchants had been insisting you tried one of her cinnamon sugar pretzels, doused with golden syrup, which were usually sold out within hours of the stall opening. The sweet treat was delicious, you’d found, and you’d bought three more to bring back to Sharon and your parents.
A simple, lovely morning. And how quickly the day turned sour.
The urge to sleep was tugging at your eyelids, but you suppressed the need, nipping at your wrist to keep yourself awake. You’d have to succumb to sleep eventually, but you’d do it in the comfort of a bed far away from any soldiers, far away from Brock. Still, the thought of falling into such a vulnerable state, in the castle appearing more and more enormous as the carriage approached it, was indeed unnerving.
It looked like something out of a story book. Dark grey brick, looming towers with tall turrets atop them, an unnecessarily large gate guarding the inside — the image of a villain’s abode.
All underneath a shadow black sky, without a star in sight. No light, no hope. Only darkness.
The carriage continued along a winding, rubble path, it’s destination being the towering gate where six soldiers stood guard. With every yard you grew closer, your heart only pounded harder against your ribs. You’d truly fallen into a never ending nightmare; reaching the castle was only the beginning of it.
It was so cold. The thin dress and lack of any footing was certainly not helping your cause. As the carriage came to a final stop, your legs only barely allowed you to climb out of the transport without slipping to your knees. A soldier remained by your side, silent and still, while Brock ordered the remaining men to take the horses back to the stables.
Upon spying their commander, the soldiers stood guard ordered for the portcullis to be lifted, and soon an echoing clanging noise filled your ears.
While you weren’t eager to enter, the cold had already numbed your fingers and toes. You feared you’d fall ill if you were outside any longer, not that you imagined the inside of such a menacing castle would be any more comfortable.
“Inform the king of our arrival as soon as he wakes.” Brock called out to the lone soldier, who nodded curtly before marching away, into the darkness of the castle corridors.
Like a baby deer, you were left shivering in the cold, eyes wide and legs stiff. Brock took his sweet time striding over to you, before his lips curled into a condescending smile.
“Welcome home, Princess,” He teased, making a gesture towards the enigma of a building behind him. “Allow me to escort you to your chambers.”
With reluctance, you followed him into the castle, wincing at the clang of the gate beginning to shut again behind you.
The stone pavement of the castle was hard against the soles of your feet, as you paced quickly to keep up with Brock’s stalk. Lanterns scattered along the thick brick walls illuminated what would be the pitch black hall he walked you down, a faint smoky scent in the air.
For what felt like hours, you winded around corners and through halls, wondering if you’d ever make it to your chambers. Brock talked, asking silly, mocking questions that you didn’t waste your breath answering, arms crossed firmly over your chest.
Until he said something that made your blood boil a little hotter in your freezing body.
“I’m in shock of your compliance, Princess,” He smirked over his shoulder as he guided you up a dark staircase. “Already accepting the King’s plans for you?”
A scowl pulled at your lips. “I haven’t accepted anything. This isn’t compliance, this is me being here to protect my own.”
“Ah, she speaks!” Brock chuckled grimly, the sound bouncing off the walls of the narrow stairway. “Can she put a smile on, too?”
You ignored him. He laughed again, expecting it.
At the top of the stairs, a long corridor presented itself, identical to the hundred you’d already walked through. It was only at the very end of it that you finally stood still, eyes landing on an old wooden door, deep brown with no pattern etched into it. So plain, so dull — you’d never seen a castle so ancient with so little life.
“This room has been assigned to you until you and the prince are wed,” Brock spoke, pressing a rough hand to the door handle and pushing it open. “A maid will arrive when you wake to prepare you for the morning.”
“The morning?” You raised a brow.
“When you are to meet the king,” A grin tugged at his lips. “He is indeed eager to meet his future daughter-in-law.”
The feeling isn’t mutual, you thought, but kept it to yourself as you shuffled through the open door.
A singular lantern to your left enlightened the space before you.
Dreary like the rest of the castle, the room almost blended into the deep sky through the large window straight ahead of you. Translucent navy drapes hung from the chestnut bed frame, the singular bed topped with a sheet of similar colouring tucked into the corner of the room. A tall closet opposed it, likely filled with dresses that the maids had tailored to your size (however they learned that information). The hardwood flooring pressed into your feet; you already missed the soft crimson carpet that covered the expanse of your bedroom back home. There was a door off to the left, presumably leading into a small bathing room, and a long silver mirror on the other wall reflected its dark presence against the smoky grey brick.
And that was all. No books, no chestnut desk to sit at and swipe red on your lips or rose on your cheeks. Nothing to simply pass the time of waiting for a wedding you were utterly dreading.
Brock grinned a goodnight from the corridor, and you couldn’t even turn around before the echo of his boots filled the narrow, empty space.
A frown immediately pulled at your lips, as you gently closed the door behind you, the click of the lock prompting tears to form in the corners of your eyes.
As you tenderly removed your dress, hanging it up in the back of the wardrobe, you bit your lip to keep your emotions at bay. The braclets you’d slipped on at home remained on your wrist, a reminder of where you truly belonged. You played with them as you blew out the candle light, stealing the only spec of warmth from the room.
The nightdress you’d been given was thin, the creamy linen not doing much to shield you from the icy air that managed to nip at you in every corner of the castle. Sighing, you padded over to the bed, climbing under the fresh sheets, and that’s when the first tear fell. Burning hot as it trickled down your cool cheek.
That bitter night, you weren’t blessed with the pleasure of a long slumber. One salty tear turned into two, and two into many, many more.
And so, your most disconcerting nightmare began.
* * *
Dreams were deadly; you soon learned that after waking from your first night of sleep in the grand castle situated at the very bottom of Hydra’s land.
Perhaps a nightmare would’ve been easier on your mind. It certainly would’ve prepared you for the daunting reality you’d wake up to in a few mere hours. Because you dreamt that you were back in Taria. That Hydra’s soldiers didn’t step foot on your home land, that you’d finished that chapter of your enthralling novel, that Sharon returned to the library with a steaming cup of chamomile tea, and the two of you rested there for the remainder of the day. Uninterrupted, safe.
A soft but urgent knock on your bedroom door woke you from the sweet dream that morning, and upon recognising the drab setting you were in — still dark, the sun rays being rejected rudely by the thick heavy clouds encompassing the land — the harsh reality of your new life came flooding back.
Creaking quietly, the bedroom door opened ajar, an unfamiliar figure peeking through into the room. A woman, a girl even. She couldn’t have been older than eighteen. Her eyes widened as they drifted to the corner of the room, spying you still clutching the navy bed sheets to your chin.
“Forgive me, I didn't mean to wake you; I was told to come here at ten on the dot. My name is Wanda, I was happy to learn I’ve been assigned as your maid, Princess.”
Blinking, your vision became a little clearer. Clear enough to assess the girl frozen in her place in the doorway. Strawberry blonde hair cascaded down her back, pulled back loosely at her neck with a burgundy ribbon. As you propped yourself against the headboard of the bed, her doe eyes got impossibly wider. Brushing out the creases of her moss green skirt, she stood taller, pressing her lips into a thin line.
So nervous in your presence, she seemed. You wondered if the treatment she received from the royals of Hydra had something to do with it.
“It’s— It’s quite alright.” You swallowed, possibly more anxious than she was. If you weren’t so exhausted from the journey to the castle, you likely wouldn’t have slipped into a slumber so easily. That was after you’d sobbed until air could no longer be snatched from your lungs, and you drifted off with a sore throat and tear tracks staining your cheeks.
You’d fallen asleep between the same walls as one of the most ruthless kings to date, as well as an army of remorseless soldiers ready to comply with his every order. The thought made you shudder; that, and the sheets falling from your shoulders, exposing your skin to the cool room.
Wanda crinkled her brows, picking up on your discomfort. Slowly, as if not to cause you any more distress, she slipped between the open door and closed it behind her.
“I’ll run a hot bath for you, Your Highness. I’m afraid it’ll have to be quick; King Alexander would like you escorted to the throne room within the hour.”
You remained quiet. Still barely awake, still barely able to comprehend the situation you’d so quickly fallen into.
The maid clasped her hands in front of her, considering her next words carefully before offering the tip of her lips. “I understand that you only arrived here a mere several hours ago, Your Highness — I think a warm bath will only do you good, if I may say.”
It would have certainly been nice, considering the climate you’d been forced into abruptly. You’d picked up on some of Brock’s ramblings in the carriage the night before; he’d said something about a blizzard being on its way. Judging by the thick fog and the chill already bringing goosebumps to your skin, he was right. You weren’t looking forward to the process of adapting to the weather.
As soon you gave Wanda the faintest hint of a nod, the girl rushed towards the adjoining bathing room you had yet to familiarise yourself with, and soon enough the harsh streaming of water began to fully wake you for the morning.
Lavender swarmed your senses as you stepped into the small room, observing Wanda as she swirled oil into the warm water with a delicate hand. Throwing a smile over her shoulder, the maid shook off her hand before wiping it quickly on her skirt.
“I hand-picked the lavender and made the oil myself this morning. I’ll be honest, I’m not meant to leave the castle unless I’m ordered to do so, but with a storm brewing, I was eager to collect as many herbs and flowers as possible before my duties for the day started,” A soft chuckle left her lips, before she shook her head, a rosy tint pooling in her cheeks. “Forgive me, I— I haven’t served a lady in several years. I can’t imagine my rambling would amuse the men of the castle.”
If your mood hadn’t been so sour, perhaps you would have smiled at her excitement. The happiness others radiated you tended to absorb; no wonder every moment on Taria was an enjoyable one.
It astounded you how bubbly the strawberry blonde appeared. A delicate daisy in a daunting forest — she bloomed without sunlight. Of course, it could’ve been an act in front of the prince's bride-to-be, but there was a certain spark to her that felt genuine. Maybe it really was because of the presence of another woman.
King Alexander’s wife — the former queen of Hydra — had died almost a decade earlier. Being so young and out of the loop with politics and the states of other kingdoms, you hadn’t heard much about her at all. Even if you were older, you’d likely not hear anything more. If she ever engaged in politics, attended balls or kept in touch with other queens across the seas, she was very quiet in doing so. Queen Mara of Hydra — the only time you heard her name spoken was when she passed. As a child, when the severity of death and its impact on kingdoms was so foreign to you.
You assumed Wanda used to serve the late queen; perhaps she was more pleasant than her husband. For Wanda’s sake, you could only have hoped so.
“Thank you, Wanda.” You spoke, voice barely above a whisper. The maid wouldn’t have heard you if she was standing any further away.
But she did, and she curtsied in return. “Of course, Your Highness.”
The bath was nice, you’d admit. Like a warm hug after a long day. Except your day had barely started, and as soon as you were to step out of the heavenly hot water, you’d be pulling on a dress that wasn’t sewed by the dressmakers you’d known since childhood, making your way down to a throne room you were completely unfamiliar with, and meeting a king that you had no interest in ever crossing paths with.
And soon enough, that was where you were.
Stood in the centre of a cold room, face to face with a man you’d only heard terrible stories of.
Wanda had picked out a garnet red dress for the morning. You hadn’t owned many red dresses back on Taria, preferring cooler tones like emerald green and the royal blue attire you’d arrived in Hydra with. And that dress seemed to be the only one that actually fit, your new one pinching tight at the waist. Though when Wanda was only offering you compliments as she combed out your hair and polished your shoes, you weren’t about to complain.
It wasn’t the dress that was stealing the breath from your lungs, however. It was the monarch who sat proudly in his dark throne before you.
Four soldiers either side of the throne stared straight past you, as the king himself stared at you. Sandy blond hair laced with grey fell over his forehead, and he wore a solemn expression as he eyed the new arrival to his kingdom.
“Princess _____ of Taria,” Alexander spoke, the rasp in his voice bringing goosebumps to your skin. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet your acquaintance.”
You remained stoic, refusing to meet the eyes of a king who was more monster than man. As you looked to the right of the throne, you spied Brock among the soldiers too, observing you with interest.
The king soon realised that you were immensely uncomfortable; it wasn’t like he’d expected you to act any different.
He glanced over his shoulder, silently calling Brock over. The commander was at his side almost immediately. So cocky in front of you, and so obedient to the king — typical.
“Take the soldiers outside,” He ordered calmly, before leaning forward to murmur something inaudible to Brock, who nodded firmly, then making a swift exit with the ever-submissive soldiers behind him.
Soon enough, you and the king were left alone. The silence was deafening as you awaited his next words, both reluctantly and with anticipation.
The throne room was so large, so intimidating. Walls scattered with grand portraits of previous monarchs, small square windows barely letting any sunlight pour through; not to mention how your hands were almost numb. It was difficult not to miss the beaming sun in Taria, how it would seep through the curtains on a bright morning, how the warmth would dance across your skin and the light would reflect in your eyes.
It was almost as if Hydra completely blocked it out.
The king exhaled, clasping his hands in his lap as he leaned back in his seat. “If you have anything you would like to say, by all means, don’t keep quiet on my account.”
Considering him for a moment, you tightened your jaw. It was like he could sense the hundreds of questions swarming your mind. While you worried that he wouldn’t be so impressed with what you wanted to say to him, he couldn’t reprimand you for anything. Not when you were to marry his son. Anything you said wouldn’t matter once you left the room; he’d had your fate in his hands since the moment you were born.
Your eyes flit to his, tears burning at the back of them. “My parents were desperate for your help—”
“And I helped them.” He commented nonchalantly; his disinterest feeling like a slap to the face.
“You took advantage of them,” You corrected him, not appreciating the interruption. “They wouldn’t have accepted your deal if my mother’s life wasn’t at stake.”
Idly fiddling with the rings encircling his fingers, Alexander sighed. “Things have a certain way of falling into place, I believe. I’m not sure it’s a coincidence that your mother happened to go into labour on the same day that her and your father decided to sail across the Heartlen Ocean, stray further from Taria than they ever had before, leaving Hydra’s help as their own hope.”
“This was never meant to happen, I refuse to believe that.” You shook your head. Taria was the only place you’d ever belong. Only selfish men like the king had a true place in Hydra.
“You were born here, Princess. You took your first breath of air in this castle. It was inevitable that you would find your way back.”
“I am not here by choice,” You insisted, resisting the urge to yell, to scream about how much you hated the man in front of you for snatching your life away right before your eyes. “Hydra has allies, with kings and queens that would be more than glad to arrange a marriage between their daughters and your son, yet you chose Taria’s princess before I was even born — why?”
Hydra’s group of allies were certainly limited, but they weren’t the only kingdom that idealised a dictatorship and control over every aspect of their land. The king could have made strong connections with them, people who shared his mentality, his brutal methods. But he didn’t. He did the complete opposite, and that was extremely odd.
The king contemplated answering the question, he truly did. Words hanging from the tip of his tongue. But instead, he waved you off with a steady hand. “The answer to that will be clear in due time.”
You narrowed your eyes, about to protest, but you were soon interrupted by his booming voice unexpectedly.
“Bring in the Asset.”
His stare diverted, until it was focused on something behind you. Heavy footsteps clambered outside the room, along the echoey hall until they reached the doors of the throne room. They opened with an eerie creak, and upon throwing a look over your shoulder, your breath immediately hitched.
Three soldiers stood either side of, well, another soldier. But he wasn’t like them, not at all. His presence managed to freeze you in your stance, unable to fully turn around.
He was tall, a great deal taller than the other soldiers. Dark, untamed locks fell around his angular face, framing his sharp jaw and chiselled cheekbones. And he was so broad. The soldier attire almost looked more fitting on him, with his wide shoulders and muscular thighs. Protecting his shoulders were the same metal plates, with that same red star imprinted on the left side. A gasp almost escaped your lips when you noticed his arm, shimmering silver even in the dull light. The man, he couldn’t be another mere soldier. And he wasn’t — they called him the Asset.
For some reason, they wanted you to meet him.
With a proud expression, Brock met your eyes as he led the soldier in your direction, stopping only a foot away before he stepped to the side.
You swallowed, forcing your body to turn around, and you were met with perhaps the only splash of bright colour in the castle.
Azure blue eyes pierced into yours, making your palms clam and your knees weak. Unlike the other soldiers, he didn’t just stare past you; he stared through you, with eyes that were so blue yet so dim. His features remained blank, but even then his eyes burning into you made you feel small, almost too seen.
“I understand that you never took on a personal guard in Taria,” The king spoke from behind you. “I won’t be as foolish as your parents to leave you without one here.”
He gave a nod to Brock, who stepped towards you and the soldier, waving the other soldiers away with a hand. A grin tugged at his lips as he turned back to you. “The Asset is the best soldier we have. His only mission is to protect your life at all costs.”
Your brows pinched, and you just about managed to pull your eyes from the soldier’s to Brock’s. “Am I in such a state where I need a guard with that sole mission? Your best soldier, at that?”
“There are some cruel people living in Hydra, Princess. We wouldn’t want any of them getting their hands on you.” The man answered, practically smirked, knowing you’d already fallen into such hands.
But he was right, in a sense. Hydra’s royals weren’t exactly immune to danger. Rebellions were rare, but another one at any given time wasn’t an impossibility. Especially if the rebels believed your parents had chosen for you to marry into Hydra’s kingdom — you were fresh blood, and that made you an easy target for them.
If it wasn’t the rebels trying to hurt you, it’d be those that could simply for the fun of it. Because crime was so normalised there; everyone was constantly on edge, scared for their safety when night fell and silent shadows began to rome the unprotected villages. It was no way to live.
“He’ll be at your side at all times,” He continued. “Day and night; he’ll only rest when he must. Refer to him as ‘soldier’ and nothing else; he’s a guard, not your friend.”
You wouldn’t have expected anything else.
The king perked up from behind you, almost making you flinch. “Soldier, take the princess back to her chambers. A maid will arrive shortly with a meal for her.”
Huffing quietly, you glared over your shoulder. Apparently they weren’t stripping you of your freedom gradually, but completely all at once. Wonderful.
His expression remained nonchalant as he tipped his head at you. “I’m afraid my son is dealing with political affairs out of the kingdom today; he won’t be in attendance tonight. You’re to meet Isaac at breakfast tomorrow. I can assure you, he is looking forward to the pleasure of your company.”
If only you could say the same.
Your eyes turned back to the soldier, who had already spun around and was ready to comply with the king’s order. Soon enough, he was leading you out of the grand room, back to your sombre chambers.
The walk was silent; he wouldn’t talk to you, of course — it wasn’t in his job nature to do so. Even him, a tall, cold-eyed, man who was more muscle than anything else, was so obedient. Too obedient. So compliant that his expression never changed, he wouldn’t speak to you because he’d been strictly ordered not to, and his sole purpose was deemed to be the protection of your life. And he didn’t bat an eye. You wondered why. Why they were all soldiers first and humans not even second, but never at all.
You thought about the truth behind the soldier’s cold exterior for the rest of the dreary day.
Back in the throne room, seconds after he saw you wind around the corner into the dark corridor with your guard, Brock approached his king with a questioning crinkle in his brow.
“Your Highness, while I would never doubt your methods, I’m concerned that without a routine mind-wipe, we may begin to lose control over the Asset.”
Alexander considered his words. “Truthfully, I believe his brain has been tampered with enough to permanently erase his past from his mind. Alas, if he begins to show signs that his memory is recovering, you’ll know what to do.
As long as the princess doesn’t get any foolish ideas, the Asset shouldn’t pose a problem to us at all.”
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky barnes#bucky#bucky barnes x you#bucky x you#bucky barnes reader insert#bucky barnes au
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Vampire Labyrinth 5
Hey look! Vampire caretaker!
Follows part 1, part 2, part 3, and part 4.
tw: nonsexual nudity (temporary),
tag list: @waywardwhump @justwhumpitwhumpitgood @insanitywishes @taboolynx
*****
Lianna saw the light well before she was actually aware of it, the darkness easing away until she could see her own arms, her own skinned knee, the smooth, cold floor.
She stared at her limbs, watching them begin to shake harder as she looked.
“Oh!”
The moment the voice spoke, she moved on instinct, uncurling and trying to scramble backward, her head shooting up to look toward the sound.
It was a man with dark hair and thin, pointed features, carrying a lit torch. He wore a long black coat, exquisitely tailored to him, but the clothes underneath it looked just nicer than average, of the sort a merchant might wear while traveling through her small town, away from his home in the city.
He held his free hand out in front of him and she noticed the claws and squeaked, forcing herself backward again.
“Shhh,” he said gently, “Shh, you’re alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She backed up farther, her whole body numb with the cold, or perhaps with the fear.
“No, no, it’s alright.” He took a step forward.
“Stay away!” she managed, her voice hoarse and weak.
“I need to get a look at you.” He sounded calm, but there was something under it, some edge, and she moved quickly to cover herself, blushing.
The man stepped forward and all she could do with her hands in front of where she didn’t want him to look was wriggle backward like a worm.
He hummed sympathetically. “Shhh, it’s alright, sweeting. You’re going to be alright.”
“No,” she answered, panicked, her breath coming so hard and fast it made her head spin.
The man grunted, displeased, and she shivered, wriggling backward again.
He put the torch down gently, and removed his coat, throwing it over one arm before picking up the torch again.
“It’s alright,” he said again, stepping closer. “Put your arms through the sleeves, and pull this on backward. Your back looked the worst of it.”
She couldn’t puzzle out the meaning of that until he squatted down a little bit, sinking into his knees, and tossed the coat onto the floor in front of her. It landed a few inches away, sliding another inch and then coming to a halt, barely crumpled at all, and ready to be put on.
She didn’t move, half expecting the coat to reach over and bite her, to swamp her in darkness and eat her up into itself.
“It’s alright,” the man said again, “Nothing to fear.”
An hour ago, two, five, whenever it was she’d been outside waiting for the sunset, she might have laughed at that. Now, her disbelief came out only as a twisted sob she had no control over.
“Shhh,” he said again, “Shhh, You’re alright. You’ve got to be cold. Humans always are, outside of the center. Go ahead and put the coat on so I can get a look at you.”
She didn’t want to be looked at, but she did want the coat, and after a moment of his strange bronze eyes gazing into her own, unblinking, she scrambled to grab the coat. If he was going to look either way, she wanted to be covered.
As soon as she touched the coat, she knew it was expensive, the heavy silk brocade richly textured under the fingers of her bad hand. The front edges were trimmed in a rich lace, so dark a wine color it was nearly black, too. As she pulled it on backward, shoving her hands through the sleeves and pulling the inside of the coat up against her chest, she found more of the same lace decorating the cuffs, standing out only a little from the black-on-black texture of the rest.
She lifted her hands up, staring at the lace, and caught the vampire’s movement only as a swift change in the light.
Before she could look up, he was beside her, crouching down on one knee halfway behind her.
His hand touched the back of her shoulder and she flinched away, hard.
“Shhh.” His voice was deep and soothing, richer from this close to her, and he was holding the torch well away from her with one hand, leaving only the one free.
She scrambled away again, but had nowhere to go but sideways, where she huddled up against the wall and was trapped.
The man growled, a dangerous, animal noise, and her entire body shuddered.
“These young vampires never listen,” he said, “Heaven help that boy if I find him before you’re all patched up, or I’ll be sending him to hell myself.”
He came closer again, and she squeezed her eyes shut, pressing harder into the wall and turning her face away from him.
His fingers touched her shoulder again, gently, and she flinched. “Shh,” he whispered, “It’s alright.” He probed gently at the edges of one of the scratches, and even with him careful to keep his claws out of the way, it split open. She whimpered, a strangled little noise, and his hand pulled away quickly, only to return with no claw at all. He ran the back of his knuckles gently down her back, staying carefully between the claw marks, and she shivered under the caress.
“Can you stand?” he asked, lifting his hand up and then straightening, the angle of the light shifting as he stood.
The coat was cool, like it hadn’t been worn before, only just now starting to catch and hold her body heat. She turned to look at him, uncoiling slightly. “I have to, don’t I?” she asked hoarsely, meeting his eyes even as they terrified her. “I - I signed the contract.”
“The contract,” he repeated, both face and voice unreadable as he glanced away, suddenly distant from her, like there was a chasm between them. “Yes, I suppose you would have. The things they’ve made of the contract over all these years-” he trailed off.
When he looked back down at her again, he was back with her, bronze eyes warming as they met hers. “Give me your hand,” he said softly. “I’ll help you up.”
Her hand shook violently as she held it out toward him, half unsure of herself even as she did it.
He hummed softly, thoughtfully, then leaned down and wrapped his hand around her elbow, instead, where she was protected from his claws by the coat sleeve. “Hold on to me,” he said, “Hold onto my arm.”
She did, and then he was pulling to her feet with a quiet but unexpected grunt of effort.
Once she was on her feet, she felt weak and wobbly, her legs shaking like a baby deer’s.
Another displeased grunt, but when she looked at his face, it was turned away, like he wasn’t thinking about her.
She took one tentative step forward and had to squeeze hard on his arm to keep from falling down. His head snapped back toward her too fast, moving with supernatural speed, and her instinctive flinch away was too much for her left leg. As it crumpled, he swung around to catch her other elbow, the two of them ending up face to face and the torch falling to the ground between them, lighting everything at a strange angle and making stranger, more frightening shadows dance across his face, emphasizing its thinness, its hollows, even, now that she was closer to it, the odd, almost powdery texture of his skin.
She found herself breathing heavily again, panting with fear as her eyes filled with tears that blurred the dancing of the flames into something even more unpredictable.
“Alright,” he said gently, some edge that had been in his voice before disappearing so that he just sounded tired. “Let’s sit you back down.”
She sank down to sit, and he came with her, kneeling as he eased her to the floor and then rearranging to sit beside her with another unexpected old-man grunt. He didn’t look old, the dark hair he wore tied up at the back of his neck greying only slightly and only at the temples.
He reached over, his claws still bent carefully away from her, and brushed the tears gently from her eyes with the back of his knuckles.
She held still, trembling and waiting, but his touch was gentle, and then he pulled away again and reached for her hand, instead. She nearly snatched it away, but something felt - different, and she stayed still, instead, looking sideways at him in curiosity, even as her heart pounded in her chest.
He lifted her hand from her thigh, brought it to his lips, and as her breath stopped in terror, kissed the back of it and then let it drop back down again, away from his fangs.
He twisted her hand sideways, revealing the inside of her wrist and she knew for certain that she should pull away, but this time she felt frozen, no more able to yank her hand away than she was to breathe.
He pressed the pads of the fingers of his other hand against her pulse, concentrating, but she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe. Her head started to get lighter and lighter and then the instinct to breathe was finally, finally stronger than the terror locking her in place, and she found herself sobbing, gasping for air and letting it back out in broken, desperate noises part of her was ashamed to make in front of him.
When Lorenzo pulled her sideways, tugging her halfway into his lap and wrapping his arms around her, she let him, burying her face in his shirt in spite of every instinct, every thought she’d ever had. Her throat was shattering apart, her whole body heaving and shuddering, every fiber of her being stretched beyond its limits.
His body was cold but soft, and his arms were strong but didn’t crush her, and when one of his clawed hands started carding gently through her hair, it was a reassurance, not a threat.
She didn’t realize until he spoke, and she felt the vibrations of his voice against her cheek, that he had no heartbeat.
“You’re alright,” he said quietly, his deep voice rumbling through both of them, “You’re alright. I’ve got you. I’m going to skin that boy alive before I send him back to the counsel. Then we’ll see if they send me another one like that next time.”
Her hands tightened in the front of his shirt, and the arm he’d wrapped around her held her just a little tighter in response, and she stayed in his arms until she fell asleep in his lap, right there on the floor, her ragged, childlike sobs only stopping when she slid away into unconsciousness.
#whump#vampire whump#vampire caretaker#fantasy whump#nonsexual nudity#temporary nonsexual nudity#hurt/comfort#comfort#fear#not fully fluff but starting to get there#finally the plot point i started all this for#well that's kind of untrue i did also start it for 'what if vampire whumper using claws instead of teeth'#but i also started it because 'ooh what if vampire caretaker' and then 'ooh what if vampire caretaker AFTER VAMPIRE WHUMPER'
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Strange children (inverted cryptid child au)
The winter air nips at Grave’s skin as she walks back home from her shop, through the woods she knew to be a shortcut. She had walked this trail many times, so the presence of thick snow that covered all the markings of the pathway didn’t bother her, the route clearly mapped inside her mind, well enough she could walk blind if need be. Therefore, her pace is leisurely as she walks, the cold not bothering her as it crunches below her feet, leaving behind pristine footprints. As she walks, a very small noise catches her attention, as it breaks through the almost silent air of the woods. It sounded slightly away from the trail, and seemed to be the faint sound of a snapping twig.
Grave pauses, looking under her own feet to see if she had somehow crushed a twig under them without seeing or noticing until just now. But upon inspection, she saw nothing, a small pit forming in her stomach as a wave of panic comes rushing in, a very normal reaction for Grave. Shortly following the snapping noise, another small noise rings out in the silent air, but it is not a twig. Most who heard it would say it sounded like a young animal, more specifically a form of baby bear.
Grave feels slightly happier at this revelation, having a love for baby bears in particular, finding them very cute and small creatures. But the sound comes again, this time sounding more like a baby bear in distress, the sound quiet and strangled sounding.
A sense of sadness washes over Grave, panic soon following as she wanders quickly towards the noise, going off of her mapped trail in search of the bear she assumed it was. It doesn’t take her long to find the source of the noise, though it definitely wasn’t a bear. As she gets closer, she can see two very small creatures, not much larger than cats, though one seemed to be larger than the other. They both had horns, though they seemed to be very small and rounded, almost covered by their brown speckled fur, which runs over their almost human anatomy, similar but not quite human enough, their feet, blackened eyes and animalistic ears making them look more animalistic, as well as their seeming lack of noses. Both of these creatures seem to be trapped in bear traps, the slightly larger one caught by one of its arms, while the smaller one seemed to have been caught on one of their legs, the spikes of the bear traps digging deep into the flesh, blood staining their slightly matted fur.
A massive wave of worry and panic over floods Grave as the creatures seem to notice her, both of them stiffening within their traps, where they had been previously moving to try and pull away from them, baring their teeth in a sort of attempt to be threatening, despite their small stature and desperate situation, their deer like ears laying flat against their skulls as they shake, the snow seeping into their fur and skin the longer they are forced to stay sitting on the frozen ground.
Grave pulls out a med kit she keeps stored in her bag, approaching the small creatures, who growl as she gets closer, trying to be threatening to deter this unknown creature. They yelp as she kneels down in front of them, teeth bared and ready to bite, if the creatures had the energy to sink their teeth into her, they surely would.
“Its okay, I’m only trying to help.” Grave speaks in a soft voice, though she was unsure of whether these creatures would understand her. They continue to growl as she grabs hold of the traps attached to them, quickly locating the release latches built into them, pulling the traps free from the creatures they had embedded themselves into. The creatures both let out a yelp that was almost a sort of scream, the smaller of the two unable to handle the pain, collapsing immediately as the larger one managed to let out a growl before its body seemingly gives in, falling limp to the ground.
A fresh, strong wave of worry flows over Grave as she gently picks up the small creatures to walk home. They whine as they are picked up, clearly in a lot of pain from the wounds, which had gouged out sections of their flesh. But in their current state, they had no chance of stopping Grave, even if they had been conscious enough to try.
Grave gently carries the creatures to her home, neither of them moving, the mixture of pain and blood loss keeping them unconscious as Grave brings them inside her house.
Once inside, after shutting the door behind them, Grave brings the two creatures into her unfurnished guest room, one of the only things inside it being the bed. She gently sets the creatures down, fetching her med kit, proceeding to carefully clean and wrap the wounds that had been sustained from the bear traps, making sure to be careful to make it as pain free as possible, being kind to these new creatures. They never stir as she takes care of their wounds, only starting to wake a good hour later, their eyes flickering open as they both sit up very quickly on the bed they had been laid down on, the sheets tucked in, panic instantly flooding through the small creatures.
Grave sits in the room as well; though she doesn’t notice the small creatures wake up, too busy drawing something for a science project she was working on, not looking in the direction of the creatures. Their ears flatten against their heads as they see her, their natural instincts telling them they were prey in this situation, making them stay silent as they look around the unknown space they were in, which only spikes their fear and panic. By consequence, the creatures don’t pay much attention to it, finding it too much as they observe. This leads to the smaller of the two slipping off of the edge of the bed, unaware of where it had ended, yelping as it hits the floor with a solid thud, Grave flinching at the sound, turning around.
“Oh cool, you’re awake.” Grave speaks in a soft voice to try and keep tensions low. But nevertheless, the smaller creature growls in a low tone, backing away slightly as the slightly larger one jumps off of the bed, baring its teeth at Grave in a snarl, standing in front of the other in a protective stance.
“Ow!” Grave exclaims, covering her ears in slight pain at the noise, the larger of the two creature noticing this shift in behaviour, deciding to take advantage of it to escape, both of them operating on basic instincts due to panic. Both creatures go down on all fours, the smaller limiting the use of their injured leg as they speed out of the room Grave was in, locating a loose window, using it to squeeze out of the house, jumping into the thick snow outside, running through it as fast as they currently could.
Graves immediate worry and panic only grows by the second as she hears the creatures leaving, in no condition to be in the harsh weather outside. Her brain hurts, she is so worried as she listens to the retreating footsteps, growing fainter as she runs to grab her bike and coat, immediately following after the faint footprints left by the running creatures.
She cant have cycled more than a couple of minutes before she is able to notice a very small dirt mound the footsteps lead to, able to see a very small cave dug out underneath it, only accessible to the human if she gets on her knees.
Grave carries the coat she had grabbed but not put on, intending it for the small creatures as she gets on her knees to see inside the cave, the worry she feels making her heart beat loudly in her chest. She could see the small creatures, which were huddled at the back of the cave, shivering as they pull at the bandages wrapped around their wound with their teeth, not understanding the necessity behind them.
Graves worry increases as she tries to get to the small creatures, attempting to be gentle and show them kindness. The larger of the two notices her, baring its teeth as it tries to back away, the smaller one following, letting out a defensive hiss in Grave’s direction.
“Its okay, I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise.” Grave speaks in a soft voice, trying to comfort them. But the larger one growls quietly, both creatures pushing themselves into against the wall, their ears laying flat as the smaller one continues to rip at the bandages around its leg.
Grave slowly reaches one of her hands out, the creatures flinching at first, the larger one getting in front of the smaller defensively, waiting to be struck. After what feels like an eternity, the larger turns to watch Grave suspiciously, sniffing the air around her hand, not wanting to get too close, despite her not striking them yet, not entirely trusting anything that was happening.
Grave smiles gently, not moving so she doesn’t scare the creature as it continues to sniff at her hand, moving forward after a minute in order to get a better scent. When it seems to have finished sniffing Grave, it shuffles back slowly, moving back to the smaller one, who was still biting at its bandages.
“Heck.” Grave slowly puts her hand back down, huffing. She knew the smaller creature needed to stop biting its bandages, but she didn’t know how she could possibly even get close enough to stop it without scaring or hurting them. The larger one watches Grave, growling a little as it sniffs at the air, trying to work out what Grave wanted as she thinks for a moment on what to say.
“I don’t wanna hurt you. I wanna… keep you safe.” Grave explains in a gentle voice, keeping the sentence simple in case they couldn’t understand. The larger creature looks at her, ears raising as it stares, flicking its eyes down to its smaller counterpart, who looks tired as it shakes, much worse for wear than the larger one. It approaches the smaller one, a harsh growl coming out of its mouth, shocking the smaller one, making it leave its bandages alone.
“Thank you. Can you um… can you come here please?” Grave smiles, speaking in a gentle manner to try and calm the small creatures further. The larger one grabs the smaller, pulling them both forward towards Grave, though the smaller one whimpers slightly as its injured leg keeps hitting the ground as it moves.
“Its okay, I promise. I’ll take you home and help you the best I can.” Grave reassures them in her soft voice, feeling concerned for them, but happy they were starting to approach her. The larger of the two creatures approaches with the smaller wearily, still hiding the smaller behind it ever so slightly, who is trying to stay off of its bad leg.
Grave backs up out of the cave, uncovering the exit as she continues to worry about the small creatures, which follow her out. The larger one takes the lead, the smaller following it out in a slower manner as they both keep their eyes on Grave, not fully trusting her or her intentions.
“I can put you in the basket so you don’t have to walk. Its big so… yeah!” Grave offers, trying to comfort the things in front of her, watching as the small one flattens its ears, though the larger one growls at it, making the smaller flinch. The larger one approaches Grave more, getting closer as it looks apprehensive about the situation.
Grave wanders over to her bike as the creatures follow her, the larger right behind her, though it’s moving slower than her as the smaller drags themselves along behind them both. The larger tilts its head in confusion as it sees the bike, unsure of what it was.
“It’s a bike. I can um… go faster on a bike than I would just walking.” Grave explains, smiling gently as the creature’s ears flick, the smaller one getting closer, being grabbed by the larger as it senses the low body temperature. It pulls the smaller closer to it, both of them moving towards Grave and the bike, watching her.
“I um… I have to pick you up to put you in.” Grave explains carefully, bending down to the creatures level. “I-Is that okay?” She asks in a gentle voice, the smaller of the two cowering slightly as the other holds onto them, a softer, bark like noise coming from its mouth in response to Grave.
“Thank you.” Grave smiles gently as she wraps both creatures up in her coat, carefully lifting them up and setting them in the basket of her bike. The smaller one stays quiet, unsure of what to do as the larger one curls around them to try and keep them warm.
Grave gets on her bike, riding it as carefully as she could home, the creatures staying silent as they struggle to work out what was happening to them, all of this unfamiliar and new and frightening to them. Grave gives them a gentle bike ride for the few minutes it takes to get to her house, neither creature moving when they stop, feeling unsure.
Grave picks up the creatures once again, being gentle with them as she carefully brings them inside the warm house. The smaller one whimpers quietly, being shushed with a grumble form the larger as its ears lay a little flatter once they enter the house.
“I um… oh yeah!” Grave gently puts the two creatures onto her couch. “Stay here please.” She says as she goes to get the med kit, being quick about it as the creatures sit silently on the couch, confused by the new texture, and the softness of it. The smaller looks at its leg, noticing the blood seeping through the bandages as the larger one sniffs at it, concerned. Grave grabs the med kit, practically running back to the couch.
“No ouchies time.” She says, as she gets closer, the smaller creature flinching, causing the larger to look uncomfortable, eyeing Grave up, trying to figure out what she wanted to do.
“I’m gonna… fix your wounds. So you wont be in pain anymore!” Grave explains, the larger creature observing her face for a moment before quietly huffing, allowing her to get closer to them.
“Thank you!” Grave smiles, gently cleaning and rewrapping the leg wound of the smaller creature, the larger keeping an eyes on her as it moves on the couch, exploring the area slightly. The smaller one looks nervous as she helps it, avoiding eye contact with Grave in favour of looking down. Grave finishes as quick as she can, closing the med kit.
“I’m done! So um…” Grave trails off, thinking as the smaller creature moves its leg slightly, observing the bandages wrapped around it as the larger one comes back over to them, looking to make sure they were okay.
“Are you hungry? I have like… stuff here.” Grave questions in a soft voice, the larger of the two tilting its head at the questions, frowning slightly in confusion as the smaller bites its fingers gently, seemingly unsure of what to do and nervous.
“There is s o u p.” Grave says as she raises her hands, rolling herself into the kitchen in an absurd manner, standing up to make the soup. The larger creature jumps off of the sofa, landing flawlessly and dragging the other down, though they are slower to prevent hurting its leg. Both creatures sit on the floor, watching Grave in confusion.
Grave makes some simple soup for the two creatures, heating it up for them as they watch her from the floor, confused as to what she was doing, or why.
“Soup time, babey!” Grave exclaims happily as the soup starts heating, soon to be ready for the creatures to eat safely. They watch her from the floor; the smaller looking nervy while the larger looks apprehensive about the situation.
Grave taps her feet on the floor, impatiently waiting for the soup to heat, feeling as if it was taking forever as the smaller creature watches her, looking at her feet as they tap. It tilts its head slightly as it listens to and watches Grave’s feet.
“Soup!! Time!!!” Grave exclaims as the soup finishes, pouring it swiftly into bowls for the creatures. The smaller one backs up as Grave moves around, unsure, the larger following them to keep the smaller calm.
“Be careful please, it’s hot.” Grave warns as she puts the soup down on the table, the creatures coming forward slightly. The larger tilts its head, able to feel the heat coming off of the soup, confusing it as it sniffs the soups scent, curious about what it was and why it was hot.
“It tastes nice. Well, I think so.” Grave shrugs, smiling as the creatures continue to get closer, the small one being the first to dip its head, dunking its tongue into the soup, ears flicking as it swallows. The taste was nothing like what it had ever consumed before, but the smaller found itself not disliking it, which only served to further intrigue them.
Grave sits down next to them happily as the larger begins to eat the soup too, using its tongue to lap it up. As both creatures keep going, they gain speed, realising the soup was safe to eat, and that it even tasted good too. The deep hunger in their stomachs from lack of food was slowly beginning to be satiated as they lap up the soup.
Grave puts her head down on the table as the creatures eat their food quickly, dipping their entire heads into the bowls to get at the soup. Grave feels tired as the smaller one lifts its head after finishing its food, looking at Grave curiously, becoming less afraid of her, and more intrigued by what she was doing.
“I’m guessing you were pretty hungry. Two hungy bois.” Grave giggles slightly as the larger creature gives her a very small nod as both creatures start to feel more comfortable. The larger moves to the smaller, licking the fur on its face to clean off some of the residual soup they had both gotten in their fur, the smaller squirming slightly as it is cleaned.
“You probably need a bath.” Grave mutters, lifting her head off of the table as the smaller looks at her, eyes questioning her. But it stops, growling when the larger grabs its head, pulling it down to get at the sticky fur easier with its textured tongue.
“Lil fighty bois.” Grave chuckles as the larger creature grumbles to the smaller, licking its head in an attempt to clean it, the smaller looking irritated by the action. The larger pauses as Grave speaks, letting out a soft bark as the smaller shakes its still sticky head, trying to get the feeling off of its head. Grave gasps gently at the bark, feeling happy.
“Cool, it bath time babey.” Grave says, standing off of the floor and walking to go and run the bath for the small creatures, who follow her in curiosity, though they stop at the stairs, unsure of what they are. They look at them, confused, sniffing at them to try and figure out what they were and how they would move on them.
Grave runs the creatures a bubble bath, making sure to use soap for sensitive skin, making the water warm to further warm up the small creatures downstairs. It doesn’t take long for the warm water to fill the tub, Grave shutting off the water, going downstairs to the creatures by the stairs.
“Come on, its bath time.” She explains carefully, the larger tilting its head as it gets down on all fours. Tentatively, it places its hand on the stairs, jumping up one stair carefully. The smaller does the same, being more careful as they move up one step, not wanting to use its injured leg as it figures out the stairs.
“…Would you like me to pick you up?” Grave asks the smaller, noticing the slowness of its movements as it tries to scale the stairs. The smaller looks up at Grave, ears flicking back as it thinks, instinctively feeling a little more nervous. But it moves closer to Grave, one of its hands reaching out to gently grab onto Grave as a sign that it was allowing her to do this.
“Thank you.” Grave smiles as she gently picks up the smaller, carrying them safely in her arms up to the bathroom. The smaller creature clings slightly to Grave, unsure as they enter the bathroom, the larger following behind closely. As they enter the bathroom, the larger looks at the bath curiously.
“You can take your time. Its warm and… there’s toys too!” Grave smiles at the creatures as the larger carefully dips a hand in, ears flicking up at the warmth, leading it to climb into the bath, splashing slightly. The splashing intrigues the smaller, who now watches the water more intently.
“Want me to put you in?” Grave questions, looking at the smaller with a smile. The smaller makes a soft snorting sound in response; sounding like a pig as it squirms in Grave’s arms slightly, giving Grave conformation that it indeed wanted to go in the water.
“Guess I’ll take that as a yes!” Grave exclaims as she gently lifts the small creature to be near the water so it could touch and make sure it wanted to go in. the creature snorts again as it taps its feet into the water, creating small splashes, sniffing at the bubbles in interest.
Grave feels very happy as she giggles, gently placing the smaller creature into the bath, earning a squeal of joy from the small creature as it enters the water, the larger splashing it gently, both of them chattering their teeth like a dog might. The smaller ducks its head quickly underwater, staying underneath the surface for a while.
“You okay?” Grave questions, small amounts of worry creeping into her happiness. No sooner than she speaks, the small creature emerges from the water, spitting some out as it shakes the fur on its head, ears flapping around as it does. It makes another snorting sounds, looking up at Grave.
“Good!” Grave smiles, her worry dissipated as her feet tap on the floor, the larger snorting as well, its hands rising to rub at the fur on its face, attempting to clean the dirt ridden fur.
“Would you like help?” Grave asks as she sits down on the floor, looking at the creatures as the larger pauses, thinking for a moment as it looks to the smaller, letting out another snort in a form of acceptance.
“Good!” Grave says happily, scooting forward to reach the small creatures, gently scrubbing at their fur with her hands and fingers, watching the dirt come out into the bath water. She gently massages their fur to get them clean, spreading soap carefully over them to further draw out all the gunk they had gotten stuck in their fur after who knows how long outside. She watches as the creatures allow her to clean them gently, though the looks on their faces told Grave they weren’t used to this feeling. But as she keeps going, they start to relax, their eyes closing as their heads lean back slightly.
Grave giggles a little as she cleans them, happy that the creatures were starting to feel happy and safe in her presence, slowly but surely. The smaller sounds out a small chirp like noise, leaning into Grave’s hand as the larger does the same, nudging into Grave gently.
Grave’s feet tap on the floor with happiness as the smaller creature rubs its face against Grave’s hand, cooing gently as it does so. The larger shakes, flicking water off of it like a dog would.
“Really?” Grave flinches at the water, some splashing on her unexpectedly, making her smile as she speaks, the larger creature snorting in response as it scratches at its ears. The smaller simultaneously wipes at its face, the bubbles in the bath making it sneeze.
Grave bites down on her tongue, trying not to laugh as she looks at the ground, feeling way too happy as the smaller creature makes an annoyed sounding whine. Both of them move, leaning on the edge of the bath, trying to get out.
“Oof, okay, hold on.” Grave turns to grab the heated towels in the bathroom, the creatures climbing higher onto the side of the bath, looking like curious and excited children as they watch her.
“Here you go, wet bois.” Grave wraps the creatures in the warmed towels, the warmth and scent surrounding them, making them both freeze for a second as they process what is happening. The smaller burrows further in to the towel for more warmth while the larger happily flicks it ears around, chirping at Grave.
Grave’s feet tap more as she rubs the towels over the creatures to dry them off. The smaller one squeaks as it comes forward in the towel again, its ears flicking up, as it looks at Grave’s feet, beginning to mimic the tapping out of confusion and curiosity, Grave gasping quietly in response.
“I love you so much, oh my-” Grave’s mind screams pleasantly as the smaller creature stops tapping, tilting its head, its ears standing straight up as the larger stops as well, both of them watching Grave. Without warning, the smaller one coos softly, reaching for Grave from the bath, doing a form of grabby hands.
Grave gently picks up the two creatures, holding them carefully as the smaller one lets out a happy sounding noise, resting its head gently on Grave as the larger watches them, ears sticking straight up in a happy and open gesture.
Grave tries not to cry as she stands up with the creatures in her arms, walking to get a brush to untangle their fur with. The smaller one sees the brush, but it starts to look a bit more nervous at the sight of the prickly object, the larger one making a very small growling noise in response.
“Don’t worry, its fine.” Grave rubs the brush on her skin to show that it didn’t hurt. “See?” She questions gently, the larger creature snorting as it leans forward, sniffing the brush. It sneezes lightly as it moves back, allowing the brush to come closer to them.
Grave gently starts to run the brush through the creatures fur, wanting to be as kind to them as possible. Both creatures very quickly realise this kind of contact feels nice, both of them starting to lean into both the brush and Grave, a small purring noise coming from them both.
Grave keeps herself from crying out of joy as she gently runs the brush over them, the creatures allowing her calmly in their realisation that it felt nice. A few minutes of brushing and the fur is smoother and easier to run the brush through, the tangles and mattes gone as the creatures shake themselves to make the fur lie more comfortably, a funny noise escaping them as they do.
“Lil noise bois.” Grave comments sweetly as she puts the brush away, moving from the bathroom to the warm bedroom, sitting down on the bed as she holds the two creatures. As she sits down, the smaller of the two makes a noise a human baby might make, clinging gently onto Grave, finding her a warm and comfortable presence.
Grave squeaks quietly as she holds them, feeling too happy as the smaller responds with a squeak of their own, the larger one flicking its ears, sticking out a finger to poke the smaller one, Grave looking down at them.
“How old are you guys? Like, I know you’re probably really young or something…” She questions, the larger one seemingly thinking over the answer, counting on its fingers before holding up three fingers to show Grave the age of the creatures she was holding close to her.
“Oh, oh you’re so small!” Grave exclaims, a slight wave of worry passing over her, though it vanishes as fast as it came on. “I’m glad I found you.” She says sweetly as the creatures both look at her, their heads tilted as their ears stick up. The smaller one makes a quiet noise, gently pawing at Grave’s face.
“Aw, yes paws. I love those on my face.” Grave giggles as the creature makes another small noise, continuing to pat Grave’s face with its hands gently, being careful not to hurt her.
Grave softly pets both of the creatures, her hands gentle and warm, making the smaller one purr softly. But Grave can hear something else besides the purring, too faint and small to make out at first.
“Hmm?” Grave questions, confused as the smaller creature drops its head slightly, ears shaking.
“g – g l a d y – y – y o u f o u n d .” It says in a soft and sweet sounding voice, quiet and hushed as it comes out of its mouth. Grave smiles the biggest smile she was capable off, her joy overflowing as the creatures look at her for a moment before mimicking the smile, revealing their teeth to Grave, some of them missing.
Grave gives out a small squeak, tears welling up in her eyes, which the creature notices, the larger one patting her face now as they tilt their heads.
“w – w r o n g ?” The larger one questions in an equally small and sweet voice, seeing the tears welling in Grave’s eyes as a bad sign for what they had done.
“Happy!!!” Grave explains as her feet tap on the floor, the larger creature smiling again as they both cuddle up to Grave for her warmth, both of them starting to see her as a safe place for them to be.
Grave gently squishes the creatures as happy tears roll down her face, her brain screaming out of happiness. As she squishes the creatures, she can feel them relaxing instantly, leaning into Grave gently as everything that happened to them over the day sets in, making them sleepy and tired.
“I love you.” Grave says in a soft voice as she closes her eyes, the creatures relaxing more at the words, gently clinging onto Grave as they softly whine.
“So somft.” Grave comments quietly as she herself starts to feel sleepy. The smaller creature seems to pick up on this, soft noises coming from it as the creatures warm up more on Grave as they get sleepier.
Graves heart feels happy as her sleepiness grows, her mind full of happy thoughts as the smaller stirs slightly, shifting to push Grave gently down on the bed, curling up on her when its done, breathing evenly as it lies on Grave.
Grave lays down on the bed happily, feeling like she would soon fall asleep as she looks at the creatures who were laying on her, both of them breathing deeply, their ears flapping around as they are on the edge of sleep.
“Night, sleeby bois.” Grave smiles as she falls asleep, the creatures following suit, letting out soft chirps as they too slip into sleep, feeling safe and warm and protected on top of Grave, a deep bond beginning to form between the human and the creatures.
#writing with friends#writing#my writing#original writing#not my oc#others ocs#original characters#original story#cryptid au#inverted cryptid au#alternate universe#tw blood#tw injury#sleepisafuckinglie#House of Hell
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Can you please do a Caius imagine?!?! In which Caius finds his mate in a near death condition and changes her, slowly and eventually the deeply fall in love with each other and they doing everything together like feeding, going on missions and Caius being overprotective and romantic towards her?!??
Hi there! This could easily be a real fanfic, so I’m going to cut it off. Let me know if you need a part 2 ;)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After leaving theCullen’s and their weird hybrid baby, the Volturi made their way back acrosscontinental America to a small airport outside of Pittsburgh, where they lefttheir private jet.
The worst parts to getthrough were the farming areas. The Volturi would move at night, trying to stayon backroads to avoid leaving footprints in the snow. One night, in the middleof nowhere, they smelled blood.
“Dibs,” Felix said.Demetri smacked him and Felix flew backwards.
“No,” Caius said. Itfelt like his heart twitched in his chest. “Let me see.”
They continued on,reaching the scent after a minute. It was a human girl, terribly mangled,laying in a ditch. Her legs were broken, her bike a metal pretzel a few feetaway, also thrown into the ditch. Someone had obviously hit her, thought shewas dead, and rolled her body into the ditch. The snow was soaked with herblood, and yet Caius could hear the faintest of heartbeats.
“Caius,”
Caius’s head turned toMarcus. Marcus rarely spoke, and he looked more in pain than usual. “Hurry,” hesaid, “she is yours.”
The guard stood around,a silent semi-circle, while Caius stared at the girl. Her eyes were half-openbut unseeing. Caius pulled off one of her gloves and bit her wrist. Herheartbeat slowed to a stop.
“Master, press on herheart. Her body is too weak,” Felix said.
“Bite her neck. Youneed more venom,” Chelsea added.
“Shut up,” Caiushissed. He yanked her scarf away, biting into her neck. One hand moved to utoff circulation to her left leg, where she was losing the most blood. His otherhand moved over her heart, and he pressed gently, and retracted.
“Faster Caius.” Aromurmured.
At first it felt futile.Sure, Caius could feel the mating pull, but he wasn’t attached yet. But themore he had to work, the more he feared she was too far gone. But then her heartbegan to beat on its own, and after a few minutes, her eyelids fluttered.
“When she is morestable, we can have Alec put her out for the change,” Aro suggested. Alecstraightened, excited to use his ability and please the masters.
“We need to push onand find shelter. The humans will be more active soon.” Caius argued. He pickedup the girl.
~~~~~~~~
You had been bikinghome after work. You had to work closing, and the bar was unusually disgusting,so cleaning up took forever. You hopped on your bike to get home, riding in themiddle of the country roads, where the snow had been push down into a slick,flat ice. You had your headphones on, head on a swivel, enjoying how bright thestars were at night.
The car took youcompletely by surprise. They didn’t have their lights on. You didn’t evenreally know what happened, only that everything hurt, and it felt like you weredeep under water. You weren’t sure if your legs were still all attached: theyhurt like hell/
“Jim, you killed her!”
“Shut the fuck up andhelp me move the body.”
“Oh my god,”
~~~~~~~~~
When you came toagain, someone was lifting you. Your legs felt like someone had broken them witha sledgehammer, and then someone set you on fire.
Your eyes flutteredopen. Too dark. You let out a quiet noise, all you could muster. It felt likeyou were trapped inside the pain, but slowly you became stronger, until youcould let out a proper scream.
“Alec,”
And then everythingwas blank and painless.
~~~~~~~~~~~
You woke up in a darkplace. There was lamps, oil lamps, and the walls were made out of stone. Therewere cells, everything looked old. It was damp, smelling like musk, like a basement,there were men standing in front of you, you backed up and threw yourselfbackwards into a wall.
“Caius, speak to her.She’s overwhelmed.” One of the men said. He had long black hair. They were allwearing robes. You remembered getting hit by the car.
“Is this purgatory?”You whispered. It sure as hell wasn’t heaven.
“You’re not dead,”said the blonde man. He looked younger than the other two, perhaps earlytwenties, like you. You glanced down at your legs, shocked to find that youwere not wearing jeans and sneakers, your work uniform, but a dress whichstopped at your knees. Your legs were bare, pale and unbroken. You looked atyour hands, pale and unmarked, not even a bruise from the collision.
“What the fuck,” youwhispered to yourself. You opened your mouth to ask another question, but were interruptedby a scream.
“Oh good, Chelsea isback with the snack.”
A beautiful femaleappeared, dragging with her a man. The female looked at you and then launchedthe man at you like a frisbee. You caught him, your mouth hitting his neck sohard it snapped. Instinctively you bit and drank. Your throat was on fire, likethe worst kind of spice, and the blood soothed the burn momentarily, onlymomentarily. The men watched you as you drank the human man dry, his cries longsilenced by your rough handling.
You dropped his body,wiped your mouth, and straightened. Slowly, the horror crept in, along with theburning in your throat.
“What did you do tome? What did I do?”
You tried to back up,but there was no where to go.
“Another, Chelsea.” Theblond man said. He turned to the other two. “Leave me with her, to explain.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
You were not happy tolearn what you were, who Caius was, and about the Volturi. You were disgustedwith yourself, disgusted that everyone around you had killed thousands andthousands of people.
You stayed in the lowestbasement, refusing to come explore the castle, afraid you would catch the scentof a human and kill them. Caius would stay with you through most of the day. Hebrought books and clothes for you, even setting up a makeshift bedroom. You talkedto him a little, but with each day it became less and less as the thirst grewstronger. Eventually, you wrapped your arms around yourself, focused on notrunning out of the basement to satiate your thirst.
Caius watched overyou, but it was painful for him. Finally he broke, and ordered Felix andDemetri to go into the country side and find you some animals to eat.
Somehow they broughtyou a live deer, releasing the stressed creature into the basement. You didn’tmove until Caius ripped its neck open. You uncurled in the blink of an eye andlaunched yourself on the creature, practically shoving your face inside of itin order to drink. You drank the creature dry before leaning back and lookingat Caius, your mouth red.
“You didn’t say Icould eat animals,” you said, wiping your mouth on your sleeve.
“If it is what youwill eat, I will provide it,” he promised. “But it won’t be the same.”
“I don’t want to hurtpeople,” you argued. He was quiet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After a couple moremonths and many more forest creatures, you followed Caius up into the castle.Everything was beautiful and intricate and exciting, especially after months inthe basement. You weren’t sure how to admit it to yourself, but your feelingsfor Caius were growing. After trials, he would come to find you, venting abouthow reckless and stupid some of the other vampires were. You would closewhatever book you were reading and listen. Once, in the middle of a rant, you interrupted.
“Can I braid yourhair?”
“What?” he stuttered.
“Can I braid yourhair? Whenever my friends would complain to me at home, I would braid theirhair. It would calm them down, and you always seem angry. Plus your hair lookedvery soft.”
“I don’t think it willcalm me down,” Caius said, but he moved to sit in front of you. You positionedhim and began a French braid. You were right on both accounts: his voicesoftened, and his hair was very soft.
~~~~~~~~~~~
You heard other peopletalking about how you were Caius’s mate before he brought it up to you. It wasn’tsurprising. Whenever he would return from a trip or trial, he would find youand tell you everything. You would take off his cape and toss it aside, and itfelt like he was almost just a normal man. He played with your hands while hetalked, and you played with his rings, or his hair. He often would put hisrings on you, and one day he came home with a ring for you.
“It’s so you don’thave to steal mine,” he said. It was thick and heavy platinum, an intricatedesign.
“Thank you,” you said.And you wore it forever.
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BODY AND SOUL Part 21 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)
BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST
Author’s Note: Moved several things to Part 22 to make this chapter more concise (table fucking included, but you get fucking in the beginning, so don’t complain!). The album they’re listening to after Thai food is obviously Jefferson Airplane’s absolutely iconic SURREALISTIC PILLOW; the songs are two of my favorites, which indeed play adjacent to each other on the record: TODAY (one of the most beautiful love songs of all time) and COMIN’ BACK TO ME. Please note how careful Duncan is about waking Kenzie up before they fuck; autonomy, people, consent is hot! Their Exalted Selves (which is what I’m gonna refer to their angelic divine other selves as now) are based very vaguely on the Princess Serenity and Prince Endymion versions of Usagi and Mamoru in Sailor Moon, which I’ve loved since I was a child, but they’re far more ethereal and obtuse--it would be impossible for a human artist to draw Kenzie and Duncan’s Exalted Selves, for instance, as their beauty is too incredible and intense for human eyes. Kenzie’s makeup look for the photoshoot is based on Billie’s look here. A reminder that this is her red dress. The Cartier LOVE bracelets Duncan orders are here (for him) and here (for her, with diamonds). Duncan’s Givenchy star shirt. Duncan’s watch. This is his silver Cartier he’s wearing in Part 1. Here’s ANNIE’S SONG (another absolutely iconic love song I’ve loved forever). I found multiple meanings for the name Mackenzie, but in Gaelic it apparently means “comely”, which I used the synonym “lovely” in place of. The Rose Garden at the Botanical Gardens is real, but there’s no gate akin to the one I created, and I added a lot more roses than I think there usually are (there is a fountain)--MY STORY, MY STUFF. Annette’s dress. I’m seeing Fleetwood Mac tomorrow (it’s been two years since the last time I saw Stevie and I’ve missed her more than I can describe), I work on Saturday mornings, and it’s one of my best friends’ birthday party on Saturday evening, so Part 22 is going to take a bit; it’s also going to be the chapter where my!Duncan finds out from Claire Underwood that he was adopted, though the way I navigate that scene is going to be slightly different than the way Beau Willimon’s Season 6 did it; a reminder that my fic is a House of Cards AU in addition to being a Millory AU, and I’m throwing out canon HoC stuff that doesn’t fit into my narrative (such as @montenegro-style noticing I threw out Duncan’s super-Modernist apartment from the show and replaced it with a Romantic one), so don’t expect things to unfold the same way--I said this before too, but Duncan’s definitely not going to jail in my story, so forget about that. I may be borrowing characters and some vague plot elements from Ryan and Beau, but this story is mine. Love to the Millorys, as ever, and especially my Duckenzies.
Duncan stared up at the ceiling far above them, his fingers in Kenzie’s hair, his own hair tossed against the black pillow as music pumped quietly from the hidden stereo in the bedroom wall. To be living for you, is all that I want to do, to be loving you, it’ll all be there when my dreams come true...Kenzie was tucked under his arm, her head against his shoulder, the softness of her breasts and stomach pressing into his side, her body naked now--they’d ordered a mountain of Thai food, and she’d kept the tulle lingerie on while they ate, a linen spread on the floor in front of the picture window in the penthouse living room as the night fell, Dike, Nike and Athena gazing down on them on either side, Kenzie facing the Bouguereau prints, her little legs stretched out in the silky sheer stockings, bowl in her lap. The picture of her eating so hungrily in the delicate attire would forever be seared on his brain from this day on--my Kenzie, her essence, her goodness, her sweetness, her staggering beauty, not just her body, but her soul. Her wide-eyed gaze skirted up now and then to admire the prints (Duncan noticed she looked at Evening Mood the most), then fell back into his to give him coy looks, languidly licking curry from her spoon.
“I think they all look like you,” he’d murmured to her, the sincerity in his heart making him dizzy. “I can only see your face in them now, you in the evening, you at night, you waking up in the morning…” He reached for a spring roll but forgot about it halfway to his mouth as Kenzie had come up on her knees, her breasts pressing together in the elegant criss-crossing design of the black bra, tossing her golden hair over her shoulder in the fading light, her (sweet budding leaves and chocolate and the saffron light of autumn mornings) eyes laying him bare. Her beauty in this moment struck him dumb--Kenzie set her bowl down and crawled over to him on the linen, languid, knowing. Duncan had put on a pair of black gym shorts and a fitted black tee shirt to retrieve their takeout from downstairs a few minutes before, and as she reached him Kenzie tugged the hem of the shirt up, little hand soothing over his bare skin underneath.
“Call me your moonlight again,” she whispered against him, her eyes trembling open and closed, her little pink lips shining with the residue of spice and saliva. Her hair brushed against his neck and cheek, the sweet smell of rose and vetiver and jasmine, and Duncan had set the spring roll down uneaten, brushing his hand against the napkin in front of him, then bringing it up to press the cascade of her hair into his nose. She is my favorite smell. I’m at peace inside the scent of her.
“Moonlight. My moon princess. My moonbeam.” He kissed her hair--let his lips slip down its waves, intoxicated. “You know the full moon is on the night of the Gala, baby? A full moon just for you. It’ll shine down on you and everyone will be struck with longing for you. But you’re my baby, aren’t you? You’re my moonlight. They’ll pine for you because you’re mine.” He blushed at his need, his desire to have her all to himself--but as he said it, Duncan knew it was true. We belong to each other.
“Yes, Dunny, I’m your moonlight, I’m yours, my love. I belong to you.” Kenzie climbed into his lap, sliding against him in the achingly soft tulle, her ass settling down on his calves crossed together, and she was so small and felt so delicate and she smelled so lovely, he could feel himself growing hard again--her little arms came around his neck and he lifted her up into his mouth to kiss her, his mind awash in a cloud of gold. He was struck with a vision of her as Artemis, naked and white in the reflection of the moon, bathing in a midnight pool, her bow and arrow made of the gossamer strands of stars sitting on the bank of the water, singing moon hymns in her sweet voice to the owls and the deer and the foxes flitting through the undergrowth. Too beautiful for any ordinary man’s eyes. How am I so blessed. Their kisses extended for a long while--Kenzie went to lift away but Duncan needily brought her back against him and she let him, she fell into him again, she arched into him and he could feel the way she was giving herself to him, coaxing him back into arousal to do what she asked him for later tonight--his nerves were alight at the prospect of bringing her body out of achingly lovely sleep with insistence, enticing her under his continuous touch to give herself over to him in the dark with only the moon to see their desirous tangle.
Now they lay in bed (our bed, the bed of our adoration, our love, my favorite place now that she lays beside me in it), sleepy and full and naked and ready for bed, the duvet pushed down to their feet, speech seeming a very dull and faraway impulse. I can hear you this way, can feel you better this way, he thought into her, and she nodded against his skin, her cheek against his nipple as the music drifted around them. Please, please, listen to me, it’s taken so long to come true, it’s all for you, all for you...Duncan gazed down at her--her eyes had fallen closed and she had begun to breathe slow against him, her leg crooked over his thigh, her little mouth open just a touch. He could see there were still lingering red marks at her neck from his ardency, a tattoo that told the story of their nights. He thought of how she’d looked that morning, still stuck inside her sleep, stuck in her nightmare--her face had been creased with fear, and it had clenched an icy hand around his heart, rattling a panic into his lungs--he’d run to the bed and gripped her and shook her, his desperation strange and immediate. Wake her up, his mind had urged. Don’t let her see it, don’t let her suffer it. What it was still didn’t seem clear, but Duncan remembered what she’d said upon waking, that in her dream there had been a man with his face, a man who was like a black hole in the void.
It was like he had eaten you.
Duncan shivered against her and slid his arm out from underneath her head--Kenzie stirred, her head turning, her body shifting with aching loveliness--Duncan’s heart and the heat in the pit of him clenched as he watched the incline of her ribs shift, the refracted light on her breasts, heard the a tiny sigh fall from her mouth--but her eyes remained closed. He carefully moved from the bed and pulled the switch on the nightstand, his eyes still lingering on her (exalted), and the room plunged into blue-and-white darkness, Jefferson Airplane still quietly drifting into the room: you came to stay and live my way, scatter my love like leaves in the wind, you always say you won't go away, but I know what it always has been, it always has been...Duncan moved through the living room, stepping to the reading lamps to switch them off, bathing himself in darkness, his eyes falling over the expanse of the city through the picture window that encompassed the entire west end of the room. The night was very clear and the sun was gone--the only indication it had been there was a line of mauve and dahlia color lingering at the horizon before the sky bled into darkness pinpricked with stars, hazy in the reflection of the city.
Strolling the hills overlooking the shore, I realized I've been there before...the shadow in the mist could have been anyone...I saw you…
What do the dreams mean? At first Duncan had been sure they’d been brought on by the mad mix of emotion inside both of them lately--just dopamine, seratonin, oxytocin and endorphins, just our brains in a mad rush of ecstatic happiness, and the residue is our minds going haywire at night. He moved on to his study, the carefully controlled temperature of the penthouse cool on his bare skin, an oasis in the hot June night. This one seems to have been the clearest for her, and the most frightening. Is it fear that I’ll betray her that would make her dream of an evil version of me? His heart ached at that. I never will, baby. I never fucking will. I’d die first.
I saw you, I saw you, comin' back to me
Duncan glanced at the huge expanse of The Youth of Bacchus as he moved towards his turntable, the song’s final longing guitar and melancholy hum bleeding out into silence. The woman in the center, her arms thrown back ecstatically, her head tilted towards the consort at her feet, collapsed in revelry--Duncan had studied her many long nights, studied her abandon and her achingly white, almost translucent beauty, but now, like the prints in the room beside this one, he could see only Kenzie in her form--Kenzie dancing in the living room, singing in drunken joy (I’ll never live to match the beauty again), Kenzie running away from him into the ocean waves, Kenzie’s glittering eyes on him as he tied her to the chain. The whole of the world turned around her; she was the sun, and also the moon, and also every other star, and everything that encompassed the universe was because of and according to her--for me, that’s the end of it.
Duncan pressed the button at the side of the record player and the needle lifted away, settling back into its resting place. He turned to look at the painting again--the painting Annette had gotten him as a moving gift, and over time the painting that had begun to feel as though it were an irrevocable part of him, an extension of him, a friend to him as he stared at it long on lonely nights. He thought of the mesmerized way Kenzie stared at it, as she had since that first night when he pressed his mouth to her clit as she hovered on the edge of his desk, her head thrown back; as if she sees me in it, when now I see her in it. It’s almost too much to look at it for too long now; because it reminds me of the one I love most in all the world and she is blinding in her loveliness. It was always beautiful. But now it’s exalted to me because she loves it, and anything she loves is beloved to me.
He thought again of Ariadne, the painting he knew would be for her now, too; the auction was in a few weeks’ time, just before the beginning of July when their birthdays would be coming, and he smiled, his hand coming up to his jaw, his thumb pressing against his bottom lip, though he didn’t realize it, eager to have it hanging on the wall beside their bed, eager to see her face when she saw it and knew it was for her. When she died Dionysus took a crown he had given her and placed it among the stars. The idea of her dying someday was one he couldn’t begin to fathom; the despair of it was beyond words in its agony. But Duncan felt a drifting calm fall over him after the stab of pain--we found each other in this life, didn’t we. We finally found each other. I think we would find each other again. I think we’ll always find each other. I really fucking do. I think that’s what the Fates wrote for us. That we’re meant to be together--really, truly fated to be together. Like two stars in a constellation that endures until time no longer has any meaning. And there can’t be one of us without the other--not for long.
Duncan switched off the Tiffany lamp--now the penthouse was truly in darkness but for the light that came from the night outside. O Fates, I wish you could tell me what the dreams mean. They don’t feel like they’re just dreams. I know I said that to Kenzie--but I said it because I wanted to believe it myself. Lately, everything seems to mean something. Everything seems to have a hidden clockwork of purpose behind it. When we met I think we kicked something into motion, something ground out of a long sleep into a great predetermination. Now everything is vibrating with destiny--our destiny. Our love. Whatever she and I are meant to do with our lives, we are meant to do it together. Whatever I’m meant to do, I can’t do it without her. And I wouldn’t want to. I ache for her every moment--she has pierced the deepest part of my soul.
He carefully moved back to the bedroom in the dark--his eyes glanced up at Pallas Athena as he passed her, and he couldn’t help but send a prayer out to her (gray-eyed maiden, in whose wise gaze all truths are laid bare--give us wisdom, my sweet lover and I, to give to those who need it most, to move the pathways toward the greatest good--I’ve wasted time, Athena, I know it, but I swear I won’t again, I swear I’ll cherish every moment with her); he’d had the goddess statues for over five years now (they’d come from Stapleton’s, Frederick had found them for Duncan carefully when he’d asked for Greek goddess motifs), but never had he so often had the impulse to pray to them--I never prayed to anyone before, he remembered, and now I’d pray to anyone if it meant she would always be safe and happy. He thought of the Fates again (Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos), spinning the threads of their two destinies together many ages ago--most deep and unfathomable love, a love for all of time, he thought, and did not question where the certainty had come from, only felt acutely that it was not misplaced.
Duncan saw that moonlight now fell on the bed as he re-entered--the moon was waxing strongly now, and his breath felt caught in his throat as he looked at Kenzie in the throes of sleep, turned towards the door, the duvet still pushed down around her feet, so her body was bare to him. The silvery wave of the low light fell over her cheek and the tawny-gold of her hair, making it seem almost white, giving it a sheen that seemed otherworldly. But she is, he thought, emotion clouding into his mind, stunning him with her again (and again and again) as he watched her sleeping form, her silvery nakedness, the dip of her waist and one arm crooked around her hip, hand dipping down in front of her sex, the other pressed against her mouth, sweetly--she was more profound to him than anything, more breathtaking than any art of any age. It’s like she is from another world--it’s like she was snatched from heaven and fell down into my arms, into my bed, fell down onto that balcony where I beheld her, trapped here on earth, for the first time. I felt that I knew she was more than what she might have seemed to an untrained eye. And I still feel that I know it. She has an effect on other people that they don’t seem to really recognize or understand. But I see it. And I think I understand. My Kenzie isn’t just lovely and kind; she has real power to heal, to alter the pain others feel and alleviate their suffering. Kenzie has a healing touch, one that can knit together and remedy a distressed soul. It’s almost like she really could bring something back from the dead. It’s like she could sew back together, using only her hands, her energy, something that had been ripped apart, reverse fucking time--it’s like she somehow willed me onto that balcony, so I could find her, so I could touch her and in that touch know her immediately as I always have, and know she was the half of me that had been lost, but no longer. Because she had willed us back together. She had willed us to find each other again, and so we did--she attached a golden string to me long ago when time began, whispered to me that it would help me find her if we got lost, if we got separated from each other--and I finally saw it glimmering between us, and followed it to where she was. Saint Mackenzie, goddess of lost things, goddess of binding, of rebirth, of transcendent healing, of perfect love. My moonlight, my sunlight, my starry sky, beloved.
He could feel himself growing hard again, thinking of her sliding onto his lap in the tulle lingerie, the demanding croon of her voice (call me your moonlight again, I want you to wake me up with kisses and fuck me in the dark with your lips pressed into my shadows, I want you to kiss my shadows, and touch them with aching hands), and Duncan knew it was the right time--that it was time to press his mouth into the soft space of her in the darkness. His eyes had begun to adjust to the dark now and he eased down onto the bed, its cool sheets shivering up his thighs, urging him toward her--Duncan reached down to where her arm crooked over her hip and slid his fingers up her torso to the sweet roundness of her breasts, achingly slow, willing himself into tenuous control, overwhelmed with the relief of touching her without any constraints, without his hands tied or the lingerie covering her or anything in the way of her, Kenzie, my solace, the home of my heart. He eased his body down next to hers, his hands still cosseting around her, fingers drifting back and forth on her nipples, and he felt a surge of blood into his cock as he felt them grow hard under his touch, though she didn’t stir yet (wake me up with kisses) and Duncan leaned his face to her across the pillow and pressed a soft, aching kiss into her forehead, her temple, each eyelid, shivering in sleep, the dip of each cheek, over her nose and the incline of her jaw, and then he pressed down, sliding against the coolness of the sheet again, to bury his face against her neck, his kisses becoming more insistent, more exacting of her--wake up my love, Duncan pressed into her mind, feeling her head lift as she stirred, slowly beginning to register him, wake up baby, and he felt strange for a moment, caught up in her unconscious mind, as if he was brushing up against another self, another Kenzie--then the feeling cleared, and he could feel her golden waves of energy. And he said again, into her: wake up my love, wake up baby love, wake up so I can fuck you, wake up so I can press my kisses into your shadows, wake up so we can be together.
Then--Duncan was stunned with the feeling that surged into him in that moment. It was almost painful, the brilliancy and power of her energy as he lingered inside her in that in-between place that wasn’t waking and wasn’t sleep for her, and he felt minute inside it, wildly small to behold her this way; fucking goddess. Oh fuck, Kenzie. You really are a goddess. You have all of this inside you and I am staggered by you. I can’t begin to fathom this. Is this where you go when you sleep? Back to the secret expanse of everything you keep hidden, this place of resplendent power that has colors I’ve never seen, colors I could never describe? Is this where you came from? And even more unbelievably, he heard her voice inside that in-between place, calling out to him, and her voice was full of so much joy it immediately made him want to sob against her, and she said yes baby, Duncan, exalted, beloved, this is where I came from, and where you came from, and you come here too in your dreams, but you never remember, but you will. Soon, you’ll start to remember. What we were before, what we are, and what we will be again. Soon we’ll both start to remember, for our destinies were written when the stars were just dreams themselves, and our destinies will live on when they’ve burned out.
Duncan’s mind felt like it was on fire with the feeling of her, the words she spoke that made no sense to him, and yet made every sense, a deeper sense, their hidden meaning touching against the shadowed hidden heart of him, and he lifted his mouth up to the space under her ear, one hand cradling up under the back of her head to pull her more firmly against him and the other sliding down the intoxicating softness of her rib cage and her belly to hover at her abdomen, hover above the mouth of her sex, waiting for her eyes to open to him, to give him the yes he longed for, and he felt the intensity of the in-between place begin to fade--felt reality seep back in, like milk stirred into dark coffee, and Kenzie was stirring more strongly against him, leaning into his mouth tasting at her skin, and a moan escaped from her that stirred the building heat in his groin and he spoke into her skin, his own words bleeding into a moan, a reply of need for her--”wake up baby, wake up all the way for me, wake up and tell me to touch you, tell me to fuck you, Kenzie, uhh--” and despite the darkness, he felt her eyes open, their golden depth unnerving him for a moment (how can they be glowing like that, like a ripe harvest moon), focusing on him as though he were the one pinprick of light in a long darkness, and then they seemed to fade back, fade to the forest-and-burnt-acorn he recognized--he had leaned back to look at her, his lips lifting away from her skin, and he gasped as her little hand came down, exacting, and slid from the dusting of hair at the top of his groin, closing around the length of his stiffening cock and dragging her achingly soft grip to the head of him.
“I’m here, baby,” she whispered, and he felt his need kindle up like someone had thrown gas onto a bonfire, felt his cock jump inside her grip, and then she said “touch me,” and he slid his fingers, middle first, down between the lips of her cunt and pressed, harshly, into her clit, so warm and so wet and sending a spasm of want through his body--Kenzie lifted up, almost involuntarily, and her moan was longer now, focusing on him, inside the sensation of his touch, beseeching him for more. “Yes, baby, fuck yes,” Kenzie moaned, “more, more,” and Duncan pressed the lips of her sex outward with his other fingers, his long middle finger still working down into her clit, strictly, then finally, he kissed her, open-mouthed, and her sweet little tongue laved out against his, her slender hand still gripping his cock with a strength that addled his senses. In the shadows, with only the moon to light their bed, Duncan felt he could feel the way she was sending little pinpricks her power, that terrible gold energy, too beautiful to behold in this world, into his body through her grip, as if she were sending it into his spirit, giving him strength, kindling his desire to a high place he had never imagined, residue from that in-between place, residue from another world where such things were commonplace, so much power was the natural order.
But Duncan knew what she wanted then, and he broke their aching kisses apart, moving his hand up from his attentions at her sex, pushing her little body down forcefully so she was on her back, pressing her legs wide apart and coming up between them on his knees, and Kenzie lifted her hips so she was poised against the head of his cock, her hair falling down in the moonlight, her hands coming up to his arms and then sliding down to his wrists to clutch him against her. Duncan gripped her carefully at the small of her back, his thumbs pressing across her hip bones (god I want to kiss them)--then he thrust into her with an ecstatic groan, marveling at how wet she was, how perfect it felt to be inside her in the dark this way. Kenzie shuddered into him, a little cry falling from her lips, and in the dark he could see her mouth lingering open, her eyes rolling back for him, “that’s it, baby,” he couldn’t stop himself, needed to speak his desire aloud to her, in the dark, where no one else belonged but the two of them in this moment, “give yourself to me, everything, the shadows too, I’ll kiss them, I love you--” and he felt her nails dig into the skin of his arms as he pounded into her, wondering at the intensity of his hardness, the lightness of her body against him--god baby, I don’t want to crush you and she said “fuck, keep going, do not fucking stop, god you feel so fucking good, fucking fuck me Duncan--”
Her little hand reached up to him, lifting from his arm and he leaned down to her, pressed down into her, easing her back down onto the bed and fucking her achingly close now, their stomachs pressing against each other, her hand coming under his jaw to pull his mouth into her, tasting him breathlessly as he drove his length into her again and again, and her scent was rose and vetiver and her sweet, heady sex, and her yielding mouth was almost too wonderful, too much to bear, and his hands came around to cup her breast and against her neck to press there softly and she wrapped her little feet around his back and her fingers twined into his hair at the nape and Kenzie whispered “my sweet baby, my beautiful Prince, fuck me--” between their kisses and Duncan felt faint with her realness again, faint with the feeling of her cunt clenching around him, faint in her arms, her loveliness, her silken skin, the slight, achingly sublime sounds she was making overwhelming his senses.
His hand came down between her legs again and his fingers pressed ardent circles against her and he said “baby, do you want me to suck on you, do you want me to kiss your clit--” and Kenzie shook her head against his lips and said “no, baby, no, don’t stop fucking me, just touch me like that, touch me in the dark, I love you, Duncan, I love you with every part of me--” and he was nodding against her--”I love you too baby, Kenzie, I love you, oh god I love you, I can’t describe--”, his memory drifting against the power he’d felt from her as she floated out of sleep, absolutely in awe of her again, absolutely at her mercy, inside her grace, and she shushed him as his fingers flicked back down to the wetness that coated her cunt and his cock as he thrust his whole length into her, then out, then back again, and redoubled his effort with his fingers at her clit as their mouths came together again and she began to shake in his arms, a shaking that began at her shoulders and cascaded down her body into where his cock was buried inside her and she moaned into his mouth, a moan that became a prolonged wail into him, her words muddling into incomprehensible murmurs that Duncan could almost see, like colors, floating around them--”Dunny, oh, fuck--oh fucking fuck baby oh ohhhhh beloved baby my sweet fucking babyfuck love you I love you--” and Duncan breathed in carefully, deeply, keeping the rhythm of his movement into her steady and concentrated as she came, her little hands clutching his head down to her, twisting into his hair and pulling it harshly as she cried out, and he thought oh Kenzie, you’re bathed in moonlight, you look like an angel, you’re too beautiful for words--
Suddenly, inexplicably, inside her release, Duncan’s mind was jerked back into wherever it had been before Kenzie woke up--into where he’d hovered inside her psyche, in that in-between place, and he remembered her words again, still locked against her, inside her, the rhythm he’d built unceasing, words that she seemed to speak from another self floating back into his mind, a version of her that had immense power, an energy that seemed too great for reality, too beautiful for human eyes--soon, you’ll start to remember, what we were before, what we are, and what we will be again--and Duncan saw a version of them in his mind, as though in a memory, where they were both in that place that seemed to be made of those inexplicable colors that he’d felt inside Kenzie, colors that felt like emotions, like the love he felt for her, like the love he could feel coming into him from her. Kenzie’s hair was longer than it was now, it was so long it fell to her knees, and it sheen was indescribably lovely, paler than the tawny-gold he had begun to know so well, a white-gold that was almost silvery, in magnificent waves, and he saw tiny flowers woven through the strands, their color indescribable to him, their shape unlike any flower he could think of--each one seemed to have a hundred tiny petals. Around her forehead was a circlet of gold so thin and fine it seemed an impossible thing to exist at all. Her dress was unlike anything he’d ever seen, either--it seemed to be made of the gossamer strands of a thousand spider webs, a hundred intricate honeycombs of some vast, beautifully geometric design that was simply too complex to ever create, and yet she wore it, and it fit her as though it were her second skin--intricately woven, rose-golden embroidery fell over the dress--its pattern was like a language he could not comprehend. And her eyes--inside her eyes in that place he felt he really could see a universe turning, so magnificent and so golden that they threatened to rend his heart into a thousand fragments. He realized he was inside some other self in this moment--he couldn’t see his own face, but could see his own clothing, the intricately woven sleeves over his arms, in a similar incomprehensible gold embroidery and geometry that made him dizzy to even attempt to contemplate--he wore a kind of thin, woven gold breastplate that was akin to the aegis on likenesses of Athena, but its quality also seemed incomprehensible to him, a weave that seemed to shift and change under his gaze, and he could feel weight at his shoulders--a strange weight that felt familiar, but also heavy beyond all understanding.
And in the memory, or the imagining, or whatever the vision was that he had tumbled into, he noticed with a wild, fierce surprise that Kenzie, this other Kenzie, this Kenzie wrapped in intricate golden lovely things that were not of earth, with shimmering hair twined with tiny universe flowers, had wings extending from her back--wings that were gold and silver and iridescent rose and other colors that he didn’t know the names for, wings that were unlike any wings he’d ever seen on a bird or a bat or any earth-bound winged creature, but he knew they were wings just the same, knew they were wings for a certain kind of being--a divine being.
And then he resurfaced back into the dark of the bedroom, their bedroom, and he was still moving with an intense rhythm against her and he was coming deep inside her now and Kenzie was clutching at his torso between his hips, her cries quiet but her mouth hovering open, and her eyes had that strange glow again, intensely focused on him, the one he’d seen when he woke her from her sleep, and then it faded as he emptied himself into her, his moans extending into deep silence, and he pulled out of her and collapsed beside her, his head falling into the pillow, and clutched her desperately against him and felt her mouth come against his chest and her little hands clasp against his ribs, and Duncan remembered nothing else until he woke the next morning at sunrise in the same position, with her still clutched in his arms, her little breath having left a damp pool against his skin, her face cherubic and far away in her sleep in the dim morning light, and he wondered upon his waking if it had all been a dream. And then he fell back into sleep, his hand coming up to bury in her hair.
-------
“Babyyyy, Dunny…” Duncan felt her little mouth pressed into his ear and his eyes opened--full sunlight was streaming into the room now and Kenzie was leaning down to him, kneeling on the bed, wearing her satin kimono, her eyes (your earthly eyes, baby, not your divine eyes, you keep those hidden most of the time but sometimes I can see a little bit of them, that gold whirling around, and last night I saw all of them and they were beyond words, they were ethereal as the first dawn--) open and awake to him, a little smile playing around her mouth.
“I brought you coffee, baby,” and Kenzie’s hair fell against his collarbone as she dipped down to kiss him, and Duncan’s hand immediately came up, needy, to the space under her ear.
“Kenzie, baby, do you remember that? Last night?” His eyes searched hers--please tell me if that was real, beloved angel. Please tell me that wasn’t a dream. Did you see the vision? Kenzie stared at him, and her mouth dipped open, and Duncan was suddenly hazy with her loveliness again, hazy with longing. I love you more than the morning sunlight, wondrous Kenzie. “You said something to me--that I’d start to remember something, about who we were, who we’re going to be--”
Kenzie eyes lost some of their clarity, and she handed him one of his glass coffee mugs, carefully. He sat up, leaning into the shape of her hand--she dipped her head down and her hair fell over her shoulder again, the strap of her top falling down onto her arm. Duncan wanted to press his lips to the bare skin there--wanted to press his mouth against her heart, the delicate space between her breasts. There is never a moment where I wouldn’t rather be kissing you. He knew she heard him--her face became even more radiant in the daylight, her hand coming up to brush shyly against her cheek at his thoughts.
“I...I don’t know...sort of, baby,” she said finally, eyes flitting up into his and then away, towards the great mirror, towards the window, its curtains partially drawn but the sliver of day visible beyond. “It was like a dream, wasn’t it? Like we both slipped into a dream.”
“Yes, baby, it was, but I don’t think it was a dream.” Duncan brought the coffee to his lips and drank, the hot, bitter liquid coursing down his throat, immediately stirring his senses more sharply. “I think it was like...a memory.”
“How can that be,” Kenzie laughed a little, inside her words. “Dunny, baby, the way you looked to me--you were so radiant, so beautiful, it was too much to bear. You were...you were a real angel, you had wings, but they were--” Duncan was putting the coffee down on the nightstand, his heart suddenly rattling inside him, and he reached out and grasped her hands tightly, pulling her closer. “--they were not like any wings I’ve ever imagined, they were in colors I’ve never seen--” “Kenzie, baby, I saw you that way too--” “And your clothing, it was like, gold and had this design to it, but I couldn’t figure out the--the design, it was like, it was made of something that doesn’t exist in this world--” “Fuck, Kenzie, you looked that way too, baby, your hair had a hundred tiny flowers in it and each flower was made of its own universe, and your eyes were like a gold galaxy spinning--” “Fuck, Dunny, that’s lovely, how can you say that to me, that’s too lovely--but--but you looked so amazing too, your hair was longer and more golden and your eyes were like a blue nebula, but the blue was not any blue I’ve ever seen before, it was--”
Their lips were rushing together again, and he was pulling her against him, sliding towards her, and her little hands came up to twine inside his where they clutched her face tenderly and he thought I love you Kenzie I love you fuck I love you I’m yours I’m yours and when I die my spirit will call out to you through time I’ll still be yours forever never doubt that I am yours my beloved my exalted beloved most hallowed of all most unearthly and divine love and he knew the dream had not been a dream, knew they’d seen something that seemed impossible but was not, something that was hidden deep in time that somehow they had glimpsed, that their love had uncovered the great secret of it, that finding each other here had opened the door on that other place, and he was overwhelmed inside the knowledge, and it was all he could do to hold her against him and taste her, her little face lifted up to him, her eyes closed, her face ecstatic (saintly, her pleasure in this moment sacred), the feeling of her under his hands so intensely real he wanted to cry.
“I--Kenzie, I want--”
Her eyes opened to him--hazel, depth of green--his hands still clutched her and their mouths hovered over each other, pulled back for a moment. I want to marry you. I want to be tied to you in the eyes of all, your most loyal, most faithful, most devoted husband.
He knew she’d heard, despite the words un-escaped from his lips. She looked down, suddenly shy again--her cheeks dusted with color immediately, and she felt achingly warm under his fingers. She was so lovely here, in reality, in his arms, to try to contemplate her in that other place was like trying to contemplate the mathematics of the universe in the face of the glory of one star; there was too much, and she was too great, and her multitudes were staggering, and he felt his breath hitch--felt the tears come against his eyelids. Neither of them said anything, but he could see the emotion gathering in her face towards him; he knew Kenzie could see how close to tears he was, and saw that it was moving her to tears, too.
“After the Gala, when we go to the cabin,” she whispered to him. “We’ll have time and space--to, to think about all of this. To figure it out. To figure out what all of this means. Okay? Duncan. I love you. I love you so much. You are beloved to me. You are the only one for me. Just be patient, okay? Be patient with me, baby. I’m here and we’re together. We just have to get through this first. We’ll be alone so soon. Alone to--alone to--to see each other. To really see.”
Duncan dipped his head away from her--he felt utterly overcome, and tried to gather the many threads of himself that had scattered and dispersed, as if in a gust of wind. He nodded--he knew she was right, knew that his patience was required, knew the rush he felt wasn’t a true need, rather his own deep desires. But he couldn’t help it--he wanted their life to begin so much. I want everything to fall into place, I want us to move the company forward to help others and the wheel of fate to grind toward the greatest good, I want you to have everything you’ve ever dreamed about, Kenzie, angel, I want the sweetness of you in the quietness of the woods, under the starry night sky where there is no one but us.
Baby, she thought into him. Dunny. I love you so much I can’t speak it. I can’t tell you. You have to feel it from me, just feel me, feel that I love you more than life, more than every flower, every living breathing thing, know that you’re the angel of my heart, the light of my body and my soul. And he did--he could. He could feel the golden wave she pushed down into him, the inexplicable touch of her so fine that it felt as though she were wrapping a second skin around him, this one radiant and impenetrable, this one the skin that would protect him from the outside world, invisible but inviolable, his hidden armor, woven by her little slender hands, all her love whispered into each strand, all her divinity blessing him. And my love shall protect thee, guide thee, and keep thee always, for thou art exalted in the light of my adoration, my divinity I give to thee, my sanctity I have divided unto thee, my soul I have split with the aid of the three-headed goddess, my golden thread I have tied to thee, and so thou and I art the same. And Duncan knew these words weren’t really Kenzie’s words--they were the words of the other Kenzie, the one with the silvery hair and the eyes like planets made of gold, the words that winged, ethereal creature had spoken to the other Duncan he had hovered inside last night, the one who wore the golden aegis, the other him with the colossal weight of his own wings.
Then the spell seemed to break, and he felt the tears drift away from him--he gently let go of her, and she slid away from him off the bed, and he felt the peaceful gold she’d borne down on him wafting inside his chest and his belly, in the core of his body. Duncan reached for his coffee again, watching her step into the walk-in, glancing at him over her shoulder with a peaceful, knowing smile. “Time to go see your mother, Duncan.” He groaned a little, smiling back at her--reality seeped back in strongly, and he reached for his phone on the nightstand, turning it over.
There was a text from Annette, confirming that the Vanity Fair interview and photoshoot would be at the Botanic Gardens in a few hours, the one for Forbes at The Lafayette after that, a restaurant inside the Hays-Adams hotel that he’d been to for several interviews in the past, most of them for Gardner Analytics. He had ignored her text from yesterday, wherein she’d called him ludicrously naive, their moving in together preposterous and claimed Kenzie was a greedy little social climber, a phrase that had made him want to hurl his phone across the room despite the heights of his mood with Kenzie in the kitchen only moments before--he looked them over again, scrolling up, fighting the anger seething back into his mind, urging himself to calm. I refuse to let her get a rise out of me today, he thought, and answered his mother today with nothing more than a clipped “Okay.” You can’t make me turn on her, Mom. It’s not going to happen. Never in a million years. You might as well try to make the sky fall down or stop the tides or keep the sun from rising and setting. You will never break us apart. Not only do I love her more than I love my own life--I know, I feel like I know that we’re actual fucking Soulmates, we can hear each other’s fucking thoughts, and I think these dreams and visions we’ve been having are the future, the past, or some strange parallel present. You really don’t fucking get it, but I think eventually you will, because you won’t have any other choice. Eventually everyone will get it. We’re together and I think...I think we always will be, if there are other lives after this one. I think...we always have been.
“I can’t believe we have a fan club now, baby.” He heard Kenzie’s voice drift towards him from where she was hidden from view in the closet, and he came out of the soft gold of the thoughts he’d begun to delve down into.
“You were so sweet to those girls, Kenz. The paps noticed right away. You handled that like a pro, I was so proud of you. I bet Claire’s texted you a BPF post about it already.”
“Check my phone, baby, it’s on my side. My password’s 0717.” Her birthday.
Duncan reached for Kenzie’s white iPhone in its iridescent gold case--he smiled down at the black inverted moon sticker, beginning to rub away into white, running his finger over it, then turned the phone over. Clairebear had indeed texted her (how did I know), a telltale BPF link visible in it, and behind the text Duncan could see her lock screen was ones of the Esquire shots of him--the one where he had a thin circlet of silver around his forehead, his eyes skirting to the left of the camera, their blue emphasized to striking brilliancy by the filter used on the shot, his hand adjusting his cuff facetiously. He thought of his own lock screen, with the shot of her smiling down at the breakfast he’d made her, sunlight on her cheek, grapefruit juice and Adelaide’s silver spoon in her hands--wait until we do a photoshoot together, baby, he thought. God, you’re going to look so beautiful. You always do. I should commission someone to paint you. Fuck, I should fucking do that. I’d die to have a painting of you. A huge one, colossal as The Youth of Bacchus, of you with flowers in your hair, you in wild moonlight, you as the goddess you are, you--
Duncan got up from the bed, glancing up at his naked reflection in the mirror (no wings, no aegis, no long gold hair, that’s for damn sure), then back down at the phone, slowly moving towards the closet doorway with her phone still clutched in his hand, thumbing her password into the surface, reading Claire’s text.
Clairebear: Kenzie Lou, look at this. They LOVE you. You knew exactly what you were doing with this. You wily little lady! I can’t believe you have a fan club now. You have to look at the website these girls have created. I’m just screaming over it, it’s insanely cute. They have like 15,000 members already. It’s insane!!! Also, is Harris single? He’s so hot, oh my FUCKING GOD.
He grinned at her message--I love how Claire texts Kenzie, he thought, and clicked on the BPF link. DUCKENZIE GREET FANS WARMLY OUTSIDE ONE FRANKLIN SQUARE, POSE FOR PHOTOS--the first shot was Lindy passing the roses to Duncan in his sunglasses, the second was a lovely shot of Kenzie smiling at Gabby (god look at her, an angel), then one of her leaning over the newspaper, writing, one of her tucking her hair behind her ear, face still dipped down, Duncan’s hand pressed against her back, his expression unreadable behind his sunglasses (I was worried as fuck), her smile still apparent--how could anyone look at these and not fall in love with her, Duncan thought, his hand coming up against his jaw, trailing there, lost in the photos. There were a few more: side-angles of them posing with each of the girls, then Duncan pulling Kenzie away from them, Harris close behind, glancing darkly into the camera. Duncan turned into the closet, his eyes still on the phone--he tapped one of the photos of her looking up at the girls over the newspaper, the sharpie poised in her hand, enlarging it.
“Baby, look at this--” Duncan held her phone up to where he knew she would be standing, eyes rising to look at her, and then he stopped dead--Kenzie had slipped on the red dress, the lacy red bodice hugging her tiny waist and her round breasts (I fucking love them, I love her), the full lace of the skirt fanning out beautifully down her hips, and she was throwing her chestnut hair over her shoulder, her head still tilted to the side, away from him--she turned and met his eyes, and she smiled at him, her eyes roving up and down his nakedness. “Hey baby,” she murmured, her voice husky.
“God, I love that fucking dress.” His thoughts immediately drifted to when she’d been wearing it as she eased onto his lap in that makeshift dressing room, his fingers coming between her legs and coaxing her into a secret euphoria, the way he’d wiped his fingers after on a tissue and brought it to his nose, the heady scent of her sex making him wildly dizzy. “My mother’s going to flip her shit, baby, and I honestly can’t wait to see it.”
Kenzie stepped toward him, hands coming out to take her phone, her fingers brushing along his as she did, making the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up--she stared up at him for a moment longer, the depth of green hovering behind her corneas--and I love looking at you naked, baby, was the thought she pushed into him, and Duncan bit into his lip, goosebumps breaking out on his skin--then she looked down at her phone and he was staggered again by the loveliness of the smile that fell over her face as she saw the photo.
“I look nice, don’t I?” She said, looking up at him again. “I mean...I look kind, I mean.” She blushed--Duncan melted at the sight of her shyness.
“Baby. You are kind. You’re kind to everyone. And you look fucking beautiful in these. Everyone is in love with you now. I have to admit…” Duncan stepped closer to reach her, his hands falling down her bare arms and the sides of the lacy red dress--Kenzie wore no makeup yet, but her eyes were so wide and so beautifully colored they seemed illuminated somehow--”It makes me a little jealous. I selfishly want you all to myself sometimes. I don’t want to share you.” Kenzie’s eyes fell into his again, and her little hand was falling down his bare torso to trail over his hip bones, needling with her thumbs and forefingers, her mouth opening to him.
“I was thinking, later...” and Kenzie was reaching up to him, tiptoed, her mouth pressing into his jaw as he leaned his head down to her, his hands at her shoulder blades, pressed into her hair. “You could throw me down onto that big, beautiful cherrywood table--” and her mouth was edging along to his chin and to the other side of his jaw, and Duncan couldn’t stop himself from leaning into her, moaning against her, his cock stiffening--”and fuck me on it, baby, fuck me standing while I wear this dress--” and Duncan was nodding against her, his eyes closing with the sensation of her, her little hand flicking down to play over his length, then teasingly away. “--I was thinking I’d really love it if you’d do that…”
“Yes, Princess. Yes, I will--” Duncan’s mind thrilled, imagining her body prostrate against the beautiful antique table, her golden hair tossed onto it, the sound of its creaking as he thrust into her, his mouth on her body. We can finally use that table regularly, he thought. We have to fuck on every surface of this penthouse, baby, every square inch, I need to fuck you as often as you’ll permit me, as often as you’ll desire my attentions--
“Good.” Kenzie moved back from him, eyes intense in his, her mouth and hands sliding away from him, and Duncan groaned desperately at the loss of her touch. “Now, get dressed, baby. Do as I say.” Her eyes skirted down to his cock and Duncan shivered at her eyes--look longer, baby, look at me, I’m yours, my aching sex is all for you, my body, my desires, all for you. But her eyes lingered for only a moment, as if to tease him, then she moved past him on her fast little feet, towards the kitchen. Later, baby. You know later I’ll be yours. Later I’m gonna tell you to fuck me good and you’re going to do it, aren’t you, baby.
Yes, Kenzie. Duncan had half a mind to go after her, to grab her wrists and press his mouth against her, but he knew he wouldn’t, couldn’t--Kenzie told me to obey. Her desires come first. He let out a long, shuddering breath, then turned to where his shirts hung in their quiet, pressed, dark row. He pulled down a black cotton Givenchy shirt with stars embroidered along the collar--all the stars in the sky are for her, he thought, drifting inside his desires as he began to dress, thinking of tiny flowers with a thousand petals, each one containing a universe.
---------
“Kenz, Samuel and Harris are downstairs,” Duncan looked up from the text on his phone to where Kenzie was sitting across from him at the island, about an hour later. She clutched a little bottle of Pellegrino in her hand, a piece of half-eaten sprouted grain toast with unsalted peanut butter in front of her (Duncan had made it for her alongside a sliced, skinned kiwi and a carefully squared mango, which she’d already devoured), hair falling over her shoulder, the Tiffany moon necklace at her throat, glinting at him--she’d applied a little makeup now, though he knew undoubtedly the stylists would want to put more on her for the photos they’d be forced to take today (not that I mind sitting around staring at you, baby, that’s all I ever want to do now)--and she’d been looking at her phone too, grinning at something unseen to him, some secret pleasure on the little screen.
“Baby, look. Look at this. I can’t believe it.”
She pushed her phone across to him--with a little jolt of nerves Duncan realized Kenzie had gone to DUCKENZIEFANS.COM. Holy fuck.
Duncan was used to fans--that is, a certain type of fan. They tended to be women, many of them middle-aged and as questionably-mannered as the two women in the coffee shop who’d taken photos of him and Kenzie without asking, or DC socialites with a desire to climb (that is, fuck) their way up the social ladder of the capital city. Duncan couldn’t deny he’d slept with several such socialites, but they all seemed to be part of a distant past he could barely see now--part of another life, another Duncan, a man who hadn’t understood himself at all, hadn’t bothered to pay closer attention to his real desires, his hopes, or the sources of real happiness he had encountered. Kenzie has awakened my senses to the world that is always hovering just outside our eyesight--the hidden world that is seeped in delicate beauty, the world that comes out when one looks at art, or hears beautiful music, or is present in nature. Love is, I think, all of these things--and all of these things remind me of love. Of the one I love. Of her.
The website had clearly been made by someone with graphic design experience--the interface was lovely and easy to follow, and the aesthetics were pleasing. The home page was tasteful and minimal, gold and soft cream with black lettering--he thought of the two teenage girls who had greeted them--those girls made this website? The headings were in Lobster script, and the text in soft Playfair Display. WEBSITE UNDER CONSTRUCTION, thanks for your patience, read a header near the top. Above it was the photo of the two of them at Le Diplomate taken by some random iPhone camera, but sharpened and filtered to be maximally flattering. A bar down the side had directives neatly listed: DUCKENZIE FAQ, HOW TO JOIN THE FANCLUB, DUNCAN SHEPHERD PRESS RELEASES, MACKENZIE STONE PRESS RELEASES, DUCKENZIE PRESS RELEASES, DUCKENZIE MERCH & FAN CLUB EXCLUSIVES, COMBINED GALLERY, CONTACT INFO, FAN MAIL INFO, MEMBER FORUM. He marveled at the page for a moment, lost in it--Duncan knew he had had fan sites before now, but he’d never looked at any of them beyond Instagram, the site he tended to frequent the most when he had bothered with social media at all in the past. But this website was exceptionally ordered, clearly by someone who was interested in design and who also had developed a serious fascination with the two of them. He clicked on the link titled DUCKENZIE PRESS RELEASES--sure enough, the topmost result was the series of photos from the article posted today on BPF, with Kenzie smiling at Gabby and Lindy, the camera facing her. Under it was a link to the gossip site and a long series of paragraphs, clearly written by the two girls, about how friendly and warm Kenzie had been to them. Duckenzies, you wouldn’t believe how lovely she is in person! It’s like she’s surrounded by a warm ring of sunlight and being near her makes your whole body tingle. She smelled like roses and flowers, like a goddess of spring. Just being close to her was so incredible. Below a few paragraphs was another photo, this one a close-up of Kenzie’s signature and the message she’d written out on the newspaper. A special message to us and all of you from Kenzie herself. Below that was the iPhone shots of the girls posing with them. They were so kind and gracious to us! Everything we hoped and knew they would be!
“That’s just insane to me,” Kenzie said as Duncan continued to click through the site. “‘Duckenzie Merch’,” and she lifted her fingers up on either side of her head, feigning quotations. “Stickers with my face on them for everyone!”
“I want stickers with your face on them, too, they better send me some.”
Kenzie made a face at him and Duncan grinned. I mean it, though. I’ll put them on everything I own, I don’t care. I’ll buy every fucking sticker they’ve made. He glanced away from Kenzie’s phone reluctantly, at the face of the black Ballon Bleu Cartier he’d chosen for the inevitable photos that would be taken of him today--different from the silver one he’d worn the night he met Kenzie on the balcony. This one was framed in rose-gold (and the gold reminds me of her). He noted it was a quarter till noon. “We gotta go, baby. They’re expecting us at 12:30. In the Rose Garden, can you believe that?” He smiled at her; roses for my Kenzie. He looked at his Cartier again, thoughtfully, as Kenzie finished her toast and stood to put her plate in the long steel sink, washing her hands, staring at her succulents along the windowsill. He admired her tawny blonde hair, falling down her back from the crown of her head in soft waves. I’m going to get her something to adorn her lovely little wrists. I want to give her more tokens of my love, one for each part of her body. He thought of the rose choker, coiled in one of the drawers in their closet--I’ll strap it to your soft little throat tonight, baby love, I’ll kiss you all along its smooth leather as I plunge into your sweet rosy cunt. He looked up to see she’d turned and was staring at him, and knew she’d heard the thought--the color of her gaze shivered with hidden arousal, that hidden, golden power he knew she had over him. “Anything in my teeth, baby,” was all she said, though, baring them at him. He laughed, delighted at the feigned ferocity in her gaze. “Just your sweet smile.” Kenzie rolled her eyes at him, coming around the side of the island, languidly leaning down on its smooth surface to dip her face towards him, the red lace dress hugging her waist and floating around her beautifully, sending warm waves of tingling longing down his spine. “Mr. Shepherd, you’re infatuated.”
“I love you.” And Duncan pulled her arms insistently into him, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her smell in deeply. How I feel, baby. How I feel with you. Like I can’t help but be sincere. My heart is so full of you there’s no room for anything else.
“Can’t wait for your mother’s head to spin when she sees my dress,” Kenzie’s tone was playful and her hand fell down the side of his hair, her cheek at his temple. He closed his eyes, still pressed against her neck, lost for a moment in the feeling of her little fingers, the pressure of her skin under his eyelashes.
“It’s a Kenzie dress,” he murmured against her. “Not like the other one. This one has you all over it. I love it so much. I think it’s perfect. And whoever’s doing the shoot is going to love it too, I bet.” He leaned up to look at her and her face was suddenly hovering very close to his, her lips whispering over his, her eyes half-lidded, looking down into him.
“I love you, Duncan Shepherd.”
“What did I do to deserve the love of an angel?” He couldn’t stop the words from falling out of his mouth, falling against her lips, hovering so close to him. Her leg was crooked into his thigh, her little stomach breathing against his, his hands pressed insistently into her hair along her back--you fit so sweet and small into my arms, my beloved. I could hold you this way all day, drunk on the scent of you, drunk with your softness. She was wearing the golden-strap heels again, and his hand came around to her foot, trailing over the laces.
“Oh stoppit.”
“I won’t.”
“It’s time for us to go, baby,” Kenzie tried to extract herself from his arms, but Duncan held fast to her, pressing his lips, then the tip of his tongue to the bare skin under her ear. She softened in the tenderness of his mouth; he heard her moans against him and wished the day would fade back into night for them, wished they were in the woods, under a night sky in a hidden forest, wished the world would just leave them be, let him kiss her, turn the sun away from them and bathe them in the shadows of their bed. But no, the world was waiting (Duckenzie, here they come, quick, take a picture), and so was Annette Shepherd. When Kenzie tried to pull away this time, Duncan let go of her, heart bruising at the sudden coldness of his lap. Kenzie slipped her convertible bag over her shoulder from where she’d left it by the penthouse door. “Pass me my phone, baby,” she said, her eyes bright on him. “Let’s go. The sooner we leave the sooner it’s over with.”
Duncan clutched her little gold iPhone, sighing deeply. “Don’t let Annette give you any shit today, baby,” he said, standing and handing it to her, fingers brushing down her wrist, her little face looking up at him, her expression one of aching trust, as he leaned protectively over her. “You’re a Shepherd now too, as far as I’m concerned. If she wants to insist you belong there, we’ll show her that you really do.”
Kenzie’s eyes flashed at him, and she lifted her chin in that defiant way--his throat clenched, head suddenly hazy with adoration. You got it, baby. Duncan barely had time to slip his wallet into the tailored pocket of his slacks before Kenzie clasped his hand in an iron grip, pulling him out the door and down the hallway. You got it, baby.
---------
Duncan remembered his meeting with Claire Underwood tomorrow as Samuel drove them towards the Botanical Gardens--a meeting he had no real idea of how to navigate, considering Annette’s insistence that the President was, in fact, her enemy, therefore the enemy of the company. What can I say to convince her I’m not, he wondered. Especially being unable to disclose that I’m gaining majority share once BIll dies? Nervously, he wondered if it was indeed possible without making her suspicious of him. Maybe meeting with her before Bill’s death wasn’t such a good idea after all. Too late now, Duncan. You’ll have to play like the old Duncan. The one who was ruthlessly loyal to Annette, and Claire Underwood knew it.
Kenzie’s hand was tucked under his thigh, and he glanced at her; she was staring out the window, seemingly admiring the historic Georgetown colonials they drifted past, her little lips mouthing the words to the John Denver Samuel had playing low--you fill up my senses, like a night in a forest, like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain--the lovely dip of her collarbones lifting in her quiet breath against the fitted lace bodice and her diamond moon necklace, the lacy folds of the crimson skirt fanning out around her legs. Her phone was in her lap and he could see the outline of her Instagram profile open on it--2 million followers now. He could see she’d made a new post, featuring the photos of them posing with the two girls from DUCKENZIEFANS. My sweet Kenzie. Duncan made sure she was still distracted by the music and the scene outside her window, then angled his phone up to snap a discreet photo of her--her hair fell beautifully across her shoulder in the sunlight, and her mouth was open a little, mouthing the song, her cheek turned to the side and her eyes lifted away from the shot. On our way to talk to @vanityfair, did you know my @kenzielouwho has a beautiful singing voice? #comeletmeloveyou #letmegivemylifetoyou
Kenzie still hadn’t noticed anything--he could feel the drifting cascade of her thoughts falling against him every few moments, and knew; you really love this song, baby. It’s making you think of me. It’s making me think of you, too. Let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms. He opened the browser app and typed cartier.com, highlighting Jewelry, then under COLLECTIONS, he double-tapped LOVE. He chose two bracelets--one band of 18k yellow gold, and another band, also yellow gold, smaller, with 4 brilliant diamonds. He tried to keep his mind quiet as he did, tried to think of his mother and his meeting with Claire Underwood. He finished the order and closed out of the Cartier website--there. All done.
“All done with what, baby?” Kenzie turned to him, blinking. Annie’s Song had ended, and she seemed to resurface from a dream. Duncan noticed that they were a few yards back from pulling up to the Botanical Gardens; he lifted his thigh a little to grasp her hand. “Nothing, baby, just something I had to take care of for work.”
“Hmmmmmm,” Kenzie replied, giving him a suspicious look. “It doesn’t seem like that’s quite right.”
“It’s a surprise, baby.” Get out of my head, let me surprise you, my love.
“Stop buying me things.” He could see she was trying to hide the smile that wanted to fall over her mouth--she pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes at him.
“I won’t.”
“Duncan Shepherd.” She crossed her arms.
“I want to, baby. Please let me.”
She gave him another long look, pouting her lips a little.
“Please, Miss Stone. Let me bring you tribute for your altar.”
Kenzie blushed deeply at that, turning away from him. Duncan leaned down to her little cheek, bringing the hand that wasn’t holding hers tightly up to the dip under her chin, turning her jaw towards him.
“It’s a way I can worship you,” he spoke down to her ear. “Let me worship you, Kenzie.” He felt her shiver under his touch; he dipped his lips down to her skin and let them linger there, closing his eyes, savoring her softness and the sweet scent of her perfume (rose, vetiver, geranium, no, I’ll never tire of it).
“What’s your middle name, baby?” He heard her ask softly. “So I can use it when I’m annoyed with you.” He laughed into her cheek at that and felt it rise as she smiled under his fingers.
“It’s Malcolm. Follower of the Saint. Mom told me it was going to be my first name for awhile, but she decided she wanted it to be Duncan after all. The Warrior. Fearless.”
Kenzie gazed at him for a long moment as the BMW drifted to a stop on the curb. Then she mouthed his name, quietly. “Duncan Malcolm Shepherd. Warrior, follower of the Saint.”
“And what does Mackenzie mean?”
She smiled at him, winsome, charming him, teasing.
“Guess.”
“Fast as a falling star.”
She grinned. “No.”
“Lover of horses.”
She laughed at that. “No.”
“Beautiful as a rose kissed by spring dew at dawn.” He dipped his head to her, breathing along the delicate space between of her neck.
Kenzie looked away from him at that; he saw the shyness fall into her, felt it; the gossamer wave of her affection, the demure tinge of her longing for him.
“Kenzie.”
“It means lovely.” Harris was coming out of the front passenger door, buttoning his jacket, wearing dark sunglasses, stepping to open Kenzie’s door. The partition was floating down. Duncan could see several people walking on the sidewalk outside; some of them were turning, curious, to look at the BMW. He turned back to her, and he and Kenzie stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment; hers with gold discs floating behind the hazel--Duncan thought for an instant he could see his own eyes in her mind, you pierce my spirit with them, she thought, blue like the sky after a storm, the storm you’ve stirred in my soul, the wild love you’ve given me, every kiss and every touch too beautiful for words, every instance of your love a miracle.
“Of course it does,” he breathed.
Kenzie smiled at him. In time I’ll memorize every tiny detail of your face--I’ll remember everything, he thought. Beloved.
Harris opened the door and she slipped away from him, her little golden iPhone clutched in her hand, her hair falling back, the red lace of her skirt sliding off the leather seat. Duncan followed her out, squinting into the summer sunlight. He glanced to where several pedestrians had stopped to watch the car (two middle-aged companions, a man and a woman in professional attire; a younger woman in jogging clothes with a German Shepherd on a leash); there was dawning recognition in their eyes and the jogging girl immediately lifted her phone up. Duncan turned away, annoyed, certain she’d snapped the picture anyway. He reached for Kenzie’s hand as she slipped her round sunglasses over her eyes, and Harris moved in front of her, blocking her from view from the people watching. There were a few more people inside the front gardens to the southwest, and they stared after Duncan and Kenzie with obvious interest, but Duncan was relieved to see that the Rose Garden had a sign on the gate saying it would be closed for maintenance for the day--the “maintenance” in this case being their interview and photocall with Vanity Fair. As they approached they saw a tall Asian woman with very long, straight black hair and razor-cut bangs, in a smart short-sleeved navy blazer, a black v-neck blouse and a pencil skirt, standing at the gate from the other side. She waved to them a little, giving them a small smile, using a key to unlock it; she pulled the gate open and Kenzie and Duncan stepped through, Harris tight on their heels, and the woman locked it securely behind they moved further in, shielded by tall arborvitae bushes.
“River Tsukamoto, staff writer for Vanity Fair.” She reached out a hand first to Duncan, then to Kenzie, who grinned at her. She had a coy, small smile, and very dark eyeshadow and lipstick, almost black, and no accent. “So wonderful to meet you both. Annette arrived a few minutes ago--she’s in hair and makeup. We don’t always do it this way, but she said you have another interview later today--is it okay if we conduct this one as we shoot?”
“That’s fine,” Duncan replied. “Whatever’s easiest for you.”
He gave her a small, close-mouthed smile, and still saw the telltale sag in her features that his smile tended to cause with people. River’s eyes flicked back and forth between him and Kenzie; down the length of Kenzie’s lacy red summer dress, the fall of her tawny hair, up his tall form and the smart cut of his clothing, lingering in his blue eyes and flitting over to Kenzie’s, their depth of green and gold making the other woman blink rapidly. River’s eyes fell to Kenzie’s moon diamond necklace--she seemed to recognize it. We must have an Instagram follower here.
“God, I have to say, you’re both just stunning in person.” The woman’s cheeks turned a deep crimson almost instantly, and she crooked an arm around her stomach. “I have to admit I started following both of your Instas since your relationship became public, they’re just--ugh, I love them.”
Duncan hesitated and Kenzie immediately stepped towards the woman--”What’s yours? I’ll follow you back.” Kenzie was holding her phone up, opening the app.
“Oh, oh my god, yes. It’s just @rivertsukamoto. Ugh, that would be so great.” River smiled again, this time dipping her body down and clenching her fists a little, bouncing in the black open-toed boots she wore--her toes were painted black. “I just loved those photos of you guys at the beach, so gorgeous.” Kenzie grinned up at her. “Thank you, that was a really wonderful day. There, now we’re Insta friends.”
“Right this way--” and River extended her arm, the blush still on her pale cheeks, leading them towards the center of the rose garden, where several stone benches surrounded a fountain, with dozens of rose bushes in different colors and varieties circling all around the courtyard, deep damask red, rosy-white bourbon, burgundy-colored hybrids, creamy york, sunny yellow--a tall sandy-stone building rose ahead of them with pointed turrets and art-deco glass windows. Duncan’s eyes skirted to where there were two trailers set up along one side of the bushes--River ushered them towards the one at the right, opening the door and beckoning them inside, wherein a very large, hairy man in suspenders and combat boots with a very curly mustache, long hair tied in a messy bun, and very glittery eyeshadow greeted them with a screech of delight.
“Alister at your behest, dumplings,” he said, gasping in a high voice. “Duncan Shepherd and Mackenzie Stone, sit down. God, you two are like sweet pastries, Duncan, you’re a chocolate eclair, Miss Kenzie, you’re a little pink macaron. You’re first, prince of the piercing blue eyes. Sit.”
Duncan settled down into the nearest styling chair, and Kenzie settled into one beside him, two circular mirrors mounted against the trailer’s back wall wherein Duncan could see her nervous expression across from him. Alister was washing his hands at a basin sink in the corner, and Duncan saw Kenzie take her phone out, snapping a picture of their two reflections, him side-eyeing her with a bemused expression, the phone angled over her mouth, her eyes skirting back to him. Then Alister was gripping his jaw carefully and pressing a pencil onto his eyelid.
“God, you don’t even really need anything, do you,” the big man spoke down to him in his high, lilting voice. “Your skin is gorgeous. This jaw could cut someone in half. Your eyes are out of control. Your lips are like fucking pillows. Just kill me, honey.” Kenzie was laughing into her hand, her eyes squeezed shut.
“Honey, you don’t even get to laugh, you’re fucking him, that’s not even fair,” Alister pointed the brush in his hand at her in mock-severity, rolling his eyes, turning back to Duncan--this just made Kenzie laugh harder. “God, you smell like a fucking Tom Ford runway, too. And what are you wearing, it fits you like a second skin, oh my fucking god, who does your tailoring?”
“A gentleman never reveals his tailor,” Duncan was trying not to laugh himself; Kenzie’s wild amusement was making him want to jump out of the chair and tackle her with kisses.
“Is he a gentleman?” Alister glanced over at Kenzie, using the brush to swish powder across Duncan’s cheekbone. “I bet he is to you, honey, you little sugar plum.”
Kenzie was coming down from her laughter, brushing tears from the corners of her eyes.
“He is. He’s an angel.”
“Oh shut up. You’re both stupidly beautiful and wildly in love. Sickening. Your Instas are the hottest thing online right now, I saw you taking that photo honey, make sure you tag me, @alisterrichardsstyle.” “I promise I will, thank you, Alister.” Kenzie snorted into her hand again. Seeing her laugh this way made Duncan feel absolutely dazzled. I’m your biggest fan, baby love.
“There.” Alister hadn’t done more than add some dark eyeliner and very light contour to Duncan’s face; Duncan had had this reaction from stylists before, and was used to light “touch-ups” versus any kind of lengthy makeup for shoots. “You honestly didn’t even need that, but keeping up appearances and all that. You might be the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen, baby. And I’ve seen some boys.” Alister moved over to where Kenzie sat, glancing up at him nervously.
“Now, you, little baby angel. Let’s give you some lips to go with that dress, mama.” As Alister worked on Kenzie’s face Duncan couldn’t help but stare--her eyelashes darkened and became longer under his hands, her eyelids painted a iridescent pink, her cheek rosied, her lips dark crimson red to match the lacy dress. Duncan was struck by the romanticism of her hair over her shoulder, the glance she gave him as Alister finished on her--suddenly, my dark fiery goddess of blood-red wine.
“I guess you’re more like a little red box of Valentine’s Day chocolate now, baby,” Alister said to her as he moved the lipstain wand from her mouth. “Stay still while I document.” Alister pulled his phone out of his large pocket and took several snaps of her face from all angles, then moved over to Duncan and did the same thing to him. “Gonna pretend like I created all this beauty myself,” Alister smirked. “You are free to go, my angelic darlings. I shall wave to you from your place in the heavens.” Alister gave them a little bow just as River pulled the door open. “Alister, are you done on them?” Duncan was going over to Kenzie and grasping her hand--they thanked Alister, Kenzie still giggling into her palm.
“Oooooo, gorgeous,” River cooed, staring at them openly. “Annette’s over here.” Duncan’s heart rammed up into his mouth as he saw his mother, her beauty clouded with annoyance (as was her usual with him lately--Duncan remembered how he’d brushed her off the last time he saw her, and her angry texts regarding their living together), staring down at the large screen of her phone, typing quickly. She looked up at them and Duncan saw her clouded gaze darken further at Kenzie’s appearance.
“Mackenzie, what are you wearing.” It wasn’t a question as much as a demand--an angry demand for a satisfying answer.
“Mom, please, lay off her.”
“Duncan, don’t take that fucking condescending tone with me. And you’re living together now, what a fucking joke. Absolutely thoughtless.” Annette stood and her eyes flashed--she wore an asymmetrical black crepe dress with a draped neck, and pointed black stilettos. Today she also wore a gold necklace with three round diamond stones in addition to her customary diamond earrings--more jewelry than Duncan had seen on her since the last photoshoot they’d had, which was several months ago. Her look was undoubtedly, undeviatingly Annette. But what you don’t seem to understand is Kenzie is not going to dress like you. She’s going to dress like her.
“Annette, the paparazzi swarmed my apartment building--” Duncan looked down at Kenzie to see her face creased with anxiety, her little voice distraught, floating up to his ear towards Annette. He could see how much she was trying to keep her temper, and it made him want to shield her from Annette’s cruelly dark eyes.
“Then you find another fucking apartment, sweetie,” Annette snapped at her, and he felt Kenzie flinch in his hand, as if she wanted to run away from the scene. No, baby, no, remember what I said. Show her who’s boss. You’re the boss now, Kenzie. You’re in charge. You belong here. Show her.
Annette was openly sneering at Kenzie now, her eyes taking on that unnerving, deeply dark sheen they’d had over dinner at Plume. River was standing by nervously, not speaking, seemingly afraid to butt into the sudden vehemency of Annette’s manner--a photographer, camera in hand, a woman with boxy glasses and salt-and-pepper hair, had come up to her and whispered in her ear, and she was hurriedly whispering back, head turned towards the encounter. Clouds had drifted over the sun while they were in the trailer, and it suddenly seemed as though it might rain--yeah, really fucking rain, Duncan thought. Kenzie suddenly gripped his hand so hard it hurt, and he flinched, looking down at her--her eyes were staring into Annette’s, and they were swirling with the gold sheen usually saved for him alone--a sheen so bright it almost hurt him to look into them. Her other hand had come around to grip at the diamond moon around her neck, tightly, so tight he could see her fingers turning red. His head snapped up to his mother’s face; she seemed caught inside Kenzie’s whirling gaze, and her own took on a dazed expression, as though she were trying to remember something she’d forgotten.
“Duncan and I are together now. You can’t tear us apart.” Kenzie’s voice was trembling at first--then, it evened and soothed, and became very clear. “Please accept my presence in his life, Annette. He’s told you this before: your disapproval will not end our attachment. But it will bring him sadness. And it will bring you sadness, too.” Kenzie’s voice was mesmerizing in this moment; Duncan remembered flashes of the vision of her last night, a vision that seemed to be slowly fading from his understanding in the fabric of reality; the Kenzie with white hair that had flowers like little universes, eyes like whirling cosmic vistas, a gown made of the intricate geometries of some unknown intergalactic fiber, wings of some unfathomable divinity. This voice is like the voice of that Kenzie. That Kenzie is afraid of no earthly being. The air suddenly felt very heavy, as though a thunderstorm were about to begin.
“Please, don’t direct your anger on us anymore.” Duncan felt Kenzie’s hand grow strangely cold for a moment--cold, then surge back into warmth, like hot water dumped over ice. Her grip on him relaxed--the heavy feeling in the air seemed to dissipate, and he took a deep breath.
The clouds moved a little from their place over the sun, slowly allowing it to peek out again. Annette was strangely quiet--her expression had changed from one of anger to the dazed expression of confusion to one that now seemed to have forgotten her anger entirely; her annoyance remained, but it was less pointed towards Kenzie, now directed at River and the photographer standing to the sidelines. They didn’t seem to really understand or recall what had just happened--River was blinking rapidly, as though disoriented from a loud sound.
“What are we all standing around for?” Annette barked at her. “Are we doing this or not? I have a full schedule today, Ms. Tsukamoto.”
“Kenzie,” Duncan leaned down to her, his lips to her ear. “What did you do?”
“I--I don’t know,” she whispered, looking at Annette. Duncan’s mother was moving away from them, talking to River with a clipped voice. The photographer was interjecting, pointing to the fountain and gesturing. “I think...I just told her to stop. Stop being the way she’s being to us, to me and you, to us being together. I think it was like...a kind of command. Baby, I don’t know.” Kenzie was pressing a hand against her forehead, breathing slowly through her nose, out through her mouth, her red lips shining in the afternoon sun.
“Okay, baby. Okay. Let’s get through this, okay? We can do this.” He soothed his thumb over her hand. Kenzie nodded, weakly. He led her over to where Annette was now sitting by the fountain.
“Hey, I’m Anna Peterson.” The photographer approached them, peering at them over her glasses, pushing a hand through her hair. She seemed either unfazed by what had just happened, or seemed to have forgotten it entirely. Kenzie was still pressing her hand on her forehead, but Duncan nodded to her.
“You two are...really something. I have to get some shots of the two of you alone, I think. We’ll do something with Annette while River’s conducting the interview, but I’d love for you to pose for me a few times together without her. If that’s alright with you.”
“Is that okay, Kenz?” Duncan looked down at her. She nodded a little. He turned to Anna. “Do you have any water bottles?” Anna trotted over to one of the trailers and emerged a few moments later with an unopened plastic water bottle, handing it out to Kenzie. Kenzie reached for it with shaking hands; Duncan grasped it, opening it for her. “Thanks baby,” she whispered, sipping at it carefully. River was already asking Annette questions--Duncan felt weary at the prospect of trying to lie about his intentions for the company, and the longer he could put it off today, probably for the better. Anna eyed them both again--Duncan noted how impatient she seemed to start with the camera on them, fiddling her fingers over its black-and-silver surface, hopping from side to side--and said “How about we do a couple shots right now? Just some warm-up stuff. How about over here?” She gestured with one hand to where groups of blushing bourbon roses were clustered in two adjacent bushes, about a yard away from where River and Annette were going back and forth, Annette’s clipped voice carrying over to them.
Duncan nodded, gently pulling Kenzie in front of one of the bushes, to a spot of partial shade under an oak tree that grew beside them--she still clutched the water bottle in one hand, and Duncan could see the moisture gathering along the outside trembling as the bottle shook in her unsteady grip. Anna was already snapping away, having started as soon as he and Kenzie began to move; Duncan kept his hand threaded through hers, thinking soft waves of love towards her. I don’t know what you did to Mom, Kenz, but it worked. It’s like she forgot we’re even here. It was like the power we pushed over her at dinner, but even stronger. I think the powers we can use, whatever the fuck they are, whatever they mean--I think they’re getting stronger. I think we can direct them better, control them better. Kenzie set the water bottle down in the crook of the oak tree’s roots, and came close to him, her hands reaching out for him. Duncan couldn’t stop himself; he pressed his palm against her jaw, heard the furious clicking of Anna’s camera.
I still don’t really know what I did though, baby. Kenzie was looking up at him, her hazel eyes drifting into different colors as the clouds partially obscured the sun again--Anna paused for a moment, and said “God, that’s lovely, just keep doing that, the way you’re looking at each other, Duncan, keep touching her that way,” towards them. Their bodies were leaning close; the roses framed behind them. Gladly, he thought. I’ll gaze at you and hold you all day, angel baby. Kenzie seemed to be calming, the trembling running down from her limbs. Duncan moved his hands down to hold Kenzie at the waist--she pressed into him, sighing, her chin angling up. Gaze away, her gold thought drifted against him. I love you so. In your eyes I am content. They’re home.
“Mackenzie, look over here.” The camera was snapping rapidly, repeatedly. Kenzie glanced to Anna--almost involuntarily, it seemed, she laid her temple against Duncan’s chest, and his hand came up against her hair--he gazed down at the aureate crown of her golden-chestnut hair and pressed his lips against it as she glanced over at Anna, her little red lips parted just slightly, her eyes shining with the damp residue of her emotions. Duncan savored the warmth of her despite the hotness of the day, the feeling of the lace of her dress under his fingers, the dip of her waist, the cascade of her hair, the heady scent of her. You’re my home too, baby. You’re the resting place of my soul.
“Wow,” Anna said. She seemed to have forgot about them, in a sense; seemed to be thinking about the photos rather than their physical presence. “That’s going to be a final shot for absolute certain.” Kenzie turned her face into him now, her eyes fluttering closed, overwhelmed; Duncan looked to Anna’s camera now, and couldn’t stop the protective wave that fell over him, his resentment towards the world around them that didn’t seem to grasp how extraordinary Kenzie was, how luminously beautiful within, brighter than a hundred other souls combined, how desperately she had to be protected from anyone who would wish her harm, how divine it was that her spirit was on earth at all. “Gorgeous, gorgeous, fuck, perfect,” Anna was murmuring, coming around their right side. “Like a fairy tale. Your eyes, Duncan, they’re like sharp little polished sapphires. Hold that pose for me, please.” Kenzie looked up at him; they really are, she thought to him. They are like sapphires. I love your eyes, baby.
And your eyes are like autumn leaves dusted with golden evening lights. She pulled away from him, grinning in embarrassment--Duncan clutched at her arms, pulling her back to him, pressing his lips into the bottom of her jaw as he lifted her little body up to him, Anna clicking her camera all the while. No baby, let me. Let me tell you how beautiful you are, Kenzie. Let me tell you and know how sincerely I mean it, my body and soul aching for you, hungry for you every minute. Please know how much I love you.
I know baby, I know. And I love you--so much. So fucking much. So much it’s almost hard to look at you, to feel all that love from you, because I feel like the love I feel for you and the love I feel coming from you is so great--together, it’s like they’re going to burst my heart into a thousand pieces.
Let it burst, then. Mine will too. The fragments of both of us will still find each other again. I’d find you if you were at the opposite end of the universe, baby. I’d search for you until I found you. I swear on everything. On my life, on my death, on every star. I promise. I would fucking find you. His hands were threading through her hair, their lips not quite touching but their mouths hovering near each other; Duncan resurfaced from the intoxicating nexus of her, glancing over at Anna again; the older woman was gaping openly at them, her camera hovering in her hands, forgotten. Then she shook her head as if to clear it, and nodded at him, mouthing the word again. Perfect.
------
The interview, so far as it concerned him and Kenzie, went surprisingly smoothly--whatever influence Kenzie had had on Annette seemed to extend through the remainder of their time with River and Anna; the photographer took several shots of them around the fountain, Duncan standing behind his mother in one with Kenzie sitting in the opposite direction, and another with Kenzie and Duncan sitting together and Annette standing, her gaze off to the side. Duncan wondered with mounting impatience what the photos would look like when the article was released; wondered if by the time it was published it wouldn’t already be obsolete in context. Annette had already given answers to several questions from River regarding the company that Duncan knew were not entirely accurate or truthful--and answers he knew would not coincide with the new model for the company when he gained majority share. Duncan knew Kenzie was getting glimpses of his inner frustration as the afternoon wore on; she would glance at him with concern deep in her eyes, and reach for his hand, her lips pressing together. Better not to talk much anyway, baby, she said to him, secretly; that way you won’t be branded a liar later. And Annette can’t pretend like you went along with all of this just to turn on her. I’m with you, baby. We should talk to Momby soon about the board of directors. I’m sure she’ll say yes. We’re going to make it through all of this--and then we’ll have our whole lives ahead of us.
Her voice inside his head had soothed him as the afternoon wore on, and by the time River was turning off her recorder and closing her notes, Annette seemed to be in a mood that could almost approach good for once. She was glancing down at her phone with a neutral expression; then, it seemed to cloud again as she received a text. Kenzie had been whispering into his ear, giggling over Claire asking if Harris was single, trailing kisses along his skin there. Annette looked up at him, and he knew something was wrong.
“Your uncle’s been taken to the hospital again.” She was standing, her lips pressing in a thin line, the clouds having returned strongly overhead--this time they seemed to be here to stay, having multiplied and extended over the sky, so the day was no longer bright or as hot. Annette’s hand was coming up to brush her hair off her shoulder, and her expression became unreadable, dark, hidden. “I have to meet him there. We’ll have to postpone the Forbes interview.”
“Mom, I could do it without you--”
“No. I don’t think so.” She seemed to falter for a moment, her eyes skirting over to Kenzie beside him, who was staring back at her solemnly, sympathy in her hazel eyes. Kenzie forgives you for everything, I know she does. She always does. She wants to be your friend. She wants to be a daughter to you. I know that, even if she won’t say it, won’t really say it, not yet, not even to me. Annette’s tone wasn’t angry and incredulous, as it had been--now, it was tinged with a sort of weary resignation, and a hidden sadness that she refused to show outwardly. “I think perhaps it’s better to cancel it entirely. There’s too much happening in the company right now to give a business-forward interview, anyway. With the company itself soon to be in such flux--it seems unwise. This one is done, besides.” Annette suddenly looked very tired. Duncan reached out to his mother--she gripped under his arms, and he knew in a rush how badly she had wanted to touch him, then. Knew that she was mourning his uncle already, in her heart of hearts, a heart she never showed to anyone but him, and then only in rare flashes that seemed to disappear right after the instant they emerged.
“Mom. I love you.”
“My sweet Duncan.” River and Anna had gone away, back to one of the trailers, and Harris stood with his mother’s bodyguard, Becket, a huge, menacing man who rarely spoke, at the far edge of the garden by the gate, too far away to hear any conversation from the distance; the Rose Garden had grown oddly quiet, the only sounds the drift of the summer wind and the trickle of the water, and Kenzie was sitting on the fountain beside where he and his mother stood, staring at the ground, her hair falling down her shoulders, her hand clutching at the moon pendant at her throat. As he glanced at her he could see that she had tears gathered in the corners of her eyes--he glanced back at his mother, caught between their emotions.
“You were always such a perceptive, sensitive child.” Annette was loosening her grip on his arms, stepping back from him. “I fought to steel your nerves for the world outside. It’s cruel and unkind and ruthlessly hard, and I knew it would crush you if I didn’t prepare you for it. I’m sorry if I...I’m sorry if I have sometimes been cold to you. I tried to...I tried to protect you. I have tried to. You had to be fearless to survive this world, and I knew it, and I became obsessed with my need to prepare you. I wonder if I--” she turned her face to look over his shoulder, into Kenzie’s eyes--seemed to notice the tears there. “I wonder if I’ve been too stubborn regarding certain...things. As your uncle worsens, I...”
Annette’s eyes grew misty--she smiled, but the smile was achingly sad to him.
“I wonder if I haven’t confused the things that truly matter with what seemed to for so long.”
Duncan watched, his body going stiff with shock, as Annette went around him and reached down to Kenzie with one shaking hand. I’ve never seen Mom shake like that. It’s my uncle. Bill’s dying. He’s really dying. And I think she just realized that. Really realized it, and began to accept it. He’s going to die very soon.
Kenzie reached up to her--as their fingers grasped each other, Duncan watched (felt) the golden wave of Kenzie’s energy (her attention, her kindness, her goodness, her love) fall down over his mother in its quiet, cascading swell. Annette sighed--the sigh seemed to be tinged with surprise, as though whatever she was receiving from Kenzie was moving beyond words, tinged with too much feeling to resist. Duncan couldn’t quite glimpse it in its entirety--it seemed to be a secret of some kind that Kenzie passed into his mother, something for her and her alone. Duncan felt another sharp wave of shock as he watched Annette lean down to Kenzie’s little cheek and kiss it, a tiny, short peck of her lips to the soft skin of his beloved’s sweet face. The kiss, he knew instantly, was sincere.
And then the moment passed, and Annette walked away from them, towards Becket and the gate, slipping her dark sunglasses over her eyes, shielding him and Kenzie from her emotions entirely. The big man ushered her through the gate, and they were lost from view.
“Dunny,” Duncan heard Kenzie’s little voice before he turned to her, heard the tears in it, and they weren’t tears of sadness, not really--they’d become tears of relief, he saw as he looked into her eyes, their whirling gold telling him clearly, and he rushed to her and gathered her up in his arms, and she was so small and her body shook against him, and Duncan touched her cheek where his mother had kissed her, and it seemed to burn under his fingers, burn like it had been held close to a flame, and he held her among the quiet roses, the sweet-scented summer wind falling against them, and the moment soothed and dissolved, and they lingered in it for a long while.
#duckenzie#body and soul#millory#duncan x mackenzie#body and soul au#body and soul fic#body and soul fanfic#fuckenzie lol#love to the millorys#love my duckenzies so fucking much#duckenzies#duncan shepherd x mackenzie stone#duncan shepherd#duncan shepherd au#house of cards au#ahs apocalypse au#millory au#millory fic#house of cards#collie#cody x billie#officialcodysfallenangels#icouldrun#a reminder that if you want me to tag you when i post chapters of body and soul let me know and i will duckenzies#my fic#michael x mallory#duncan shepherd x mallory
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Mama Chloe teaching baby Emily the ways of being a werewolf? SO COOL!
[A/N: It’s taking me a long while to get to all these werewolf prompts but I love them]
CHECK OUT MORE WERE!EMILY HERE & WERE!CHLOE HERE
Emily’s never been fond of the woods. Her father and older brother used to take her out on hunting trips when she was young. They would sit perched up against a platform nailed to a large oak and wait for the unsuspecting deer to wander into their path. She would shield her eyes and try to cover her ears from the feedback of the rifle as much as she could, but it would never work.
Anthony would smile proudly, and her father would pat him on the back with a look of triumph before explaining away Emily’s green look with the squeeze of her knee. It’s the will of nature Emily. We’re meant to survive this way.
She didn’t see it in the same light, and she was more often than not, left to freeze with her headphones and an old Walkman that played the same mixtape over and over again until the melodies had been drilled into her mind and the firing of the guns just morphed in with the beats.
Right now, with Chloe Beale leading the way, she couldn’t tell if she wanted to be back in that deer hunt with her brother and her father, or here. In any sense: She would rather be curled up with a book and a good cup of coffee. One strong enough to ignore the cloying feeling in the center of her gut.
Chloe seemed right at home here. She breathed in the scent of the falling leaves and thrived against the vibrant yellows and oranges that still clung to the trees. Their boots cracked over the underbrush and Emily struggled to keep a hold on one singular thing or the other. She swore she could still catch the scent of the campus, and of the hot dog that a sophomore was having on the steps of Baker Hall.
“Right, well, I’m pretty sure we’re far enough.” Chloe stopped in the middle of a small clearing. She was bundled up in a coat, a long flannel that Emily was sure belonged to Beca. It smelled like her. She looked so at ease. “No one will hear us here.”
“Hear us?” Emily lifted her eyebrows in question.
Chloe had knocked on the door to her dorm with a smile that was annoyingly bright for 7am on a Saturday. She had rummaged through Emily’s cabinets before throwing her a pair of sweat pants and t-shirt and telling her to get dressed. She had hit her square in the face and Emily was pretty sure she could crawl back into bed and ignore everything, yet, here she was.
“I’m going to teach you how to turn.”
“I thought I already knew how to do that?”
She shivered visibly at the thought. Sure, the past two full moons that she endured had been an extra slice of pie from hell. It was a pain that she couldn’t quite get a grip on, one that had her chained to the basement in her literary professor’s house. (She didn’t even want to tap into that wormhole.) But she had lived, even if her body ached at the mere edge of memory.
“No, you don’t.” Chloe pulled at the metal snappers on her pea coat, letting them move with a pop. “You know how to shift against the mercy of the moon. Not at your own will.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
Chloe had a ghost of a smile on her lips, one that was oddly unfit for the situation but calming all in itself. “All you feel is the anxiety when you shift, correct? Like you’re fighting something every step of the way?”
Emily swallowed roughly but nodded with little confidence. She didn’t remember much, the pain was blinding, but she did recall her constant battle with the wolfs primal instinct that was housed at the back of her mind. The full moon seemed to unleash it, let it fester. She pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt down further and tried to swallow the acidic taste in her mouth.
“Right now, you’re working against your wolf.” Chloe shrugged the coat off her shoulders and let it drop at the base of a tree. The ground looked damp. “You’re stifling it in every aspect and that just makes the one time during the month when it gains complete control even worse.”
Emily lifted her chin like she understood, but she wasn’t quite sure she did. Part of her wanted to relinquish all control and let Chloe make the decisions because she knew best. She didn’t’ lead blindly and Emily never felt like she was in danger around the woman- not until now.
Chloe was lifting her t-shirt from the bottom up, seemingly not bothered by the cold of the fall day.
“I don’t like… the woods” Emily finally said, staring down at the blanket of leaves on the ground.
The older woman’s eyebrows shot up. She had spoken to her before about how the cover of the trees was for their benefit, but Emily never took much stock in it. As far as she was concerned, she would grow used to repressing those hunt hungry feelings chained to a rafter underground. Not out in the open where she could potentially hurt someone.
“My dad and brother used to drag me to hunting trips out here and I… I couldn’t’ fathom shooting a deer, a rabbit, anything. And now you’re asking me to- “Emily took a second to steady her breathing, to swallow back the lump in her throat. “To willingly turn into the darkest part of myself that is okay with doing that.”
Chloe’s features softened as she let her hands drop to her sides. She eyed the girl for a few moments, took in the way her stance was alert and how much fear she could smell. It wasn’t a pleasant scent, it stung and mixed with the vanilla and musk that Emily usually carried. The one that alerted her to the young wolf in the first place in that coffee shop two months ago.
“The first time I turned, I nearly killed a man.” Chloe said, voice careful “I had used a simple pair of handcuffs and fastened it to the pipe in against the bottom of the sink. Threw the key into the tub too like I would need it.”
She shoved her hands into her pockets for warmth despite only being in a sports bra and slack pair of sweat pants. Emily listened intently.
“I didn’t know what was happening to me. The mood swings, the incessant hunger, and the pain that wracked through me the closer we got to the full moon. It got so bad that night- so dominating, that I locked myself away to protect everyone.”
Emily pursed her lips into a thin line. It had taken three different sets of chains and a very handy dose of tranquilizer to seemingly calm her into a stillness last month. A simple handset of handcuffs and a rusty pipe couldn’t’ handle a simple house cat.
“I was lucky that night, you know? Someone had enough sense to pull me off that guy before I ripped his throat out and believe me, Emily, I would have. You need to let your wolf work with you instead of against you. It’s that simple. You wouldn’t like being cooped up all day, would you?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Alright, good.” Chloe nodded softly “Now, for lack of a better word. Strip.”
Emily’s cheeks instantly heated up and she stared down at the dirt she had been kicking so aimlessly at. Chloe had removed most of her clothes at this point, throwing her pants against the pile of already shed clothes. The younger girl would have objected, but she tore straight through her favorite Barden sweatshirt last time.
She hooked her own fingers against the edge of her shirt and shivered under the cold air as she tossed it into a pile next to Chloe’s. She rolled her pants into a little ball and straightened easily in the clearing. She rubbed the back of her neck and looked sheepishly at Chloe, who seemed extremely sure of herself. She should be comfortable with it by now- but the woman’s bluntness always had a way of shocking her.
“I need you to get angry.”
“What?”
“I taught you about anchors a few weeks ago. Something that you need to hold onto with all of your might just to make sure that you’re human.”
Emily nodded thoughtfully. It was something she relied on to lower her heartbeat. A someone who triggered something so undeniably damning in her that it would always reign true. All she had to do was listen for the heartbeat, that sound of her shallow breathing and the way her primal scent was everywhere. She would settle then. Calm down enough to stop clenching her jaw and breathe.
“Now I want to teach you the opposite.” Chloe circled her in an almost primal way, the leaves crunching under her bare feet. “Something to connect you to your primal nature. So, I want you to get angry.”
She scrunched her nose up, remembering that day in the coffee shop even more vividly. It only took a spilled hot beverage down the front of her blouse to stir up rage in her. Chloe had pulled her effortlessly into the bathroom and she let her, felt her power and her own mark. Emily snorted. “I don’t think I can do that on command.”
“What’ll it take, then?” Chloe asked, eyes darkening as she shoved Emily’s shoulder back with force.
“Ow- I… not that?”
“What then? You want to talk about the night you were turned?”
Emily most certainly didn’t want to talk about that night. The way the forest had become so foreign and engulfing, how the stray branches tore at her while something unknown hunted her for sport. It had dug its teeth so easily into her for the fun of it- no remorse. He probably thinks she’s dead now.
“The way he left you to die. How he took away everything that was important to you.”
Emily let out a huff and sent Chloe a glare. She wouldn’t let this work. Not when she was standing half naked in the middle of a forest with the woman who was supposed to mentoring her. Right now, it felt more like cruel torture. She was close, breath hot.
“He didn’t’ care about you, Emily.” She prodded, voice a low growl “About what you could do to your family.”
“Chloe,”
“What you could do to Aubrey-“
Emily brought her hand rigidly against the edge of Chloe’s cheek. The slap seemed to echo against the expanse of the woods and she instantly let out a gasp, bringing that same hand to her mouth as she stifled her shock. She couldn’t quite explain the rage that flashed through her, or what lead her to strike the woman in the first place.
Chloe’s eyes were downcast, and her cheek still turned as she brought in an easy breath, flicking her stare back to Emily as she lifted her chin. “Good. Use that. You’re going to need it.”
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27 for strongson? :3
sorry it took so long!!!
[Read it on AO3]
27.) A taunt, with one eyebrow raised and a grin bubbling at your lips.
Joey Hudson never expected to be in this situation.
But then, she’s just surprised she’s lived this long.
She’s in the middle of Hope County, no way to not be in Hope County, with words carved into her that haven’t even healed all the way and somehow… not everything is horrible.
Or at the very least, things could be much worse.
She’s got support: Grace Armstrong. One hell of a woman and a strong friend.
Well, Hudson would have to admit they’re a bit… more than friends, this far in.
So, yeah, things could be much worse. She has a… a more-than-friend. They haven’t mentioned labels. And her partner is, amazingly, still alive after all this. Adora is the one who’d introduced her to Grace after pulling her from that damn hole she’d been kept in.
And Grace… god, Grace is a godsend.
She’s been through a lot but she doesn’t let it affect how she treats people. She’s… fucking adorable, with how respectful she is.
When they’d first met, Grace had been a sweet sort of distant, even with her flirting. But that had been what Hudson needed. She’d needed that distance that she could cross in her own time.
Now… there’s not a distance. Not one that isn’t very easily crossed.
They aren’t terribly open with their affection in public. Not in Hope County. But when they’re alone, Hudson lets her guard down. And miracle of miracles, it’s not absolutely terrifying. And Grace, Grace holds her when she needs it. They share a bed some nights and those nights are easiest for Hudson. Those nights, John rarely haunts her dreams. And if he does, Grace gets her mind off of it, croons her name in a low voice, plays with her hair, whatever she needs to do.
So maybe they haven’t put labels on it, but… maybe at this point, it’s obvious. Maybe they don’t have to actually say out loud what they are, but it’s certainly more than friends. Lovers or girlfriends or whatever.
Hudson doesn’t care.
She has Grace. And Grace has her.
Adora-- or Daisy, as Hudson calls her sometimes, her middle name-- doesn’t make fun of her, not exactly. But she’s oh so smug when she sees them together as if she doesn’t go doe-eyed every time she looks at one miss Jessica Black. And Adora is much more of a romantic than Hudson could ever be.
No, but Adora signs cheesy crap at her when Grace isn’t looking, and sometimes when she is.
Grace takes it in a good-natured manner. Hell, sometimes she’ll respond by pulling Hudson close and practically showing off their closeness. Those times are rare, only ever happening when a select few are in the room. But Hudson covets that feeling.
There’s something about Grace murmuring her name under her breath, a soft “Joey”, before nuzzling against her neck, or kissing her, or literally any sort of quiet affection that Hudson realizes she’s been starved of. It’s exhilarating. It fills her with this overwhelming warmth that she only sort of understands. It’s been years since she’s felt it this strong.
She knows what it is, but it’s not really something she wants to think about. But it’s almost unavoidable, what with Grace in bed beside her.
They’re in a bunker out in the woods. It’s an abandoned prepper hole Adora has claimed, but she’s shared its location with them, as well as Jess of course. She jokes about it being a “lesbian stronghold”.
The first time she'd been brought here, she almost couldn't go in. A bunker is where he had kept her. A much larger one, but still.
It had taken time. She'd sat outside, Adora on one side, Grace on the other. Jess, restless, had patrolled to ensure no one snuck up on them. Eventually, with the support of both her partner and her partner, she'd descended into the so-called “lesbian stronghold”.
In all honesty, it was so utterly different from John's bunker, her fears of being there vanished. Adora had so clearly put time and effort into making this one “homey”. There's an old television and a pile of VHS tapes and dvds right beside it. She, somehow, has procured a lesbian pride flag, which is stretched across one wall. Whichever prepper abandoned this place-- or died before they could use it-- had left it stocked with many years worth of food.
It's the perfect hideout for people on the run from Eden's Gate. Because Joseph, he wants Hudson back and he wants to make Adora submit. It's probable he wouldn't mind getting his hands on Grace or Jess either. He can't do that if he can't find them.
Hudson feels the body beside her move; Grace's arm over her waist gets a bit heavier, pulls her the slightest bit closer, and she takes a deep breath. Only a moment later, Grace presses a kiss to her cheek.
“Mornin, Joey,” she murmurs in her sleep rough voice.
And fuck if Hudson isn't some sort of weak at just that.
“Hey… Took you long enough.”
Grace hums. “Gotta get enough sleep. Even if it means sleeping in sometimes.”
Hudson rolls towards her, bringing them face to face. Grace keeps her arm hooked on her.
“Might help if you didn't keep me up,” comes the soft joke.
Hudson smirks. “As if you don't enjoy that. Besides, we should take advantage of our privacy while we have it. We don't get any in Fall's End, and it's only when Adora and Jess aren't here that we have it here.”
Grace seems to agree to that with a dip of her head. She's brought her hand up to play with Hudson's hair. Hudson is a sucker for that sort of attention, but eventually, she pulls away. She stands.
“I'm starving.” She stretches, arms over her head, before picking up her clothes off the floor. Before she can put any on, she feels hands on her back. Grace's hands, strong hands that have ended lives but jumpstarted Hudson's…
Grace strokes over every bit of unmarred flesh before focusing on the freshly healed scars. Some still have time before they're counted among that number, but her firm touch does nothing to aggravate any injuries.
Hudson still isn't used to all the attention. She's used to being the one that doles out attention, not the one who receives it. Hell, her last girlfriend probably couldn't even spell “reciprocate” let alone define it.
But fuck, Grace does so much more than that.
And Hudson, she's usually the butch in her relationships. She sure as hell isn't a femme. But Grace out-butches her by far, if only in her stoic attitude, in her calm confidence, or the way she treats women.
But you know what they say. Chivalry isn't dead, she's a butch.
Hudson reciprocates whenever she can. The calm moments between them where they can just fucking exist, where they don't have to think about their situation, are rare and Hudson needs them. Needs that reassurance that not everything is horrible.
Grace's hands end up on her hips and Hudson can feel her breath hot on the back of her neck. She's not a bottom but the way Grace can make her knees weak seems to dispute that.
Rather than start anything, Grace just presses a kiss to the back of her neck before stepping away to pull on a shirt. “What do you want for breakfast?” she asks.
Hudson shrugs as she tugs her pants back on. “Don't care. I think there's still venison in the fridge.”
“One order of venison bacon coming up.”
Grace, Hudson has learned, is a damn good cook. Which is great, because Hudson's specialties aren't exactly applicable when their main diet is fish or deer. Turkey, if they're lucky.
Hudson pulls down the little table that folds up into the wall and works on some warm drinks. She doesn't do caffeine, but she makes Grace a mug of crappy instant coffee, which is better than nothing. She has to make do with some equally crappy black tea which, again, is better than nothing, but she'd kill for a cup of hibiscus white tea with honey.
They chat as they work. Both have plenty of stories the other hasn't heard yet.
Grace had served for a while under DADT. She’s in the middle of a story she’s got about it when the bunker hatch opens.
Both Grace and Hudson have a gun in their hands in seconds, attention on the doorway. But then Adora drops in, followed by Jess. Both look exhausted.
Jess gives a short “hey” and Adora signs a greeting. Besides that, they’re silent. Adora collapses onto her and Jess’s bed on the opposite side of the room from Hudson and Grace’s. Jess heads for the room in the back that has the shower.
Hudson hums, looking back at Adora. There’s a new cut on her partner’s cheek with a fresh bruise turning the edges purple. She’d be worried, but she knows Jess has probably already helped Adora out there.
Adora looks up and meets her eyes.
“Need anything?” Hudson signs.
She just shakes her head and closes her eyes. “Tired. Gonna sleep,” she signs back.
Grace sets a plate of food in front of Hudson and sits across from her. Their previous conversation derailed, they eat in the quiet.
“We should head out soon,” Grace says. “Let them sleep in peace.”
“Back to Fall’s End?”
“Yeah. I gotta check in with Mary May. She said she had something she wanted me to do.”
“You’ve got my help if you want it.”
Grace gives her a soft look. “It’ll be fine.”
Hudson frowns, but she doesn’t argue. She knows Grace doesn’t like her near the fighting. She’d be angry but… she’s afraid of what her actual anger might do. Her anger at the cult, at the Seeds, and at the world as a whole. She’d nearly stabbed Adora when Adora had come for her in the bunker. Who knows what would happen if she lost control again?
Grace seems to realize her thoughts are in a bad place. She taps a finger on the table, capturing her attention. “I’m gonna visit the Ryes too if you wanna go. Adora keeps talking about their little girl. I think it’s time I met her myself.”
Babies. Hudson has never been great with them. Especially newborns. A couple of her high school friends have spawned already and it’d been so strange meeting their babies. But there are far worse things to do. Especially when it’s something to keep her busy and something to do with Grace.
“Sure. Adora is gaga for that kid. Did she mention the Ryes made her godmother?”
Grace grins. “Only a million times. Last time she and I headed out, she bartered with this lady for some toys for what seemed like a half an hour. Stuffed animals and crap. Some baby blankets.”
“That certainly sounds like her.”
“And I had to translate, mind you. She didn’t have her hearing aids in and there’s only a handful of people in the valley that know sign.”
Hudson chuckles. “That had to be fun.”
“Was what it was. I’ll have to ask the Ryes if they enjoyed what she brought them.”
Once they’re finished, Hudson takes their plates over to the sink. She hears the door to the bathroom open and glances back to see Jess emerge. She’s in a different hoodie and the dirt and blood she’d worn before is gone. She looks as tired as hell.
“Hey, Jess,” Grace greets. “Want any food?”
“No thanks,” comes a grunt in response. She’s already climbing into bed beside Adora.
“What work has you two so tired?”
“Spent the night clearing the radar station. Started headin’ back this way, but sidetracked to take out those trucks with the guns John sent out before he kicked it. Fuckers were drivin’ around the mountains.”
“Good work. We’re gonna head out soon. We’ll see you when we see you?”
Jess just makes a sound of agreement as she curls up beside Adora. It doesn’t take long before she’s asleep as well.
Hudson and Grace are quiet as they gather up their few things and leave the bunker.
Outside, the sun is nearing its peak in the sky. There’s plenty of time to get back to Fall’s End before nightfall.
“So,” Hudson starts. “That story you were telling?”
“Huh?”
“That story-- before Daisy and her girl came back. You know. Your commanding officer and that DADT bullshit?”
That jogs Grace’s memory. “Ah! Right. Where’d I leave off?”
“Him seeing you kiss that woman.”
“Well, because I didn’t want to be kicked out so early in my career, I lied. Told him it was normal for girls to kiss their friends like that-- and I, well, I had a guy friend as a “fiance”. He was really just my roommate.” She grins and shakes her head. “He and I-- my roommate and I, that is, convinced my commanding officer that it really was completely normal to do that. And not just that, but to cuddle and things like that. And my roommate went as far to give this damn monologue about how hot he found it when I kissed women. I should add that this man was a dyed in the wool homosexual. Absolutely despised the thought of sleeping with a woman. But he was convincing enough that my commanding officer just thought he let me kiss girls for a kink.” She chuckles but rolls her eyes. “So, when DADT got repealed a few years back-- or overturned or however you’d say it-- I broke off my fake engagement and started being more open about going out with women.”
Hudson is following behind as she listens. And maybe getting a bit distracted just looking at Grace, but she’s still listening.
“That officer apparently had fallen hard for my lie, because he was absolutely flabbergasted when he ran into me with the girl I was dating at the time. Blathered on for a bit, trying to make sense of it, before freezing and going “That explains everything!” “ Grace holds back a branch so Hudson can pass by. “Apparently this poor man had tried to convince his wife it was completely normal for her to make out with a friend. And she, turns out, was also a lesbian trying to play at being a straight woman and fake it til she made it sort of thing. Maybe she didn’t even know she was. But she had started kissing women when he had passed on what I had told him.”
Grace pauses, both in her story and in walking. Hudson turns to face her, curious.
“So seeing me with a woman had apparently made everything that happened to him before that click. See, she’d divorced him and went off to live with a “friend” only that friend was her new partner. Lovely woman I introduced her to.” She snorts, shaking her head. “So I had inadvertently helped his, now ex, wife realize she wasn’t interested in men, caused him to get a divorce, and kept myself from getting discharged from this lie.”
They start walking again.
“It all came together for him right in front of me. That he’d passed on lesbian information to his wife and that her new “friend” was definitely more than that. Yeah, he didn’t like me much from then on.”
Hudson chuckles. “Did he retaliate at all?”
“Nope. He couldn’t, with where I was at when he found out. And with DADT done away with, I could be with whatever gender I wanted-- And I wanted girls.”
“Oh? Girls plural, huh?”
“I mean I've dabbled in that too.”
“Have you now? One woman isn't enough for you?”
They're joking, they're laughing, and looking at Grace, Hudson can almost forget they're being hunted by peggies.
“I mean, if she's the right woman.”
“Oh, I'm flattered.” Hudson nudges Grace's arm a bit. She can't stop the grin on her face.
Grace grins back. “Who said I was talking about you? What exactly makes you the right woman?”
Hudson might be hurt if it weren't for how fucking head over heels she is for this sniper she's found. So she uses that. “What makes me the right woman? I love you.” She says it like it's an insult but she does say it. She's grinning and she feels good and absolutely no one can take away how she feels about Grace. “You're not gonna get that from just any woman.”
Grace stops again. She looks startled, the levity that had been on her face moments before now replace by shock.
Hudson fears, for a moment, it might've been too much.
But then Grace breaks out into the biggest smile Hudson has seen her have yet. “You mean that?”
Hudson purses her lips. “Of course I mean it.” She grins again. “I said it, didn't I?”
“I love you too, Joey.” Her words are quick and followed by a brief but breathtaking kiss.
“Good to know.” Hudson takes a deep breath. At least something has gone right for her in the last few months. Grace is the bit of good that balances out the whole rest of the shit show she's faced.
They stand there, in the middle of the woods, and just stare at each other for a few long seconds.
And then Grace clears her throat. “We, uh… we should keep moving.”
“Lead the way.” Hudson will follow wherever Grace leads.
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Doubt Totes Terror
Hey guys! I just wanted to doodle up a little one-shot, take a step away from WOHT for a moment, ya know? ;D Anyway, here, have this fluffy, fluffy, fluffy fic.
Summary: Isaac is very confused, very light-headed, and literally nothing about this situation is helping. What in the world happened between senior midterms and... now?
Rated T for alcohol mention (kinda, but not really), and implied sexual content. Oh yeah, and language.
Things had been rough, rougher than usual, really. Going through day after day with the Activity Club always hurt, but there was something special about that pain the last year, like everything he’d felt before had intensified. After Hijack, Isabel had clearly been beside herself with him, Ed followed suit like always, and Spender simply continued to be Spender-- but Max hurt. Max, who never deserved what he got from him, who hadn’t done anything wrong... he hated Isaac, too. Every bit of snark was underlined in angry red pen, and try as he might to do the right thing, to patch things up between them, that line grew bolder, and soon there was no reading between the lines because the lines weren’t there, just red ink turned grey and lifeless. Max remained distant and unattached, but Isaac had, perhaps unintentionally, opened his heart to him, let him a little too close for the lack of return he was getting, but he couldn’t help it. Max was cool, and funny (when his heart wasn’t snapping under the butt of the joke), and even if he never let Isaac in the same way, didn’t exactly comfort him or pat his shoulder, he still defended him. Well, he defended him in battle anyway. Maybe it was all the teamwork, all the long hours spent alone with him, but somewhere along their fiftieth trek through the woods, Max’s eyes started to look like the stars overhead.
Aside from that though, Isabel still snuffed him, Ed still avoided him, Spender still ignored him, and Max still ruffled his feathers constantly (of course, nowadays his heart did flips just to hear him call his name). He’d become the mascot forever, he supposed. He was just doomed to the bed he’d made for himself. But that wasn’t anything new, and he’d by and by become used to it.
What killed him was Johnny, and the hand he had in Max’s back pocket.
They looked good together, got along well. Max actually smiled around Johnny, and Johnny wasn’t as destructive (to himself or anyone else) when Max was around. Max told jokes Johnny didn’t get, and Johnny was touchy-feely and made Max screech. Lots of times Isaac would sit there from across the lunchtable and just watch the way Max looked at him, and as bad as it hurt to see this unique softness in a guy so disinterested in everybody around him, see the way his hand tapped over on playful fingers to latch around Johnny’s under the table (everyone saw it and pretended not to, for Max’s sake, not his), he couldn’t look away. He told himself that they were only in high school. Things would get better. Max and Johnny would date for a few months, get sick of each other and split... but it never happened.
They’d hit senior year when Johnny started openly blabbing about marriage, and half a week into midterms when Max started dropping hints about eloping.
And that was where Isaac was now, laying on his bed with the curtains drawn in the dead of night, one arm to his eyes to catch the tears that hadn’t stopped for a solid hour. What an idiot he was. How stupid he was. He’d always known he was falling like a rock down a river, and that Max floated atop the current, but he’d still hoped, and every night he still had dreams, though those dreams were mostly plagued by visions of red and blue lights melding and molding like the Aurora. All he could do was watch from where he’d been pegged to the ground, take in the sight and smile because, even if he wasn’t a part of it, even if he never would be... it was beautiful.
His body wracked with another sob, and he set the balls of his wrists to his eyes hoping to corner off some of it, but thick bold streams dripped and colored the skin of his cheek down to the bottom of his ear wet. His chest hurt, felt heavy, and he could breath but he really didn’t want to. His heart was twisting, and churning, and he was certain it’d grown tangled in its own strings.
What an idiot he was. How stupid he was.
“Max...” He grinded his teeth, knowing there’d be no response.
He turned to his side, legs curling at his chest. He lifted half the pillow and bent it over his face, muffling his sobs. He was broken. He was a mess. He’d known all along it was coming, and it was all he could do to keep from bothering the rest of the house.
He faded out for a moment, then faded in.
When he opened his eyes the third time, they felt heavy, and he couldn’t see for anything behind the curtain of gaussian blur that’d fallen over every inch of his iris. Stern hands shook him by the shoulders. He raised one hand and tried to wave them away, but the shaking grew more forceful, so he wiped at his eyes instead. Must have been all the crying. “Isaac.”
“Wh-what...? What?”
“You’re crying. What’s up?”
Isaac sniffed, wiping away the last of the dried tears from the corner of his eye. The person before him was still a blur, a mask of browns and blues and white. He blinked a few times, then squinted, and soon enough, a clear vision of Max’s face came into view. His brows were furrowed, like he was doing his best to bunch his two eyebrows together, and he was close-- so very, very close. Isaac blushed at the proximity, and moved back a few inches to save face, and maybe get some air that wasn’t muddled with the heat of Max’s breath on his lips... oh god, were they that close? “Max? Wha- what are you doing here?”
The furrow of Max’s brows grew more pronounced, and there was a shred of-- fear?-- in Max’s widening eyes. “What?”
Isaac yawned and rubbed both eyes with one hand, because Max couldn’t know he’d been crying, and maybe he was feeling a great deal sluggish. “It’s like, midnight or something, right?”
“Yes...?”
“Then...” Isaac paused, one thought rising above all others and jarring him from his fuzzy sorrow-filled brain. He inhaled sharply, crawling away to the opposite end of the bed, scrambling to catch his rear end from falling over the edge. “Wh-why are you in my bed!” Sure enough, Max was laying beside him, under the covers, head propped up in one hand like it was completely normal for them to be sharing a bed, sharing covers and space and-- heaven forbid-- air!
Max frowned and sat up completely, frown growing deeper, and from above, more intimidating. “I mean, do you want the long answer,” he gestured to... the bed? “Or the short answer?” Isaac raised an eyebrow, and glanced down at the mangled sheets and...Max’s...bare...leg...
Oh no. Slowly, with all the caution of a horror film protag and the grace of a baby deer with only two legs to work with, he lifted the sheets from off his body, looked under, then quickly pulled them back down.
He fell silent, and Max leaned over, one hand between them as he got, once again, uncomfortably close. “Isaac?”
“We did... we did that.”
“Yeah. We’ve, we’ve been doing that.”
“No we haven’t!” Isaac whipped around, bunching as much of the covers as he could at his waist, before realizing he was unintentionally revealing more and more of Max’s bare torso and-- for fuck sake. He pulled the covers over the front of his face, up to his forehead, because it was really the only thing he could do to hide the fierce red covering the entirety of his upper body. “Ooohh my god, ooohh my god! This is not happening. This is not happening! I’m dead! I have to be!”
Max reached over and plucked the covers from his face as he would a feather from a chicken, because that’s what Isaac was right now-- a chicken. “What are you talking about?”
Isaac then covered his face with both hands, peeking out at Max between the slits of his fingers. “Maaax... we-- we--!”
“Yeah. Why are you flipping out about this?”
“Why aren’t you?”
“I mean why are you flipping out about this now, after like, three years.”
“What?”
“Don’t what me! I’m what’ing you!”
Isaac grimaced and ran a hand over the side of his face, leaving the other to fall limply at his lap. He was tired, so very tired, in more than just the physical sense. “Max, you’re really freaking me out, I have no idea how this happened. We need to tell Johnny.”
For not the first time that night, Max looked pensive, pensive and confused. He squinted at him. “Um, so, left field question here, but uh,” he pressed the palms of his hands together, then placed them under his nose. “Why would we tell Johnny?”
Isaac reeled back, jaw coming completely unhinged because-- what? What?
“Be-because he’s your boyfriend, you smartass! You cheated on him, it’s the right thing to do!” Of all the unbelievable-- Max? Cheating? Having no remorse? He knew he was bad at promises but come on! This was a bit much!
If he was confused before, he was utterly bewildered when Max reflected the exact same exasperation and disbelief, along with something else? Sticking your tongue out usually meant disgust, right? “What the actual flip are you talking about? I have never, plan to never, and will never date Johnny Jhonny!”
“Well what the frick were the last four years, then? For pete sake, you guys were” He froze, setting on elbow at his knee, resting his forehead in his hand as he took a long, trembling breath. “You guys were talking about-- about getting married, about starting a family. I heard you!”
“No the fuck you didn’t!” Max crossed his legs under the covers, turning to face Isaac completely. It almost felt like a sleepover, like they were just friends discussing the crisis of the future, of college and careers and dead-end jobs, not infidelity. “And what do you mean four years? Isaac, tell me what’s going on. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you’re thinking.”
Isaac gripped at his hair, intent on pulling it all out, every last inch of orange, with tweezers and a razor if he must. He felt like he was going insane, and he might have been. “I-- Don’t get me wrong, Max, I-- I want this. I just, I just don’t understand. W- we just took our midterm today in English! You told Cody you and Johnny were gonna elope after graduation--!”
“What.”
“And Johnny, Johnny has been talking about you and him tying the knot since the year started! You guys have been so excited! I mean, I guess you’ve been as excited as somebody like you could get about something like that, but!”
“Isaac.”
“I was just gonna be happy for you!” His voice was starting to crack, but he wasn’t gonna cry again. He couldn’t. “But now? I don’t- don’t remember how this happened!”
“Okay, look at me.”
He glanced up as Max leaned forward, cupping his face in either of his hands. Isaac swallowed, and Max got closer. Even though their noses were brushing, he saw something familiar in his face, something he’d seen a lot, though he couldn’t place it. Even if he was close enough he could only faintly see Max’s eyes, he could still make out the stars, and they were shining.
Max kissed him, softly, pressed their lips together and ran a thumb over his cheek, and his heart fluttered despite knowing it was a bad idea. Max was gentle, like he was afraid Isaac would break and turn to dust between his fingers if his kiss was anything but light like a brush of wind. He knew he shouldn’t, but it was everything he’d ever dreamed of, everything he’d ever wanted, just a kiss; he closed his eyes. Max shifted to sit up on his knees, wrapping one arm around his neck. He’d suddenly become less afraid, deepened the kiss, pulled him closer. Isaac played along, let him lead, because frankly, he didn’t know what else to do.
Again and again, their lips parted, then met, and brushed, and dived, until Isaac finally pulled away, pressing a hand over Max’s mouth. “Stop it.” He was breathless, and what would have been a command sounded more like a plea, but Max listened. Kind of.
He took Isaac’s wrist in his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm, eyes never fleeting, even as Isaac pulled that hand away. “Cody was never in an English class with us. You and I didn’t even have an English class together.”
“...Huh...?”
“And you and I haven’t taken a midterm in a year, at least, not in highschool.” Max set both his hands in his lap, fingers wrapping around the bone of his blanket-covered calves. “And no, Johnny and I are not talking about marriage. I promise you, I’ve never, ever dated him. Not even briefly. Not even a fling.”
Wait, hold on. What? Isaac frowned, and glanced around the bedroom. Much to his surprise, it was not the one he’d grown up in, and certainly not the same house. The bed was a queen, but that was about as far as the similarities went. The dull yellow curtains of his bedroom, the one he remembered falling asleep in, were a light blue against a tan wallpaper (wallpaper he remembered being grey). This room was smaller, not by much, but enough to notice, and was filled with pictures of him and Max, and the club, and it all ranged from middle school to what appeared to be graduation (from middle school? High school? He was the only one not in cap and gown). Isaac glanced down. The sheets were different, too, though he couldn’t remember exactly what they’d looked like before. Yes, this definitely was not his bedroom. “Is this... your room?”
“Wow you are really out of it tonight. Since you can’t seem to remember, this is our apartment. We live here.” Max coughed, and mumbled “... together.”
Isaac blinked, and turned around to look at Max, who was looking everywhere but his eyes now, an unfamiliar (though it felt like he’d seen it before) rose dusting the tips of his cheeks, riding along his nose. “Wait, I live with you?”
“Yeah, we’re together. That’s what people do when they’re dating.”
“I’m dating you?”
“Yes! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! You had a nightmare! Or something! I don’t know, you were kinda freaking me out.”
Isaac usually, well, felt that usually, he would have snapped back, say that he was just as, if not more, freaked out, but he was just too damn happy to reflect snark. Isaac reached forward, cupping Max’s cheeks in his hands, running his thumb over his nose, brushing his hair back with his other fingers, felt the warmth of his cheeks, which were certainly growing hotter under his gaze. Max watched him, eyes wide, lips thin. “Oh my god you’re my boyfriend!”
“Fiance, actually.”
“I can kiss you!”
“That’s the idea.”
“I can-- I can hug you!”
“Not in public, preferably, but also yeah.”
“Oh my god.”
“You okay?”
Isaac breathed and leaned forward, digging his nose into Max’s neck, reveling in the shiver he felt run along Max’s spine. He was breathless, weightless, walking on a cloud high above level nine. His hands fell to Max’s arms and squeezed them, just to make sure this wasn’t the dream, and he’d wake up to the painful life he’d been leading all by himself. Max was here. He was his. “I’m fantastic.”
He could feel Max swallow. “Okay, that’s it, never ever again are you going to bed drunk. This is too much. I can’t handle this every time you get wasted.”
“I’m wasted?”
“I mean, you were... before.” Max gestured to him. “I don’t know what this is.”
Isaac chuckled, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. “I love you.” He pressed more kisses up and down the length of his side, from his temple to his collarbone, feather-light and filled to the brim with emotions he couldn’t even begin to contain. “I love you, I love you, I love you!”
“I sure hope so. If you didn’t, that would make this super awkward.”
Isaac went to press another kiss to Max’s neck, only for Max to grab his chin in one hand, redirecting his lips to his own. Isaac obliged, wrapped both arms around his neck and ran his hands through his hair, making it as messy and unpresentable as possible because oh my gosh it was real, this was all real. Max’s kiss grew shallow, and it took Isaac a moment to realize it was because he was grinning. And then Max was laughing, trying his best to muffle it between kisses but failing miserably. “I thought I heard you say my name.”
“Did I?”
“Yeah, that’s what woke me up...” Max pressed another kiss to the side of his lips, but returned to an actual kiss soon after. “You were crying in your sleep. Dream that bad?”
Isaac nodded, speaking between kisses. “Yeah.”
Max snickered again, pressing their foreheads together.
“So... you guys didn’t hate me after Hijack?” Isabel sighed over the phone.
“No, Isaac. Didn’t hate you the first time, either.”
He sighed, hands wrapping around a hot mug of green tea. Max sat across from him at their small square table, one hand on the phone to keep it upright while the speaker blared. Isaac blew on the steam, watching as it shifted in the current of his air. He glanced to Max, and gave him a smile, a silent thank-you for the uncharacteristic nurture which, Max was stubborn about, “wasn’t so uncharacteristic anymore”. Max smiled right back. “Isabel, can you tell Isaac that I’ve never dated Johnny Jhonny?”
“What? He thinks what?” Then she cackled into the phone for a good, long minute. And when I say cackle, I mean that, on the other line, she had one hand over her stomach, head thrown back, and was nearly falling right over the back of her recliner. Isaac pouted, and Max grinned from ear-to-ear. “That’s fuckin’ hilarious.”
“I tried to tell him, but he just kept saying no, you guys have been dating for years, you’re talking about getting engaged--!”
“I do not sound like that.”
“How would you know Mister Amnesiac?”
Isabel finally caught her breath on the other line, and Isaac could almost see her wiping away a salty, salty tear. “Oh, Isaac, dude, no. Just, no.”
“Yeah, thanks, I get that now.” He honestly didn’t think it was so crazy. Now that his memories had, somewhat, returned, he could recall a few times where Johnny had looked at Max with a certain... desire... in his eyes, and he recalled some exchanges of dialogue where Max (jokingly, sure, let’s go with that) flirted, but apparently that was just him. Though, now that he thought about it, was Johnny even the type to get married? Was Max? Well, the matching rings on their fingers said yes.
“No, Isaac, really, it’s hilarious that your brain decided Max-- Max!-- of all people--”
“-- was dating Johnny, yeah, I get it, it’s funny.”
“No, I mean, yeah, but like... Max has had his eye on you since eighth grade.”
At this point, Max’s eye widened, and a deep crimson fell over the tips of his ears and nose, lips twitching into a scowl. He reached out to press the off button, but Isaac snatched it out of his hand, at the price of splashing some hot tea over the side of his mug, and sneered at him. Max’s scowl grew harder, and funnier. “Oh really? You know, my memories from that time period haven’t returned yet.”
“I’m not sure you knew back then anyway, but yeah,” Max reached out in a panic, swinging for the phone. Isaac stood up fast, taking a step just out of Max’s reach as he bent over the table. “I think it had something to do with Doorman back in the day? Something about that whole debacle just kinda got him all crushing on you and stuff.”
Max’s fearsome scowl had dropped to a mere, pleading look. It was then that he was truly, truly glad this was his reality, because nothing-- nothing-- was better than Max’s puppy dog eyes. He snickered and readjusted the phone to his other ear, taking a sip of his tea. “Huh, how funny. How’d you notice?”
“Isaac--!”
“Pfft, how could I not? He kept moping around when you couldn’t make it to a mission. Not to mention the extensive longing looks--”
“--ISAAC PUT THE PHONE DOWN--!”
“-- and his phone’s background. You know he just had a picture of you, the same picture, as his home screen, for like, years until you guys started dating.”
His heart swelled, and he turned to look at Max, who had his head just about buried in his arms, aura swaying erratically over his hunched shoulders. “... has he really liked me that long?”
“Like isn’t exactly the right word, but yeah.”
How, how could his brain have created such a terrible, awful nightmare when every day he lived in this reality? A reality where Isabel and Ed were his friends, friends of seven years, and Max liked him-- like, liked him liked him, enough to marry him! He could hardly contain his burst of love, appreciation, just joy, pure joy for the life he was leading and the people around him and the sheer luck of it all. He was happy. He was loved. He had friends. This was his best possible timeline, and he still carried enough doubt in him to fear Johnny in his dreams? To fear the same things he feared as a dumb kid? He laughed, for the third time that night, breathless, and shook his head. “Thanks, Isabel. We’ll talk to you tomorrow. Get some rest.”
She snorted. “With a baby? Please. You were the one keeping me entertained. I’m gonna be up all night. The hubby should be home soon, but--”
Isaac blinked, suddenly very thrown off because, once again-- what? “You’re married? You have a baby?”
There was a pause, and then Isabel sighed. “Jesus christ, Max, get him to bed. If Ed finds out he’s this lost he’s gonna just fuck with him. So. Hard.”
Max groaned and sat up, stretching his arms over his head. “Yeah, that’s the plan.”
“See ya, Isaac. Get some sleep. Maybe things’ll clear up in the morning.”
“I can only hope.” With a click, the line disconnected, and Max took the phone back, gently, Isaac almost thought he’d brushed his fingers on purpose. Their eyes met, and Max ran a hand over the back of his neck, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt (actually, it probably was Max’s shirt, there was no way he’d voluntarily wear this, not according to what he remembered so far anyway). He was still blushing, and Isaac couldn’t get enough of it, couldn’t memorize that shy look on his face as much as he wanted to. He wanted it to stick on the inside of his brain, stay there with him, always. Like a light, a guiding light.
“Come on, let’s get to sleep.”
“Okay.”
#Paranatural#maxaac#imaax#Isaac O'Connor#Maxwell Puckett#Hinted edsabel#but duh#this is Whelmed we're talking about guys
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The House on Deer Creek Road: Part 6
By J. L. Thurston
She scrambled on her knees away from me as though I’d cut her. I watched her in stunned silence as she screamed and pulled her shirt off. Blood was pouring down her back from three long gashes.
The floorboards by the windows began to creak. Shirtless, bleeding, Nyla ran to the front door. I grabbed Jane, now screaming in a confused wail, and nearly forgot to move around the hole in the floor in the entryway. Nyla was twisting the knob, crying, making sounds I’d never heard people make before. Terror sounds. The door wasn’t opening. I pushed her aside and tried the knob. It wouldn’t turn.
Nyla was babbling. She was going on about the shadow creature and how it was going to kill us all. Jane was crying, pulling at my hair and my shirt. I felt like she was trying to get away.
I didn’t know what to do. I could hardly breathe. There was a tension around my ribs that wouldn’t let me inhale all the way.
Slowly, the once-hidden door in the entry hallway opened. The door had been locked. The door had been hidden behind a cabinet until Nyla’s brothers helped me move it.
I held my breath. I thought for a wild moment that my mother was going to come out from behind the door.
A smell filled my senses. Pungent, sharp, brackish. It was the smell of mold and dust and dead things. Nyla gagged through her sobs. I walked forward. She begged me to return to her.
I was sleepwalking. Dreaming. I was completely detached from my body. I knew I held my baby in my arms, and that I was supposed to protect her, but I also wanted to see where the door led. Part of me already had a solid guess.
Wooden steps leading down into the basement were illuminated by a light bulb on a chain. Hanging just above the bulb, tied by what was left of his tail, was Scarecrow. His single eye bulged. He had died with a look of surprise on his unfortunate face.
Pressing my wrist to my nose, I wished I didn’t have to smell the stench of my most unlucky little kitty. Part of me was horrified for him. Part of me knew this basement held more than just a dead cat.
I could see a table from the top of the stairs once I tore my eyes away from poor Scarecrow. The table wasn’t large. Probably one of those foldable card tables. It was draped with a black cloth. White sigils were smeared upon it. A bowl of salt, bundles of herbs, and crystals were placed strategically on the table.
Willow, don’t forget to say the blessing.
A decorative knife gleamed in the lights. The athame. A witch’s knife, for cutting and crushing ingredients. There was a bundle on the table. Familiar though I’d never seen it like that before. It was a small bundle, wrapped in black velvet cloth. Even from the top of the stairs I could see the smudges, telltale signs that at one point the bundle had been wet and the viscous fluid had seeped all around it on the table and dried.
It was the source of the worst of the smell.
I was moving forward. Jane was fighting to get away, Nyla was begging for me to come back. I was at the bottom of the stairs before she raised enough courage to follow me. She yanked on my arm. Her hands were cold. I thought that was odd, considering how hard her heart must have been pumping. Real fear had struck her cold. Her face was ashen. A small thought inside me wondered if she would pass out.
I was in shock. I see that now. But at the time, I could do nothing but follow my body as it operated on its own.
I was reaching toward the bundle on the table. My mother’s altar. Her sacrificial place.
Just the legs of the spider, Willow. It’s best to pluck them while the creature is still alive.
The basement door shut. I turned, feeling as though I was waking from a dream. Aunt Pat was there. I hadn’t even heard her come in.
Nyla was thanking her endlessly. “Thank God, you’re here. Thank God, thank God.”
Aunt Pat went down the steps, eyes going from the bundle on the altar to me, to Jane, to Nyla. Sweet, strong, smart Nyla. She was better than me. She knew what was best for us. She ran up the steps and tried to get out. But Aunt Pat had locked the basement door. I watched her slide the old skeleton key into her jeans pocket.
I was cold. So cold with all my cold thoughts. I could hear the floorboards above our heads in that dank, smelly basement creak, creak, creaking. But Nyla was not going to roll over and die. She ran to Aunt Pat. Her color had returned. She was shouting, demanding to be let out. Demanding to go home.
Aunt Pat was already holding the athame. She plunged it into Nyla’s chest, using the same motion a boxer would use to punch. It hit Nyla so hard she fell down, her face slackening.
I screamed. I almost dropped Jane. Aunt Pat ripped the baby from my arms.
“You stay right there or I’ll slit her throat!” she shouted at me.
I realized I was saying, “Okay, okay, okay.”
Confusion. Utter, complete confusion. My mind couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing. I was trying to focus, trying to think. Aunt Pat had killed Nyla. She pulled the athame from my dear, sweet Nyla’s chest and held it to Jane’s tiny, vulnerable neck. Nyla’s blood was all over Pat’s hands, all over Jane’s onesie.
I shivered. I watched Pat lower Jane to the altar. Pat’s fingers smeared blood on Jane’s face.
Sacrifices must be anointed with blood, Willow. Never forget that.
But Pat was going back to Nyla, pushing her fingers into my sweet Nyla’s wound and rubbing the blood on her own face.
“I anoint my flesh,” Pat said, returning to the altar. “So, I prepare this vessel for your taking, Lord. Possess me and give me what I ask. In return, I will give you the life of this mother, the one who’s infant you’ve already claimed.”
Pat reached forward and pulled the smudged velvet cloth away. I already knew what was there. The poor, tiny thing. Green and blackened flesh, falling away from the delicate little bones. The largest part of it was the head, still somewhat discernable. I could still see tufts of her baby fine blonde hair.
Creak, creak, creak. On the basement stairs. Pat was grunting. A shadow passed through the room. I didn’t care. I couldn’t look away from the baby’s corpse, right next to the living baby, now beet-faced from her unanswered wailing.
The shadow passed over the walls to Pat. For a moment, she stood in total darkness, enveloped by the blackness. She was statuesque, arms out, absorbing the demon that haunted the house.
I knew so many things, so many cold thoughts. I knew that the living infant crying on the altar was not my Jane. The rotting corpse was my baby. I knew that Pat had killed her, sacrificed her, and she needed me to complete her offering to the demon.
I also knew that if I just stood there and let it happen, the living baby would be the next to die.
I rushed forward and wrapped my arms around Pat’s waist. We hit the floor so hard I heard her head smack against the cement. My fingers were in her pocket, extracting the skeleton key. I snatched the crying baby from the altar and pushed myself up the stairs with all my strength.
I needed my keys. They were in my purse on the living room floor. I almost fell into the hole I’d created in the floor, but I dodged it in time. I grabbed my purse and fled to the door. The knob wouldn’t turn.
An inhuman scream erupted from the basement.
It almost sounded like Pat.
I slammed my shoulder into the door. It wouldn’t budge. The giant oval window was my only escape. I pulled my shirt over the crying baby and threw myself through the glass. A thousand cuts slashed across my flesh, and I felt several shards dig deep inside me as I hit the porch floor.
Cold night air blessed me. I was on my feet, running across the yard, towards my truck.
My mind flashed a mental image of every horror movie I’d ever seen when the victim, unable to function properly enough to hold her keys steady, would drop them at the most inopportune moment.
I was not that victim. I was in the truck in a heartbeat. It started right away, and my foot slammed on the pedal so hard that I threw gravel all over the house on my way to the road.
That was the last time I ever saw the house on Deer Creek Road.
***
I did not go to Nyla’s funeral.
I did, however, have to go to court. Several times. The sensational case of the Witch Woman took the nation by storm. While America followed the news feed, I had to watch evidence be presented against the woman who raised me. I had to watch as authorities did everything they could to locate Jane’s real family. I had to testify when all I wanted to do was slit my wrists.
My baby was dead. She had died soon after I gave her to Pat. I was never told exactly what day it would have been, but I do know that it was after my mother’s death. Think about it. That means Pat had gone to the house, she had stepped over her twin sister’s dead body, she had gone down into the basement, and she had sacrificed my baby to a demon.
Then, when I called three months later for my baby back, she panicked and kidnapped someone else’s child. Why? To buy time. To get me in the house. Because the baby wasn’t enough. She needed the blood of the mother, too.
She didn’t tell anyone this. In fact, after that fateful night in the basement, Pat never spoke again. Well, except that one time to me. Hold on, I’m getting there.
The detectives figured out a lot of it, but I knew the rest. I knew that my mother and Pat had conjured a demon. I knew the demon wanted blood. I knew that my life and Jane- the real Jane- would have been payment enough for something big. Pat would have been given a demon’s blessing. Riches, health, magic.
I knew all those things because I was born of a witch, and I was raised of a witch.
And I really hate witches.
But, at the behest of my therapist, I did attempt to speak to Pat once. About a year after she’d been sentenced to the nuthouse prison, I paid her a visit. Only one reporter had found out about it, thank God, but she and her cameraman followed me in. They were buzzed right passed security and allowed as close as Pat’s room door. They couldn’t be let in with all their equipment, but they forced a microphone on me and recorded through the glass. You’ve seen the footage. It’s grainy because the little triangles in the window kept drawing the camera’s focus.
You can’t see from that footage the bugs that lined the walls, but you can hear the tech say, “We just can’t get them to stop coming in. She… calls them.”
Pat never looked at me, that much is clear. But I still could see her eyes. They weren’t Pat’s eyes. I stood in there for a few minutes, breathing, staring, trying to prevent myself from rushing forward and wrapping my hands around her throat. I completely forgot why my therapist said this would be good for me.
This was the last time Pat ever spoke. “Help,” she said. “Help me.”
My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth.
“It’s still in me,” she breathed. That part was unclear on the microphone, but to this day I can still hear her words as though she just said them. “We’re trapped. I can’t get it out. I didn’t finish it, so it’s stuck. He won’t let me sleep.”
That was all I could bear. It was time to lower to coffin containing the remains of my former life and move on.
The last thing she ever said, and this got picked up by the mic but because we were opening her room door the camera missed it and that’s why everyone said it’s faked, was, “See you in your dreams.”
It wasn’t the words that got everyone obsessively streaming and discussing the audio. It was the way she said it. The voice wasn’t human at all. No one has ever heard a sound like it. Except me. It was just like the scream I heard from the basement that night. It was the demon’s voice.
So, that’s it. That’s what I went through. It’s been a while, but I still see the therapist. I’m on enough pills to numb most of it, but there are many nights that the cold thoughts won’t go away and I’m stuck with them. Sometimes it helps to light incense. Sometimes it helps to burn lavender. Really, all I care about, all I want you listeners to do for me is, when you go visit the house on Deer Creek Road, call for Bones. If anyone sees him, or catches him, please bring him to me. I really miss my dog.
Thank you, dear reader, for following along this dark and twisted path. May your attic be silent, and may you never feel those soulless eyes as they look upon your sleeping face
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A very short fic that is a love letter to Elswout in Overveen, The Netherlands (pictured, above), one of my favorite places on earth. I always daydreamed about nixies living in the canals, and then @nomorelonelydays‘s Nymph AU happened, and, well.
On AO3 as well, if you prefer.
Of all his family’s properties, Zhenya loves the summer house the most. It’s not exactly the jewel in the crown of their holdings; not as grand as the house in the city, or as impressive as the lodge in the mountains. It was just a modest part of the dowry his mother brought with her when she married his father, and Denis always complains that there’s nothing to do there.
But Zhenya loves everything about it. He loves the house, with its pale yellow and blue rooms and its tall windows. He loves the long, beech-lined walk and the gentle-eyed fallow deer in the deer park. He loves the sunny expanse of the sheep meadow, the dark woodlands that fringe it, and the mysterious, weedy canals that wind through the entire estate.
But most of all, best of all, Zhenya loves the boy in the water.
Behind the house, out of sight of the grand front drive and the bustle of the stables and the gatehouse, one of the canals widens into something too big to be called a pond and too small to be considered a lake. It’s carpeted with a glorious bounty of waterlilies and hyacinth, and around it willows lean down to let their branches kiss the surface of the water. And for as long as he can remember, Zhenya has snuck away from the watchful eyes of nannies and tutors to play with Sidney.
Sidney doesn’t have nannies or tutors. Sidney waits for Zhenya in the shadowy spaces under the willows, and he is as much a part of the landscape of Zhenya’s summers as the jewel-bright dragonflies that dance over the water’s surface.
Whenever Zhenya can get away, he goes to find Sidney, whose eyes will light up at the sight of him, and who can coax wild birds to light on their outstretched hands. Sidney will catch Zhenya slick, blinking frogs, and sometimes, he sings songs in a strange language Zhenya doesn’t know. And when he does, the lazy carp leave their sunning spots between the lilies and come nibble gently on Zhenya and Sidney’s toes, and waterbirds paddle their fuzzy babies in close to listen.
“What kind of person are you?” Zhenya asks one summer, when he is eight. He is old enough now to realize there is something unearthly about Sidney. Sidney blinks his strange green gold eyes and thinks.
“You all call us a lot of things. Naiads, nøkkar, rusalki, nixies.”
Zhenya has read about those, in the books of fairy tales Denis teases him for looking at, and he’s heard of them in the terrifying fables his nanny tells. “But those are mostly all ladies. And they’re mean and frightful.”
“I’m frightful,” Sidney says, and he bares his teeth, but the effect is broken when they both break into giggles until they can’t breathe.
“I’m glad,” Zhenya says later, when they’re laying on their stomachs on the bank, watching a silver cloud of minnows flit through the shallows. “I’m glad you’re you. I’m glad that you’re a boy like me and that you’re not fearful and cruel.”
“Me too,” Sidney answers, and smiles, slow and sweet.
When he is twelve, Zhenya is sent away to school, like all boys in families like his are. And he has to go so far away that there are no more long, lazy summers on his mother’s estate. Instead, there is the clamor and busyness of studies, and friends, and eventually, the laughing eyes of pretty girls and pretty boys to distract him. Memories of his childhood summers grow faded, and half-forgotten.
And then when his is eighteen, a war thunders down upon them all, and like thousands of other young men, Zhenya is swallowed into its maw.
He will not be spat back out again, broken, until he is three-and-twenty.
When Zhenya is honorably discharged after the armistice is signed, he is left with a shattered knee and nightmares that plague his sleep. Before the war, he might have decided to stay at his family’s house in the city, close to parties and gaiety. Now, all he can think about is the summer house, and how happy he used to be there. When he departs for it, the only person he takes along with him is Sasha, who fought at his side and understands well the invisible demons that stalk a soldier’s mind.
The estate and its lands are just as Zhenya remembers them, sleeping green and gold beneath the warm summer sun. Even the crunch of their horses’ hooves on the shell walk feels good and familiar. And it seems like the very breeze rustling the beech trees overhead soothes their brows in welcoming benediction.
“I can see why you loved this place,” Sasha says. Zhenya looks out over the deer park and smiles. It has been been a while since he has smiled easily.
“I do love it,” he says. “And I had—the most imaginative fancies about this place, when I was a child.
“Do tell,” Sasha grins, but boyish imagining notwithstanding, the memory of the imaginary friend Zhenya dreamed up here feels too special and private to share.
Zhenya falls asleep easily enough the first night. His windows are open to let in the night breezes and the gentle fluting calls of the meerkoeten nesting in the reeds. But his soldier’s dreams are tenacious, and he spends a fretful, haunted night.
In the morning, there are wet, muddy footprints on the parquet floors, and strands of waterweed caught on the lip of the windowsill. Zhenya, disturbed, sleeps with the windows closed after that.
Strange happenings persist, however. Zhenya sometimes feels like he’s being watched, even when Sasha or the servants are nowhere in sight. No matter how tightly he latches the windows at night, in the morning one of them will always be open, the sill damp.
And when he falls asleep on a sunny bank one afternoon, he dreams of strange, green-gold eyes.
One night, when the moon hangs silver and full, sleep eludes Zhenya completely. He goes outside to take deep, gulping breaths of cool night air. But his nightmares he carries with him in his mind’s eye, and he ends up sitting on the broad stone steps that lead down to the water, head in his hands and fingers tight in his hair.
He isn’t certain how long he sits there. Lost as he is, he almost doesn’t hear the plash of water, and the soft, low voice that implores: “Zhenya? Please, tell me what it is that ails you so.”
It’s him. It’s Sidney, and he is both the same and startlingly different. Zhenya wonders wildly if this is yet another product of his fevered brain. But how can it be, when all his thoughts are misery and bloodshed, and this vision is so beautiful?
Sidney stands waist deep in the water, and Zhenya has seen statues in far off museums that look like he does. The moonlight silvers the pale, pale skin of his strong arms and shoulders, and shadows his eyes. Sidney has the sharp planes of a man’s face now, and a crown of lilies twined in his inky hair. Zhenya cannot breathe.
Sidney steps forward, up and out of the water, and he kneels on the steps at Zhenya’s side. He reaches out and lays a hand along Zhenya’s cheek, and his touch is water-cool and gentle.
“You’re real,” Zhenya manages to gasp. Sidney’s smile turns a little sorrowful.
“Had you forgotten me?” he asks, and Zhenya can only nod, suddenly ashamed. “As long as you remember me now,” Sidney adds, and leans forward to place a kiss on Zhenya’s forehead that feels like the deepest kind of promise.
Zhenya might have been inclined to think Sidney a nighttime hallucination, but the next morning when Zhenya goes back to their old spot under the willows, there he is, perched on a gnarled root. He has on a pair of ragged breeches this time that look filched from some shepherd or gamekeeper, and he has a huddle of half-grown cygnets asleep on his lap.
“Zhenya!” he exclaims, and the joy in his voice is like the sun sparkling on water.
Zhenya still dreams of blood and gunpowder, some nights. He thinks he might always do so. But now, when he does, Sidney will awaken next to him to wrap him in his arms and press gentle kisses to his fevered brow. He’ll sing softly in an old, strange tongue, and Zhenya will fall back asleep with his head resting on Sidney’s chest, dreaming of green, calm water, and of peace.
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The White Room
EDIT: Changed the ending~ Thanks Tower! --"SNAP!" … …… The sickening sound shattered the silence within the impregnable black. My attention reverted back to reality. I was now awake. Haphazardly my eyes scanned my surroundings. Like a newborn completely wrapped in a blanket; I was totally blind. Frighted, confused, I rose awkwardly from my idle position. My legs shook like those of a baby deer. Hands open; arms out stretched, I felt my way around the darkness. Then, suddenly-as if a higher powered empathised with my predicament-the darkness was dispelled. In its place stood a white, sterile, low ceiling room. Curious.. I began to search for the light source. As my eyes adjusted to the newly illuminated room I made a terrible realisation: there were neither doors nor windows. Scribbled along the ceiling, walls and floor in a suspiciously crimson substance were the words "NO ESCAPE". Horrified, I averted my attention to the centre of the room. I wish I didn't. From the ceiling, dead and hanging by the neck was a ghastly figure. Filled with a dreadful curiosity I slowly circled the hanging corpse. Suspended; stationary in white. The left Limp limb hung unresponsively by its side. The right: tangled within the deadly cord. The pressure from the rope was too much and the hand was threatening to snap and fall off. The visage of the cadaver was mangled in agony and what once could have been trepidation was now just a faded grimace. The eyes were cloudy and out of focus; pupils facing different directions. Slowly I began to recognise the distorted face….Then, the malicious grip of realisation tore at my insides- -It was me. I could almost feel my feet swelling due to all the excess blood draining from my face. My expression; a twisted concoction of terror and confusion. My body trembled with dry retching as I looked up at my hanging corpse. No. It couldn't be me? Could it? No that's illogical, irrational, improbable, impossible! Lost in a whirlwind of my own thoughts, I sat down dizzy and lightheaded. Slowly I began to dissect and arrange my mind until all the pieces fit. My breath slowed and I opened my eyes. Now filled with practical thoughts, I began to assess my situation logically and rationally. First of all, that body could not be me. Circling, examining, I realised that the carcass was indeed just an exceptional dummy. A copy. A fake. Nothing more. A very realistic…believable and detailed fake…an effigy. That is all. Room: 0, Me: 1. Second thing; I was placed in this room, therefore there's an entrance. If there is an entrance there's an exit. If there is an exit there's an escape! Room: 0, Me: 2. Ha! With the new found confidence in my reasoning I began to search the room for the escape. My eager hands rubbed slowly and methodically against the graffiti-covered walls. Checking every nook and cranny; leaving no centimetre of scribbled plaster un-checked. After the walls revealed nothing, my investigation turned its attention to the hard floor and low-cut ceiling. I could feel the warmth from my palms and knees being absorbed by the cold surfaces as I laboured away; gradually and vigilantly. After what felt like hours, my limbs taxed with strain and my mind weary with impatience and fear, I ended my fruitless expedition. Room: 1, Me: 2. Perhaps the room's writing is correct? Perhaps there is no escape? I could begin to feel myself doubt the thought of freedom more and more. Room: 2, Me: 2. My situation was becoming worse and worse. Teeth chattering, mind racing; staring at fake-me. Dropping to the floor I tried to comfort and cradle myself. Rocking backwards and forwards; like a mother soothing a howling child. Then I realise; the room's getting to me. I'm going stir crazy… Room: 3, Me: 2. I'm being bested by a room. A fucking room. With my fucking effigy hanging from the fucking roof with a fucking noose and a fucking fuck all…fuck… Room: 4, Me: 2. The boredom. So lonely. Someone… Room: 5, Me: 2. The feral beast of my subconscious tears into me, impregnating my mind with a foul epiphany. I'm going to die in here, alone (well, I always have fake-me). Hmm, but this raises a more important question: how will it happen? Will my mind snap even further? Will I end my own life somehow? Will I starve? Dehydration? Suffocation? I don't see where the air is entering this room?! As an act of nervous desperation I began to chew at my finger nails. I feel the metallic, tepid blood dribble down my chin. I bite harder. The sharp pain distracts me; only for a brief moment. Room: 6, Me: 3. Godiva; I unpeel. Stripped of my last ounce of hope; shredded from my final scrap of dignity. My fears overcome me and I slump over in a small, weeping mass. Defeated. I stare up at fake-me. My eyes stinging as the tears well up, contorting my vision into a disturbed kaleidoscope of the white, red, blue and green colour scheme of the ro-- --Blue and green? I gingerly wipe the tears away from my puffy face. I stared beyond the limp effigy and I see them: two doors. How did they get there? I could feel the familiar warmth of hope creeping up on me. Perhaps one of these doors is the exit I crave? Excited and foolhardily I jumped to my feet and galloped towards the doorways. Panting I gazed upon the first door on the left. Written in a blue scribble was "ESCAPE". To the right was the second door which had inscribed in green scrawl "FREEDOM". An alarmingly wide grin exploded across my face. I turned and looked at the walls, ceiling and floor inscribed with the red "NO ESCAPE" and laughed at them. I turned and laughed at fake-me. I laughed until it was as if I could feel myself splitting into two. The laughter was a jovial chuckle, a gloating cackle and a nervous giggle all wrapped in one shriek of chortling hysteria. Gasping for breath I forced myself to calm down. Collecting the broken shards of my rationality I contemplated about which door I should take. What if the red writing wasn't lying? And the "ESCAPE" and "FREEDOM" doors are a trap? My trembling hand reached out and lunged. Clutching the handle of the "FREEDOM" door, I bid my Effigy farewell and stepped through to my fate. I found myself in another white room. Unlike the previous one, all the walls were bare. The white was not a disturbing sterile as it was before, but more of a glowing sanctified white. I felt a surge of peace sweep over my body. My eyes lazily glided over the room. The roof was no where to be seen. The walls just kept creeping higher and higher. In the centre of the room was a strange sight; a ramp which climbed these colossal walls. Curiously cocking my head back I attempted to measure how high the roof could be-but I could not see it. Before I could consider the enormity of the walls my hands and feet began to tingle with an immense sensation. Jerking suddenly, they dragged me over the centre of the room. I tried to pull against my eager limbs but to no avail. I was a slave to my own body's whims. Yet… This did not bother me… And then, I was still. I had arrived to the ramp in the centre of the room. I stared at the incline in front of me. I felt compelled to climb this ramp. Tripping over my own, omniscient feet I began to walk up the incline. Left foot, right foot I marched on. I knew this was the right way-it just had to be! My heart was pounding with ecstasy and invigoration. I was buzzing beyond belief. Every step I took filled me from head to toe in extreme and evocative pleasure. I realised the ramp began to steepen as I moved up. The higher I climbed the happier I felt-but also the harder it became to ascend the incline. My feet began to slip from under me. After awhile I was forced to walk on all fours. Woof. The ramp was becoming too precipitous. I marched on. Left foot, left hand, right foot, right hand. The further I climbed the brighter the light became. Engulfed by the white abyss I continued forward. I did not mind the light. It was comforting. I felt….blissful when I was bathed in this radiant luminosity. I continued on. What felt like hours of climbing I had come to a stand still. The ramp was no longer a ramp. It was almost completely vertical. Practically a wall. But, I was almost to the top, I knew it! I could FEEL it. I forced myself to continue. I HAD to continue. Almost there… ..and then.. ..scumming from exhaustion.. …I fell… I was gathering speed. Faster. Faster. Faster. The illuminated room was speeding past me at an alarming rate. I was falling at least 30 feet a second. Faster. Faster. Faster. The inertia was tearing at my body. My eyes were watering from the friction burn. Faster! Faster! Faster! I was engulfed by the white abyss. I could see the approaching earth. I was going to be plastered all along the snow white floor! Faster! Faster! FASTER! Closed my eyes; prepared for impact. I open my eyes. I was back in the original white room, in front of the two doorways. Time to choose again. I stared at "FREEDOM". I was sure, no, I KNEW it held freedom. But it was too hard to climb that slop. My limbs stiff with pain begged me not to climb that immense ramp again. Shaking, I clutched the handle to the "ESCAPE" door. On cue, exit stage left maestro. The "ESCAPE" passage way was less taxing on my body. The hallway did not lead to another room, but just continued on and on and on. Cautiously I followed. Curiously, the further I journeyed the darker it became. A little voice in my head screamed at me, telling me to go back and try the "FREEDOM" door again. I couldn't. I couldn't put myself through that pain and strain again. It was too difficult. Eventually I found myself in complete darkness once more. Left foot right foot I soldiered on. "TWANG!" I yelped in shock and toppled over. I felt myself trip on a thin wire of sorts. I embraced for impact, but there was none. I continued falling down…down… My screams echoed in the hollow impregnable black. Then, I felt it. A rope coiled itself around my throat. I could feel it pulling tighter and tighter. Out of terror and desperation I wedged my hand between the coils and my throat in an effort to worm my way out of it. URK- My hand was now bound within the excruciatingly firm spiral of rope. I could feel the circulation being cut of. The pain was terrible. My dead weight of a hand was forcing my neck to arch in a unnatural manner. The rope cut in tighter and tighter. Then.. --"SNAP!"…
Credit to: Nightiingale
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May 1998, Rockport Massachusetts
»Connor! Be careful, son!« The voice of a man echoed through the thick forest and bounced off of the steep mountains and their jagged surface. The sun stood high in a clear azure blue sky. Not even the hint of a cloud foreshadowing a change in weather could be seen. The air was mild and the rays of sunlight so warm and bright that one could get lost standing in the warmth for too long, melting into a puddle on the ground – or at least catching a nasty sunburn instead. The branches of the large pines and birches danced softly in soft puffs of the wind with their leaves shaking oh so tenderly. The only sound out here in this tiny little world came from the animals around, the rattle of hoofs from deer running around deep in the underwood, the tiny stomping of paws from rabbits fleeing from the intruders and into the thicker branches of the brushwood where it was safe, the smacking sound when a pine cone would fall to the ground sharply every once in a while, and the patter of small feet running through the shrubs and breaking small twigs in their wake.
Connor was careful not to make a sound when he moved through the forest usually. It was the latest game that he and his father would play. His father had said that he wanted to teach him how to move without making any noise and so far Connor was eager to prove to him that he was indeed capable of doing exactly that every time he and his father would leave the house to go and play in the woods. It was much harder out here than it was in their home. Inside the house, Connor knew every creaking floorboard and knew which step was better to be avoided when sneaking up on his father. Even when they were not playing, Connor enjoyed sneaking up on his parents, especially on his father, for he would first jolt in surprise when Connor would suddenly pinch him from behind and then he would growl like a wild beast only to chase him through the house and lift him up whenever he would catch Connor. Of course, it was needless to say that Connor let himself get caught by his father always, for he loved it when his father would pick him up like this only to carry him around the house like a slain beast.
His mother would only smirk when she would see it, shake her head softly and turn back to whatever she was in the midst of doing – mom-stuff, usually. No matter how much he loved it at home, however, Connor had always been drawn to the woods more. He spent every free minute out here in the wilderness, albeit it of course scarcely without supervision. His parents would never make the grave mistake in provoking their four-year-old son in saying that it was too dangerous for him out in the woods all alone, of course, but Connor knew that they were secretly thinking this and he was always determined to prove them wrong.
»I'm not a baby anymore, Raké:ni!« Connor shouted back at his father from a distance as he slowly made an effort to climb up a tree stump. His mother had taught him how to climb and run through trees almost immediately as he had made his first steps. He was not as good as her, of course, and he remembered watching his mother in awe, hoping that one day he would be as agile and skilled as her.
He could hear his father's footsteps through the forest and knew that the old wolf did not even try to make no noise, perhaps even so that Connor would be aware of his presence and would not fear that he had been left alone. Connor, however, had different plans as he brought enough distance between himself and his father to hide from him. That was yet another game they would play every once in a while. His father, however, did not seem very fond of that game, or rather not as fond as he was of the other games they would play. Connor though loved it when his father would start searching for him and he always had quite a hard time to hold back his laughter and giggles when he would hide somewhere and could hear his father nearby.
His mother had started early to teach him how to read tracks of animals and humans alike. He did not quite understand why his mother would teach him such things or why they would play all those little games together, but he enjoyed it tremendously. His mother would hide somewhere and Connor would need to analyze the tracks she would leave behind for him to find her. He always did. He was quite good at this, his father, however, had not the slightest clue about such things. He could not even climb trees. Maybe that was the reason why it was so funny to Connor to hide from his father. He would hide either until his father would find him or was exhausted enough from searching that Connor could scare him in jumping out of some bush.
Today, however, Connor felt like scaring his father a little. He could not quite say why he enjoyed this so much, but he did and so he strayed from the path they would usually walk on. He was not allowed to wander too deep into the woods, especially not alone. His parents liked to warn him that dangerous animals would wait in the deepest parts of the forest for little boys like him to devour in one single piece, but Connor was sure that those were just stories his parents had made up to scare him from wandering off too far. Especially his father liked to slip into the role of the big bad wolf or the dangerous brown bear when he would tell those stories to scare his little boy, but Connor had never quite believed those tales, no matter how much effort his parents put into telling them.
The other children of the village did not believe this stuff either. It was something entirely different when his Grandpa would tell him stories about pirates and sea monsters, though. One time he had not been able to sleep in his own bed for almost one entire week after his Grandpa had told him the story of a large Kraken that was known to destroy ships and eat their crew somewhere in the Atlantic sea. He wished he would be able to see his Grandpa more often than he could, but sadly he lived so far away that Connor only got him to see maybe once or twice a year at best.
Connor was quick to escape his father’s eyes as he ran through the woods, darted sideways whenever he needed to until the forest around him grew even thicker and darker. As he finally stopped, he was not able to tell for how long he had been running and he could not hear his father any longer. He had stopped in the middle of a clearing and could hear one of the two rivers that were cutting through the area gurgling in the distance, but the trees were so large and loomed so high over him, that they blocked out every bit of sunlight and even the sky. It was cold without the sun and he could not help but rub his naked arms as he was only wearing his favorite light blue T-Shirt. It had a rocket ship printed on the front and his father had brought it with him as he had come back from his last business travels into the city. Carefully, Connor looked around, but he could not tell where he was or from where he had come anymore. Suddenly, it was not only the missing sunlight that made him shiver.
In the distance he could hear the sound of a deep, feral growl and for just a second his tiny heart jumped as it was sure it was his father, but when he looked around, there was no one to be seen, but the growl grew louder. Suddenly it was as if it came from everywhere around him. First, he saw the flash of gray fur through the shrubbery, then he heard the sound of large paws breaking twigs under the weight of a beast.
Connor started running in earnest this time, unable to really see or tell to where he was even running. Blind fear was driving him into action and his short legs soon tense with strain. The forest around him was suddenly so dark, that it was even hard to see the ground beneath his feet and so, suddenly, Connor's left foot got caught on a root and he found himself stumbling. He lost his balance right away and fell without being able to really do anything about it, as he landed on the hard ground and rolled down a ravine, his back hitting stones in the process hard and as he finally reached the end of the ravine he was sure that he had broken something.
Hot tears were rolling down his cheeks in a matter of seconds as he became aware of the situation he had gotten himself into. As the fear that was manifesting itself in its tiny little chest tried to swallow him whole, however, Connor immediately wiped away the tears from his cheeks. He was not a crybaby! He had never been one! And he would not cry and sob now! The forest had never been frightening to him and he was sure that it never would. He would find his way back and that he would do without tears so that his father would be proud of him. Still, Connor took a moment to collect himself, sitting in the dirt. He drew in a deep breath and pushed out a shuttering huff of warm air afterwards. His mother had taught him to breathe deeply when he was afraid and so he did, to get rid of his fear. It did not work as well as it did at home, though.
As he sat in the dirt he had a little time to examine his injuries. His palms were scratched and bloody, as were his knees which he could see through the ripped fabric of his grey jeans. Oh, his mother would be furious that he had ripped another pair of jeans again. Surely this time she would make him wear silly patches on his knees to teach him a lesson and the other kids would mock him! He felt miserable just imagining how the other kids would pick on him. He remembered how they had made fun of Kanen'tó:kon the last time, he had been forced to wear a tiny heart on a hole in his jeans until he had outgrown the bloody thing. Oh, his mother would surely find something even more embarrassing for him. In a mere two seconds his fear of the unknown forest around him had been replaced by his anguish about the very real possibility of having to wear patches on his ripped clothes from now on and once again he felt like crying, as he brushed the dirt from his clothes and slowly stood up.
Well, maybe he had not broken a bone or two, but still, his entire body hurt and he did his best to suppress a small hiccup.
As he finally took another look around, slowly stepping forward, there was nothing he was able to recognize, no matter how often he had wandered the woods with his parents or played hide and seek with his friends. To him, it was almost as if he had crossed over into a whole other world. Maybe he had. Maybe he would never find his way home now. He thought about Alice in Wonderland. His mother had read the story to him not too long ago. Maybe he was now in Wonderland himself? But he had not fallen into a rabbit hole. No, this could not be Wonderland then, could it?
Around him the trees stood so tightly together that they blocked out every bit of light and suddenly Connor was not even sure anymore if it was daytime at all. Maybe he had hit his head and fallen unconscious and it was already night now! No, surely he would remember knocking his head and falling unconscious, would he? At least he would remember waking up again. He tried to keep his head cool, the same way his father always told him to whenever a tantrum was approaching like a storm. It did not work and soon, after a few more steps, he again felt tears streaming down his face and found himself calling out for his father. »Raké:ni? Where are you?« But his own voice sounded thin to him and he immediately felt embarrassed about just how anxious it sounded. Did he not just tell his father that he was in fact not a baby anymore? And now here he was, calling for his dad like a small child. Well, in his defense, he was only four years old. He was allowed to call for his daddy like a small child because he was a small child.
Connor continued calling out for his father as he was moving forward while the thought crossed his mind, that it might be better to stay where he was, just in case his father was already looking for him. Surely he was. His current state of anxiousness and panic was disrupted, however, as he saw a flash of white between the trees and the bushes and it did not take long, until curiosity overpowered the miserable situation he was in.
So, he decided, against all better judgment, that he wanted to see what that white thing was and almost forgot about his father and his own fear of never finding back home again. Maybe he really was in Wonderland and the flash of white was the White Rabbit with its pocket watch. Maybe he was meant to follow it! Connor started to run, as the white seemed to get farther and farther away from him. For almost a second, he was sure that he had seen the figure of a man dressed completely in white, but then he was sure that he had just imagined things.
As he was moving forward, the world around him only grew darker and darker and even the sounds he was so used to, the rattle of hoofs, the stomping of little paws, the smacking sounds when a pine cone would hit the ground every once in a while, started to grow scarcer and scarcer and he was sure that soon they would die out entirely. »Raké:ni? Where are you?« He called out again, this time more silent and maybe only because his brain told him to, while his feet were already guiding him farther away from home.
After stumbling through the shrubs for quite some time, he came to another large clearing and it was the first time that he could actually see the sky again. It hung above him clear blue and without even the hint of a tiny little cloud as if nothing at all had happened to him in the past minutes. He could see the sun, if only barely, but enough to know that he had wandered off quite a bit. His grandfather had once tried to teach him how to navigate with the help of the sun, but no matter how hard he tried to remember, he could not do it.
Suddenly he felt uneasy. It was not the fear coming right back to him with all its might, it was something entirely else. Connor could feel it deep down in his stomach, the tiny feeling that something awful was going to happen. He felt nauseous. It was as if a storm was approaching and there was nothing he, a four year old boy, could do about it.
He could see the flash of white again and this time he was almost sure that it was indeed a man walking through the woods around him but ignoring the little boy that clearly had gotten lost. For the briefest moment, Connor was able to see the man’s face although it seemed almost blurry to him at the same instant. He wanted to call out, but he did not. His features were sharp, his expression stoic, his skin dark, but before he could see more, the man had vanished into thin air and left Connor startled. Before he could even realize what had happened, the sounds of the woods seemed to come back crashing down on him, accompanied by the sound of heavy paws stomping closer fast. As Connor saw the bear it was almost too late.
The bear only sniffed the air for a moment, as it stomped out on the clearing in front of the young boy. It was huge like a mountain in Connor's eyes, its fur had the color of ebony and its eyes were like black bottomless pits. Connor felt his knees trembling as the bear stepped closer, still sniffing the air, growling quietly as Connor was careful to step back quietly. One step after another, he slowly, carefully, moved backwards and away from the large beast. He had never seen a real bear, just like he before had never seen a real wolf, but was sure that the grey thing from earlier had had to be one. Oh, he was doomed! The bear would surely try to eat him! His parents would never know what had happened to him!
The bear seemed to be calm, while Connor moved back, but the moment Connor stepped on a branch that was immediately snapping in half under his weight, the bear let out a dangerous growl and Connor once more froze. Paralyzed with fear, he could only stare with his eyes wide with horror. As the bear came closer, Connor was unable to move even his little finger or to curl his toes. He was terrified and the bear only came closer and closer, until Connor could smell its fur and its wretched rotten breath. The bear did not attack him right away as they were mere inches apart. Still, on all fours, the beast stretched its neck to smell his face and the very much childish part of him wanted to extend his hand to touch its fur, but he tried to suppress the urge.
Only when another growl left the beast, Connor again jumped in fear, but before the bear could attack him, Connor saw a flash of silver out of the corner of his left eye, the bear howled in pain and then it ran off, the bolt of a crossbow sticking out of its side. Connor sunk to the ground, as the bear ran off, still shaking from his near death encounter with the beast, even though his mind was not yet ready to really understand what had been happening to him just now.
»Connor!« The voice of his father bellowed through the woods and as Connor turned his head to look where the voice was coming from, his father was already darting through the bushes and jumped out on the clearing. »Connor! Are you alright?« In an instant, his father crouched down beside him. Connor saw the small contraption on his father's left wrist. He had never questioned this thing whenever he had seen it. It looked like a very small crossbow – but different. He knew his mother was wearing something like this too whenever she was going on a hunt. He did not know what it was, but he was sure that his father had used this thing to scare off the bear.
»Raké:ni!« Connor howled and threw himself into his father's arms. He had never been happier to see his father's face, his ice blue eyes, his pale skin, his black hair and the frown that always seemed to linger on his face. »The bear wanted to eat me!«
His father lifted him up without wasting another second and Connor was quick to wrap his short legs and thin arms around him, his father's right arm supporting his weight. »So I’ve noticed.« Haytham hummed as he rubbed soothing little circles over his back, but started moving immediately. »I told you not to stray, Connor.«
»I’m sorry, Daddy.« He muffled, pressing his face against his father's strong shoulder. He did not like to admit it, but he was certainly very glad that his father had come to his rescue. In his group of friends in the village, he was always seen a little bit like a leader, Kanen’tó:kon thought even that he knew no fear, despite Connor being the youngest of the group, but the truth was, that Connor was very much afraid of being all alone in the woods, as he had now learned. »I never do it again.« He promised and glanced up at his father's face. Only for a second their eyes met and he could see the smirk pulling on his father's thin lips. They both knew his was an empty promise, but his father had enough decency not to point it out as he hummed in agreement.
After a while, Connor found himself staring at the necklace his father wore. He always hid it underneath his clothes, but it had slipped out from under the collar of his shirt now. It was a silver cross. Not a cross like the symbol of the Catholic Church as he had seen before on TV. It was a different kind of cross and Connor knew that there was a reason why his father hid the necklace from the other villagers. He only showed it whenever the three of them were alone at home. It was not the symbol his mother wore around her neck, though. Sometimes it seemed to be a reason for them to fight, but they would never fight whenever he would be awake and thus he barely got a hold of the reason for the fighting until now. The other villagers did not like his father that was why they lived a little closer to the forest, which Connor greatly liked.
They walked in silence back home and Connor only turned his head as the sunlight had him back. They left the forest and he could see their house not too far off. »The bear was cool, though.« Connor quietly mumbled as he saw his mother walking out of the house, as if she already wanted to come looking for her two men. Only then he tensed a little in expectation of the scolding that was about to rain down on him. »Oh no…« He muttered. »I don't want patches on my jeans, Daddy…«
-End Prolog-
#Assassin's Creed#modern au#connor kenway#haytham kenway#father and son relationship#haytham being a good father for oce#kid!connor
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